“What a delightful question. No one has ever asked me this question before.” Grandy folded his hands on the table and looked off into the distance, his expression one of grave dignity. “I did have a great deal of fun. I loved this city. Used to run all around with my schoolmates. The Palace of Fine Arts was a wreck of a thing back then, fenced off and crumbling, but my buddies and I used to sneak in and race around scaring each other with a game like hide-and-seek. And we’d go to the lagoon and toss bread crusts to the ducks and have grass wars on the lawn there. When a kid fell into the lagoon, he came out covered in slime.”

“Did that ever happen to you?” asked Dorothy.

“It did. My mother made me clean up at the pump out back, and she didn’t even care that I was howling from the cold. We used to fly kites at Marina Green, and sometimes the navy would have submarine races and we could watch from the Heights. I had a friend named Jimmy Gallenkamp, and he was the king of the kite flyers.”

“I like flying kites,” Dorothy said.

“I know that. I saw you up at the park on my birthday.” Grandy’s expression sobered. “Have as much fun as you can, as often as you can. There were other times that I’ve endured unpleasantness and outright tragedy. There have been days when it was all I could do to take the next breath of air.”

“Breathing is always a good idea,” Dorothy stated.

“Indeed it is. When tragedy strikes, I must remember to breathe until I get to the fun part again.”

“And if you forget, I’ll remind you,” Dorothy said.

Natalie rarely considered herself terribly maternal. Kids were messy and unpredictable, a constant source of worry. They were a wild ride—flashes of utter joy interspersed with long stretches of tedium, often punctuated by disaster. But every once in a while, she came across a child who challenged her notions about kids. A child like Dorothy. She felt a tiny nudge of envy for the little girl’s parents. The world could use more Dorothys in it.

14

Tess had not prepared Natalie for Jude Lockhart, her associate from Sheffield Auction House, the San Francisco firm where Tess used to work. Tasked with tracing the provenance of the artifacts they’d found, he was coming in today to let Natalie know what he’d discovered.

He was more stylish than any man had a right to be—flinty-eyed, square-jawed, and dressed in couture slacks, a black cashmere sweater, and a jacket with elbow patches. He stepped into the shop with a swagger and greeted her with a glorious smile. “I’ve heard about this place,” he said, looking around. “Glad to have a chance to visit.”

“I’m Natalie,” she said, holding out her hand.