It sounded like the truth, but I’d met enough liars to know charm could polish anything until it gleamed.
“And the third?” I asked.
He smiled, faint but deliberate. “I once held the Tiffany Diamond.”
I clasped my hands together. “You what?”
“The Tiffany Diamond,” he repeated. “Big, blazing, yellow gem. It’s stunning, really.”
I stared at him. “How did you hold it? To the best of my recollection, it’s only been worn in public four times in its entire existence.” Didn’t Audrey Hepburn wear it in a movie?
“Well, now,” he said lightly, “that’s another story.”
“Why don’t you tell it?” I asked softly.
“I was stealing it,” he said, almost too casually. “But I decided not to and left it in New York.”
Those words hung in the air, absurd, and maybe true.
“Those are your facts,” he said after a moment. “Please have your sister call me.” He winked, turned, and strode out of my office.
I stared at the empty doorway for several long seconds, tapping the edge of the plain white business card against my palm. Finally, I picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hi,” Donna answered. “I’m just about to sell a house. Any news on Nana’s shop?”
“Not exactly. I don’t know anything new, but Cormac Coretti was just here.”
She was silent for a few beats. “Was he?”
“Yeah. He wanted your number.”
“Did you give it to him?”
I stiffened. “Of course not. I’d never give someone your number without asking first. But he left his, if you’d like it.” I held my breath, finding myself halfway between sisterly loyalty and matchmaking curiosity. Donna deserved something fun, even if it came wrapped in mystery.
“No,” she said slowly. “If that man wants to find me, I think he can.”
“True that,” I said. “But if he does, are you going out with him?”
“Oh, Anna, please. He’s not going to ask me out.”
I wasn’t so sure.
“Gotta go,” she said, and the line clicked dead.
I set the receiver down and leaned back, letting out a slow breath. I’d done my job and warned her, more or less. That was enough.
A shadow crossed my doorway again. This time, it was Pauley.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello,” he replied. “Zippy O’Bellini is licensed to practice law in Oregon, Washington, and Idaho.”
That wasn’t rare. “Where is he based?”
Pauley glanced at the still burning vanilla candles. “He has his own firm in Hood River, just outside of Portland, Oregon.”
“Hood River,” I repeated. “Huh. Find anything else?”
