“How much is this thing actually worth?” Rad’s expression sharpened fully now.
Holt turned the bag in his hand, watching the bracelet catch the kitchen light.
“It depends on who is valuing it. The white gold gives it a certain value. The age and workmanship add another. But that’s not really the point.” Holt looked at the object again.
“I understand,” Rad said. “It matters because of what it is.”
“And where it came from.” Holt’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting Rad’s curious gaze.
“Why do I get the feeling there is something I need to know about the bracelet?” Rad’s eyes narrowed.
Holt drew in a breath.
“This was made especially for the original owner on the day Sandpiper Shores was founded,” he said.
Rad’s brows shot up. “What? It’s that old?”
“It is.” Holt looked down at the bracelet again, and memory pressed at him with sudden unwelcome force.
A laugh on a staircase.
A bright young face.
A white bedroom.
A jewelry box.
The days before everything was burned into loss.
“No wonder Sienna panicked when it went missing on the beach,” Rad murmured again. “Her parents would’ve killed her if she’d lost a family heirloom.”
Holt’s jaw tightened. “Yes,” he said. “But it doesn’t belong to the Morrisons.”
Rad went very still. “How did they end up with it?”
Holt lifted his eyes to his son’s. “I believe it was stolen.”
“Who was it stolen from?” Rad’s brow furrowed again.
The room seemed quieter suddenly. Even Duchess had stopped sighing theatrically by the back door.
Holt heard his own voice roughen slightly before he answered.
“From someone whose uncle gave it to her when she was twelve,” Holt said. He swallowed once against the lump rising in his throat. “It belonged to someone who died far too young, and it went missing from her room a few days before she passed away.”
Rad stared at him. Understanding began to move across his face in slow, deliberate pieces.
“What?” he said softly. “Dad… is this one of the pieces that went missing back then?”
“Yes.” Holt’s voice was a bit rougher this time.
“Do you know what this means?” Rad’s expression darkened at once. “Are you sure this is the bracelet?”
Holt nodded once, though the motion felt heavy.
“It means that either Tom or Victoria Morrison, and only Tom or Victoria, had the kind of access that would make sense if someone had taken it from Carly’s room all those years ago.” He looked at the bracelet again, fury and grief battling behind his ribs. “This belonged to my late sister. My uncle gave it to her.”
The words landed harder spoken aloud than they had in his head.
