Page 28

“You would have.”

“When?”

“Eventually. The winds come from the east.” I open the box and lift out the cashmere, which is the color of cream with a little gold in the weave, and drape it across the bed. “This one is for the window seat. You will read there.”

“How do you know I’ll read there?”

“Because you looked at it for four seconds when you first walked into this room, and you have looked at no other piece of furniture for longer than two.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Picks up the heated mattress pad, reads the label, and starts laughing so hard she has to sit down on the bed.

“How much did all this cost?”

“A reasonable sum.”

“Give me a number.”

“You are an accountant. You will find it in the ledger regardless.”

“Oh, I absolutely will.”

I reach into my jacket pocket. “There is also this.”

I hold it out. A hair comb, gold, curved to fit the back of her head, set with a line of small seed pearls. It was made in Paris in 1891, and it is the least valuable thing in the third-floor rooms.

She stares at it. “What is that?”

“Your hair clip. Replaced.”

“My hair clip cost five dollars at Target.”

“And it had a bent tooth.”

“You can’t replace a five-dollar clip with a museum piece.”

“It is not a museum piece.” I pause. “The museum asked. I declined.”

She takes it from my palm carefully, turning it so the pearls catch the lamplight. Then she twists her damp hair up and slides the comb into it, and it holds perfectly, and she looks at me, and I file that look under things I will spend the rest of my life trying to earn again.

“Where’s my old one?”

“Disposed of.” It is in my desk drawer, beside the earring. My dragon would sooner part with the Vermeer.

“Okay.” She touches the comb. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. It’s also completely insane.”

“Noted.”

“I’m meeting Mara in town tomorrow. Coffee at Jess’s, ten o’clock.”

“I will drive you.”

“I have Mara’s car.”

“I will follow you so you can return it.”

She narrows her eyes. “You just want to come.”

“Yes.”