Page 5
He returned with concerned eyes and touched her scarf. “New look?”
She ignored his comment, thanking him for the tea, and added the honey packets to the hot water.
“How’s Taylor?” He took off his coat. “Isn’t he done with residency by now?”
“Almost, he was named chief resident.”
“Isn’t he married to what’s-her-face? Jessica—”
“Jennifer.”
“Right.”
“No,” said Linnea, “she broke off the engagement over Christmas.”
He settled into his seat. “What the hell for?”
“I asked her. Apparently she wasted six years trying to change him and couldn’t marry an emotionally unavailable workaholic.”
“That’s rich. Not that I was holding my breath for a wedding invite.” Everett leaned back, studying her for several moments. “You look skinny.”
“Cancer will do that to you.” She slurped a hesitant sip of the steamy tea.
Everett slowly set down his coffee and slid his forearms onto the table. “Jesus, Linney. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugged and went for her purse, pulling out the pictures of the Dala horse and its transaction.
“Are you going to elaborate?” he insisted. “Is this why you called me out of the blue?”
“I just finished my last chemo round. I’ll wait to see what the test results say.” She unfolded the document and the worn photographs. “And this is why I called you.”
He wiped his lips and shook his head, ignoring the documents. “I can’t believe this. You’re not even fifty. Don’t people start getting cancer in their fifties?”
She slid the contents over. “I need your help locating this. You were the one who sold it after all.”
“Can I do anything for you?”
She gestured emphatically at the papers.
He sighed heavily and looked down. “Where’d you find this?”
“Just tell me how I can get it back.”
“No, seriously, where’d you get it?”
She rolled her eyes. “As if I didn’t keep track of every financial document we owned?”
“Could’ve used the divorce money to go to college like you always wanted.”
Linnea pulled an annoyed face. This was the Everett she knew well. She directed her eyes to his Breitling watch. “Clearly you have suffered.”
His lips quirked, and then his gaze softened. “I never thought you’d divorce me. Please tell me you’re gonna be okay.”
Linnea tapped the pictures. “Focus.”
He reluctantly concentrated on them. “This was Ulla Bergstrom’s horse,” he mumbled, then shook his head and slid the paper and photos across. “The client I sold it to was a private collector. There’s no way he’ll sell it.”
“What? You told me you pawned it.”
