occur to her to question his judgment. Or sheâs gullible. Or sheâs wildly in love and can see no wrong in him.â I shrugged. âThereâs a chance that sheâs as sneaky-bad as he was. I met her for an even shorter time than him.â
Ellis riffed a little tap-tap-tap on the tabletop, thinking. âWhat do you know about Peter? Was that performance typical?â
âFrom what little Iâve seen, maybe. When he showed up out of the blue, Heather fled.â
âDoes she have an order of protection against him? Has she ever pressed charges? Anything like that?â
âI donât know.â
âWhat can you tell about the snow globe, the one that might have been broken?â
I explained about Imperial Fabergé eggs and their surprises, Anaâs familyâs narrative about how they acquired the egg, and the complexity in calculating value.
âThe last appraiser attached Polaroids to his write-up,â I said. âTheyâve faded some, but thereâs sufficient detail to be able to identify the design. Diamonds and rubies and emeralds, oh my.â
He soft-whistled. âNo wonder itâs worth so much money.â He lowered his eyes and tapped the table with his index fingers as if he were hunt-and-pecking on an old-fashioned typewriter, then looked up at me. âWhat else should I ask you?â
I shook my head. âI donât know.â
Ellis thanked me and clicked off the recorders. âIâll be in touch.â
The lobby was empty. Cathy was back at her computer. Two different patrolmen sat nearby. One was listening to someone on the phone, taking notes; the other one was reading from a legal pad.
Outside, wind-driven rain was blowing sideways. I ran for my car and was soaked by the time I got inside. I sat and scanned my messages, waiting for the heat to come up and take the bite off the raw chill. Wes had called again, and texted. Ty had called, too, telling me he was sorry to hear about Jason and that he was stuck in a situation in Maine and wouldnât be home until late. All in all, it was a bad night.
Â
CHAPTER SEVEN
The storm continued unabated, causing flash floods on low-lying roads and snapping off tree limbs. The twigs and branches that scraped against the windows kept jerking me awake. After endless hours of wearisome tossing and rolling and fretting about Ty, I finally got up and went downstairs. I made myself a pot of tea and curled up on the couch under a cable-knit afghan to read my current book, Rex Stoutâs Gambit. I was on my second cup of the tea, happily lost in the story, when the rain stopped. I looked at the mantel clock. It was three minutes after four, hours before dawn.
I walked to the window and pulled aside the drapes. A sliver of moon peeked through the clouds, stippling the lawn and street. I opened the window and breathed in the fresh, clean air. It was a beautiful night, warmer than when Iâd come home. It gave me hope that my day would be better, too. Ty pulled into the driveway. Perfect timing, I thought.
I opened the front door and waved. He smiled.
âWhy arenât you asleep?â he asked me as he climbed onto the porch.
âThe storm. Are you okay?â
âYeah ⦠just a long day.â
âTell me about itâon the other hand, donât. Letâs talk tomorrow. I mean later. I need to go to sleep, and you must be ready to collapse.â
âClose.â He kissed me, a soft one, then stretched, reaching for the ceiling. âI need to be out of here by seven. One meeting in Boston, then Iâm heading back to my place for a long nap.â
âI may join you. Have you eaten?â
âIf you can call cold pizza eating. Iâm too tired to tell if Iâm hungry. Iâll grab something before I leave. What Iâm not skipping, though, is a shower.â
Ty went for his shower, and I crawled back in bed. I was asleep within seconds,