Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
I walked into the kitchen to place my untouched dinner plate on the counter, but the sound of pouring liquid stopped me at the threshold. Sable stood by the marble island, a green bottle of Pinot Grigio in her hand, filling two glasses with a steady, slow stream.
On the sideboard nearby, the silver coffee pot Gordon had bought us for our twenty-fifth anniversary sat tarnishing in the shadow of a decorative ceramic vase.
The bright fluorescent light caught the gold pendant resting against her collarbone.
It was a delicate gold filigree circle enclosing a tiny carved carnelian stone, the very one Gordon’s mother had worn on her wedding day.
“I found this in the vanity drawer downstairs,” Sable said, noticing my gaze and touching the gold circle with her manicured index finger. “It seems a shame to leave such beautiful things locked away in a dark drawer.”
“That pendant was not listed in the probate inventory you sent to Frank Higgins,” I said, keeping my voice quiet and even.
“It is a minor personal effect,” Sable said, her tone clipping each word short. “Hardly worth the trouble of a formal appraisal.”
