Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
She reached up to adjust the chain, but her fingernail caught in the delicate clasp, bending the small safety wire.
With a sharp click of her tongue, she unhooked the necklace and laid it on the granite counter beside the half-empty wine bottle.
“I will have the jeweler on Westheimer fix the latch tomorrow,” she said, turning her back to me to reach for a dish towel.
I stepped forward and let my fingers brush the cool granite, sliding the heavy gold pendant into the palm of my hand.
“You should drink your wine,” Sable said, turning back with the towel.
“I am going back to the guest house,” I said, slipping my hand into my cardigan pocket.
“The offer stands, Cassandra,” she said, her red nails tapping against the green glass bottle. “But the locksmith won’t be here unless that blue folder is signed.”
I turned and walked through the back door, the cool night air hitting my face like a cold hand.
