“We’re not selling,” Evan told the older man. “I’d just like some basic information. I’m willing to pay for it.”
“Nonsense. I’m happy to provide my expertise.” The man reached forward and opened the box, leaning back slightly as the necklace was revealed. “Oh my.” He stared for a moment, and Evan saw the delight in his eyes.
“Is it a ruby?” Noelle asked.
Mr. Baudelaire reached in a drawer beneath the counter and removed a magnifying glass. He put it up to his eye and leaned forward, studying the gem. “Oh my,” he breathed again. “Just as I thought. Not a ruby, a diamond. An exceedingly rare red diamond.”
“A red diamond?” Evan asked. He hadn’t even known such a thing existed.
“Mmm,” Mr. Baudelaire hummed, his magnifying glass still aimed at the necklace. Evan thought he saw the man’s hand tremble slightly. Age, perhaps. Or maybe the rarity of the item he was inspecting. “A gorgeous piece,” he said. “A shame the clasp is broken, but that could be easily repaired. It’s sized for a very slender neck, perhaps that of a child or a young girl.”
A strange shiver went down Evan’s spine, and he couldn’t even say why. Except . . . who would have a child wear a red diamond necklace? That seemed . . . very odd.
“I’d estimate it would take in several million dollars at auction,” the jeweler said.
“Jesus,” Evan murmured. His father owned many items worth a lot of money. Property, cars, a private jet. He regularly gave his wives expensive pieces of jewelry that they then took with them once the inevitable divorce came to pass, farewell gifts that stood in for anything else, as airtight prenuptials had been signed. But Evan had a gut feeling this wasn’t just some expensive item his father had purchased for no reason and held on to. No, this was meaningful. This was from the same place his father was apparently from. A past he’d lied about.
“The interesting thing,” Mr. Baudelaire said, closing the box, “is that this isn’t the only red diamond in Reno. And from what I recall, the other one has the exact same filigree surrounding the stone. Or very similar.” He pushed the box toward Noelle with one finger, his mouth turning down as though he were saying a sad goodbye.
“What do you mean?” Evan asked. “Where’s the other one?”
The bell over the door rang, and Evan looked over his shoulder to see a deliveryman. “Five minutes and I’ll have these ready,” Baudelaire said, nodding to the boxes next to him. The man tipped his chin and linked his hands in front of himself as he waited. Evan turned back to Baudelaire, eager to hear what he’d been about to say.
“A few years ago, I was at a Christmas party. One of those social events put on by some organization asking for money for their charity. A hospital, maybe . . .” Mr. Baudelaire turned and bent toward a drawer under the counter. He pulled out a magazine and started paging through it. Evan shot Noelle a look. She stared back, her eyes widening as they waited to see where the hell this was going. “A man stood next to me as we waited for our drink order. When he put his hand on the bar, I noticed his ring. I remarked on it, and he told me it was a ruby. Curious, because I could clearly see it was not. It is my business, after all. But he turned away quickly. He seemed eager to depart. That moment many years ago ate at me. I wondered if I should have found him and corrected him. I’d hate to think someone was unknowingly undervaluing something they possessed and perhaps treating it accordingly. But the interaction was odd. A few months ago, I came upon an article, and I recognized the man I’d spoken to . . . ah, yes.” He put the magazine down on the counter in front of them and pointed to a picture attached to an article.
Both Evan and Noelle leaned forward, looking at the photo announcing the retirement of a beloved professor at the University of Nevada.
Evan knew him immediately.
“That’s the name of my father’s therapist,” Noelle said, confusion in her tone as she brought her index finger to the headline.
Evan’s head whipped in her direction. “Professor Vitucci? He’s my therapist,” he said.
“What?” she asked, her brows knitting. “I don’t understand.”
Neither did he. What the hell was going on?
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Noelle took in the set of Evan’s jaw and the way he gripped the steering wheel. If he’d been tense and confused before, he was even more so now. So was she. He took his hand off the wheel as he drove, stretching it for a moment and then returning it to where it’d been. “Professor Vitucci came highly recommended by the officers involved in our case,” he told her. “They’d worked with the man. They knew him.”