She reached out and pulled me into an embrace that smelled of lavender water and dried starch.
“I knew your face before you even spoke,” she said, releasing me slowly but keeping her hands on my arms. “You have Merinda’s brow. I am Desiree.”
My right hand went to my index finger, twisting the plain silver band round and round against my skin.
“Arthur said you called her,” I said, looking from her to the old man by the safe. “He wouldn’t give the necklace back.”
“He was doing what we agreed twenty years ago, child,” Desiree said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Merinda made me promise I would find you if you ever brought this back.”
Arthur took off his thick spectacles and began polishing them with the yellow microfiber cloth, his breath fogging the lenses before he rubbed them in slow, nervous circles.
“I told her you’d come,” Arthur said, his gravelly voice dropping even lower. “I told her the engraving would bring you in sooner or later.”
