in the glass case in front of me gave assurance that such transactions were common here.
The proprietor looked at my bag and then into my eyes. “Something to sell?”
“Yes. Perhaps.”
He took a square of black felt from behind the counter and smoothed it on the glass. “Show me.”
I was wearing a simple ring, set with a cluster of seed pearls, which I removed easily from my left pinkie and placed on the square. Then I reached into my little bag and took out the cuff I’d worn in the Christmas photo and a brooch set with mother-of-pearl. He moved each to a corner of the cloth and looked up again.
“Not the earrings?”
My amethyst, given to me by my husband in a box lined with white fur. “No.” Not yet.
“Does your husband approve of the sale of these pieces?”
“They are my own,” I said, which, with the exception of the brooch, was true. I recognized the proprietor’s steely heart of business. Still, there was a heart, so I added, “I am a widow.”
He touched an age-spotted hand to his chest and said, “My condolences,” before taking a well-diminished pad of paper from his breast pocket. He licked the tip of a stubby pencil and began scribbling figures, finally making a large, dark circle around a final sum.
“This is what I can do.”
I stared at the figure and did my own calculations. The number was ridiculously low, even my untrained eye knew that. The pieces I offered exceeded the quality of anything in his case. But it was enough to see me through spring, with careful stewardship, and my acceptance might give me leverage in future transactions.
“Does this include a twenty-five cent deduction for my books?”
He offered a wry smile. “Indeed. And I will even throw in a teapot if you like.”
“I’ve no need.” What could I tell him? That I didn’t have a home, let alone a kitchen or a stove?
“Then we are in agreement. Shall I write you a check? Or would cash be preferred?”
“Cash, please.”
“Then I shall return. In the meantime …” He took a small card from the front of a tabletop file and placed the pencil next to it. “If you would fill this out.”
On the card was a place for my name and address. Underneath, a small space with the heading ITEMS SURRENDERED FOR SALE OR PAWN. I hadn’t touched the card by the time he returned.
“Why do you need this information?”
“For when you come back, in better times, to reclaim your property.”
“I do not foresee better times.”
“But you’ll be back?” He slid a white envelope across the counter even as his gaze shifted greedily to my ear.
“I might. You have a wonderful selection of books.”
“Well, then.” He spun the card around, picked up the pencil, and licked the tip again before circling the word SALE in a single, definitive stroke. “Perhaps I shall save you the trouble and fill this out on your behalf?”
“You don’t know my name,” I said, thinking I may have met my first match.
“Sometimes,” he said, without looking up, “that is for the best, isn’t it?”
I opened the envelope and made quick work of thumbing through and counting the amount. “It is indeed.”
Chapter 10
I wasn’t expecting it to be so girly,” Quin said, standing aside to usher Dini in. “I feel like I’m hanging out in my sisters’ bedroom.”
Dini stepped in, understanding immediately his appraisal. The walls were painted a muted shade of rose, the drapes an antique floral pattern that matched—perfectly—the cover folded at the foot of the four-poster bed. The lamp could best be described as delicate, the desk obviously better suited as a vanity than a place for a sturdy laptop and haphazard stacks of paper. The dresser was heavy and ornate, with drawer space beyond what a weekend traveler would need; the mirror above it was tarnished at the corners. How many men and women had gazed into it, dressed for whatever festivities awaited in the ballroom? It was exactly the kind of room she dreamed of having as a girl—intentional and permanent.
She walked slowly, trailing her step along the patterned carpet. “You have a sister?”
“Three, actually. Two older, one younger. Classic middle-ish child.”
She’d never bothered with family dynamics before. Instead, she fixated on the idea that a man who had sisters knew how to be kind to a woman, and she instantly relaxed.
“So, anyway,” he said, taking his bag from over his shoulder and dropping it on the floor by the desk, “Here’s what you came