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“I can’t tell you any more than I have. I came across an old insurance policy covering a ring identical to what you brought in, right down to the initials carved inside.”
“I was only seven when my grandparents died. They died within forty-eight hours of each other. I never met either of them.”
“Who has all your grandmother’s belongings?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, it looks like you have one of them.”
“It most likely belongs to her children. Not me.”
“As I said, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“Yeah…”
The funny thing is, especially now that I know it’s a family heirloom, I want this ring.
I want it because it belongs on Callie’s finger. It reminds me so much of her. Her fiery nature. Her beautiful eyes. The blaze we ignite when we’re together.
This ring belongs to Callie.
“I guess I should talk to my dad and my uncles and aunts about it. Aunt Marjorie may want it, since it belonged to her mother.”
“If you can, find your grandmother’s will. This may be specifically bequeathed to someone.”
“Good idea.”
Perhaps I’ll look through Dad’s safe after all. I hate to do it, but…
“At least you know now that it does belong in your family. It’s worth a ton. Did you get it insured yet?”
“Shit. I haven’t. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“Get it insured yesterday. Call the dude on the card. He keeps weekend hours.”
“I will. I’ll call him as soon as we hang up.” I shake my head. “It must have been a gift from my grandfather. My grandmother’s parents didn’t have this kind of money.”
“Someone had money to afford this bauble. This particular stone came from the Argyle mine in Australia. Not too surprising, as that’s where most orange diamonds come from. Some are found in South Africa, but the papers on this—”
“Papers? What do you mean, papers?”
“I guess I should have explained. Jewels like this are supposed to come with papers certifying where they came from, and their value. I found a copy of the papers with the insurance policy showing Daphne Steel last owned the ring. The original certification should be somewhere.”
“None of this explains how it ended up in a safe-deposit box with my name on it.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Fuck. Anything else?”
“That’s all I’ve come up with so far. I’m sorry for the delay.”
“No problem. This is good info. I think.”
“I’ll call if I find anything else.”
“Sounds good. Send me the bill.”
No sooner do I hang up on Drew when I get another call—this one from Monarch Security.
