“Gretchen. Yes. They’re good friends. As a matter of fact, we’re meeting for dinner at the club next Saturday. How do you know them?”

“Robert and I had business dealings in times past,” Dante said.

“It’s possible I’ll see you there.”

“At the club?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised. You’re not the only one with friends,” he said. “At any rate, I talked to Maurice Berman this morning. He says you have a ring you’d like to sell. May I see it?”

“Certainly.” She reached into her bag and took out a ring box, which she handed him.

He opened the box and found himself looking at a radiant-cut pink diamond, flanked by two white diamonds. “Five carats?”

“Five point four six. The setting is platinum and eighteen-carat gold. The smaller stones total one point seven carats. My husband bought it from a New York dealer several months ago.”

“You know what he paid?”

“A hundred and twenty-five thousand.”

“You have the bill of sale?”

“I don’t have access to it. My husband keeps financial records at the office.”

Dante let that pass, wondering if Channing Vogelsang knew what she was up to. “You mind if I get an outside opinion? I’ve got a gal in the office who’s a trained gemologist.”

“If you like.”

Abbie returned with a tray that held a coffee carafe, two cups and saucers, spoons, and a creamer and a sugar bowl. She placed the tray on the glass-topped coffee table and passed Nora a saucer and cup. Abbie filled hers, being careful not to get the steaming liquid too close to the rim. Nora helped herself to milk from the pitcher while Abbie poured coffee for Dante. Before she left, Dante held out the ring box. “Give this to Lou Elle and have her take a look.”

“Yes, sir.” Abbie left the office with the ring box and closed the door behind her.

“This shouldn’t take long,” he said. There was silence while she sipped her coffee. He set his cup aside untouched. “You mind if I ask a few questions?”

She tilted her head in a move that he took as assent.

“The ring was a gift from your husband?”

“Yes.”

“I’m guessing an anniversary. Tenth?”

“Fourteenth. Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to understand what’s happening here.”

“Nothing complicated,” she said. “I’d prefer the cash.”

“And for this, you’d go behind his back?”

“I’m not going behind his back.”

He lifted one brow. “So he knows you’re doing this?”

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

“I’m not trying to be fresh. I’m confused. I thought marriage was about having someone you rely on. Someone you can say anything you want to. No secrets and no holding back. Otherwise what’s the point?”

“This has nothing to do with him. The ring is mine.”

“He won’t notice you’re not wearing it?”

“He knows I don’t care for it. It’s not my style.”

“How much are you asking?”

“Seventy-five.”

Dante watched her face, which was more expressive than she knew. In her life, for some reason, the stakes had gone up. He waited but she didn’t expand. “I’m surprised you’re willing to part with it. No sentiment attached?”

“I’m not comfortable discussing it.”

He smiled. “You want seventy-five grand and it’s not worth a conversation?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. It’s personal.”

He watched her with interest, amused at her refusing to meet his eyes. “Must be very personal to have you salting money away.”

Startled, her gaze came up to his. “What makes you think I’m doing that?”

“Because you sold two other pieces of jewelry. Nothing as pricey as this from what Maurice says.”

“I had no idea he’d discuss it with you. I consider that indiscreet.”

“What, you think there’s a confidentiality clause in a deal like this? Business is business. I figure you’re stockpiling cash and I’m curious.”

She hesitated, not meeting his eyes. “Call it insurance.”

“Mad money.”

“If you like.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

Dante’s phone rang. He reached over to the end table and picked up the handset, saying, “Yes, ma’am.”