or to the children of friends?”
“No, not this time. Although occasionally something will catch her eye that she wants for herself.”
“I see. Thank you.” Fox went back outside, feeling decidedly uncentered.
Tara was pleased with herself. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at Mr. Raincoat standing below her office window. She’d stolen half an hour for herself and she was as giddy with the victory as she would be over an all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii.
But inevitably her thoughts curled back to the ruby. She hadn’t told Uncle Charlie what had happened when she’d called him to cancel their dinner the other night. She’d only told him that there’d been a breakdown in her negotiations with Stephen—and now, of course, Stephen was dead. Charlie had not attended the funeral. He had no fond feelings for the Carmens and he certainly didn’t consider that he owed them anything.
Tara couldn’t bear the thought of Charlie realizing that now she didn’t know where the Rose was at all. She had to find out if Fox Whittington had the stone before she talked to the old man again. Because if the cops really didn’t have it and it wasn’t in the library…then Stephen’s killer had it. That possibility was gnawing at Tara’s gut almost constantly now, like a small vicious animal that got bigger and stronger with every day that passed.
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