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but if she did play, she’d imagine this to be the point where the Italian cops said checkmate . There was more to find. Unless, of course, Vitelli’d had time to hide that coin in a place the Carabinieri would never find it.
    “We will see,” Luciano said. “Meanwhile, our hunt will continue. I do not believe you, and we will document everything.”
    Gen had heard enough. She quietly backed away, then descended the stairs, got her purse, and left.

Chapter Six
     
     
    The clock on the wall of her ground floor office said it was just after one in the afternoon, but the way Gen felt when she entered, it seemed more like one in the morning. She stood in the small French-inspired reception area and let it work its magic, and, as always, her mood improved just by being there. She rallied even more as she walked the short hall to the back and put her purse down on the cabinets lining the near wall.
    Her desk was neat, as were the book-lined wooden shelves that anchored the corner behind it. But the couch was strewn with paperwork, and the sepia print of the Eiffel Tower covering her case board was a reminder that she needed to wrap the details of the job she’d just resolved and move on to the handful of inquiries that had recently come in.
    The sleuthing business was good.
    She used the land line to touch base with her service. Another potential customer left a message, a past client called with an update, and Oliver was looking for her. She checked her cell to find he’d also left a voice mail there, and wondered if he needed help moving boxes. The thought of him upstairs packing made her sad.
    No use wallowing.
    Livvie – Gen’s nickname for her close friend Oliver Weston – was about to close escrow on a second home in Carmel-by-the-sea. She’d miss him like heck, even though he was only planning to live part-time in the chic seaside village to the south.
    Despite her selfish misgivings, she needed to be happy for him. She tidied the papers and made a phone call, then locked up again and left.
    The entrance to their condominium complex was a few doors down. It was a converted warehouse, and the brick-walled lobby felt like a strong, comfortable old shoe. She thought about her life in this building.
    She’d moved in with Ryan just over a year ago. He’d left after six months, reassigned to God knows where, and that had been the end of them. Just before that she’d bumped into an old college friend who also lived here, Bree Butler, and helped her solve a murder and met Mack and Livvie – Bree’s best friend – in the process.
    You never knew where life would take you.
    The elevator stopped at the sixth floor and she went down the hall and let herself into her condo. The sun was about to slide through the west-facing windows, and she didn’t resist. She got a bottle of water from the kitchen, then went back and pulled the drapes wide and plumped the sofa pillows and stretched out, waiting for the rays to hit her favorite spot. When they did, she almost sighed aloud and eased back into the cushions.
    And nearly dozed off.
    Gen’s eyes flew open when her cell pinged. She reached down and pulled it from her bag, still lying on the floor beside the couch where she’d dropped it. Mack’s number showed in the display.
    “Hi,” she said.
    “You okay?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “You gonna fill me in on what happened?”
    “A uniform interviewed me and wasn’t thrilled that I didn’t share much. Then an Italian detective team showed up with a warrant and searched the house. Seems they’re accusing Vitelli of being an importer of illegally obtained antiquities. He has an upstairs room that looks like a depository for unused crapola, but stuck in the corner was an open crate that had an old statue in it. The Italian cops acted like they struck gold, then said they were going to really check out the whole place.”
    “No kidding.”
    “Yeah, that’s when I left.”
    “How is it they happened to show up while you