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assistant contact you about shipping and so on. Thanks again.”
    He strode across the parking lot to his SUV, gesticulating angrily as he talked on his phone. He’s got an edge, I thought, a real edge .
    *   *   *
    â€œAre you going to be a good boy, Hank?” I asked, petting under his chin. He mewed and nuzzled my neck. “I won’t be long, baby.” He raised a paw and patted my cheek. “You’re such a love bunny, aren’t you!” Another mew.
    The door opened, and Ana stepped inside, saw me cuddling Hank, and burst out laughing. “I’m noticing a theme!”
    I kissed Hank on the top of his furry little head. “Caught in the act!” I let him down, and he rubbed my calf before sauntering off to the warehouse door. I opened it for him, and he disappeared inside. “As you can tell, I’m at his beck and call.”
    â€œAnyone would be. Hello, everyone!”
    Gretchen and Cara said hello. I was familiar with the nuances of their greetings, and I could tell they had both warmed to her.
    Sasha murmured hello, a coolish welcome, which didn’t imply anything negative. Unless she was talking about art or antiques, Sasha was both shy and reserved. Only when discussing an object she knew about was she confident and animated. Sasha was brilliant, kind, honest, and skillful. The only thing she lacked was confidence.
    â€œI only have about a minute and a half, but I thought I’d pop in to see those chess sets.”
    â€œI’m on my way out, but Sasha will take care of you.”
    As if a switch had been flipped, Sasha’s entire manner changed. She stood up, smiling, her eyes alight. Her voice, when she spoke, showed no hesitation. “I have them ready. They’re both fabulous, in different ways. I can’t wait to show them to you. I’ll get them now.”
    Sasha pushed into the warehouse, and I leaned against the guest table.
    I chuckled. “A whole minute and a half—wow! I didn’t even think you had that long. Jason said you were deep in planning romantic add-in shots.”
    â€œNot I, my friend. That’s Timothy’s bailiwick and involves only Heather and Jason.”
    Eric, my jack-of-all-trades helper, stepped into the front office, a sturdy box and bubble wrap in hand. Although he was now in his midtwenties, he was still teenage thin. Eric had started working for Prescott’s part-time when he was in high school, going full-time right after graduation. Recently, I’d promoted him to operations manager, his second major promotion in three years. Deciding who should be responsible for what was one of the biggest challenges of my job.
    â€œYou’re packing up my snow globe,” Ana said.
    â€œI’m taking it for an outside expert consultation. Research. We do whatever is necessary to learn the truth.”
    Ana smiled, a sad one. “I wish more people valued the truth.”
    I wondered what she was referring to, what memory my innocuous comment roused. I wanted to ask but didn’t. Instead, I watched Eric wrap the snow globe.
    â€œWhat makes the snowstorm?” she asked, also watching him work.
    â€œGlycerin,” I said. “Or mineral oil. Both are heavier than water, so the dots and slivers of silver or white metal move more slowly than they would in water.”
    â€œWill you take it apart?”
    â€œYes. There’s no other way to examine it properly.” I smiled at her. “We’re as careful as possible.”
    â€œBut losing some of the oil is inevitable, right?”
    â€œRight,” I said as Sasha reappeared wheeling a cart holding the two sets of chessmen, one made of ivory and black glass with sterling silver embellishments, the other made of cherry-colored and black Bakelite.
    â€œAren’t they beautiful?” Sasha asked, her tone reverential.
    Ana leaned over to look. “Totally.”
    â€œNotice the art deco