Read Lost & found for Free Online Page B

the room and stopped at the little spiral staircase. It led to a narrow balcony that encircled the chamber at the midway point. She put her hand on the polished rail and thought about the quarrel with Sylvia. It had not been pleasant. Perhaps she should have explained her decision to postpone the merger vote to her niece. Sylvia was the CEO of Gallery Chatelaine, after all.
    But she wanted to be certain, Vesta thought. There was so much at stake. And in the end, the simple fact was that she did not have to explain anything. Not yet. Sylvia had assumed the day-to-day operations of Chatelaine's, but they both knew that even though she had been forced to retreat into semiretirement, the founder of Chatelaine's still controlled the shares that determined the fate of the gallery.
    She knew what the rest of the family was saying behind her back. The business with the psychic had been the last straw for Sylvia. Vesta smiled grimly. Long age she had been labeled eccentric. Now they would wonder if dementia had set in.
    The expression on her niece's face when she had confronted her about her appointments with Jonathan Arder had been almost amusing. The rest of the family would soon be buzzing with the news that Great-aunt Vesta had finally lost it completely. But they would keep quiet about it, she thought. Oh, yes, they would go to great lengths to conceal the information.
    None of them would want to risk having the news leaked to the art world. Thai sort of gossip would not only be professionally embarrassing, it would be bad for business.
    She gazed at a beautiful ornamental gold box on a nearby shelf and wondered what Cady would say when they told her about the visits to the psychic.
    Cady was not like the others. Cady understood her. That was because they were so much alike in so many ways. Cady wouldn't leap to the conclusion that she had lost her grip on reality. Cady would ask questions first. Cady would look beneath the surface. It was her nature.
    Vesta put a hand to her waist and removed the magnificent piece of ancient jewelry known as the Nun's Chatelaine. She had worn it to the Carnival Night committee meeting earlier that evening. Eleanor Middleton's boundless enthusiasm for her duties as chair of the annual Phantom Point community event was admirable but tiresome. Still, it was important for Gallery Chatelaine to be represented on the committee. And given her semiretirement status, Vesta thought, she had no excuse for sticking someone else in the family with the task of volunteering for the committee work. She had never shirked her responsibility to Chatelaine's.
    For a moment she studied the old chatelaine in the light of a nearby lamp. The heavily carved medallion in the center glowed with the rich luster of very old gold. The stones that encircled it still shimmered with ancient radiance. The five gold-link chains spilled through her fingers. Small gold keys set with gemstones were attached to four of the chains. No key dangled from the fifth chain.
    She had discovered the Nun's Chatelaine shortly before she had opened the gallery. It had turned up in a heap of costume jewelry in an estate sale she had attended; a masterpiece concealed by a mound of worthless plastic, glass stones and cheap metal. She had known at once that it would become the symbol of her new business venture.
    The Gallery Chatelaine logo was based on the design of the antique device. An image of the chatelaine appeared on everything from business cards to the engraved announcements sent out whenever a special collection went up for sale. A large, sculpted reproduction of the beautiful object hung over the front door of the main gallery in San Francisco and also above the door of the small art boutique here in Phantom Point.
    She studied the heavy chatelaine, aware of the warmth of the metal against her skin. It was only a key ring, but what a fabulous key ring, she thought. Her fingers tightened around it.
    She could feel the history trapped