“And we have a new bidder in the mix.” The unflappable auctioneer, who’s built his career on friendly froideur, lets a crack of excitement show as the Mahj and one last bidder take up the game in a back-and-forth, rising higher until only the Mahj is left.
“Going once at twelve million.” The auctioneer is gesturing to the room. “All done at twelve million.” His voice has a questioning lilt as he hesitates only a moment before bringing the compact gavel down with a crisp bang. “Sold to the gentleman in the front row for twelve million dollars.”
Assistants are rushing to see the official bidding number. There’s clapping and handshakes, and it takes a few minutes for the crowd to quiet enough to pay attention to the next lot.
“I believe it now,” Nell says to her father, watching as the Moon is whisked out of the room.
Louis hugs her. “You just made twelve million dollars!”
Her father raises his eyebrows at this.
“Did I?” The entire thing feels like a dream.
The jewelry department head barges into the room, breathless from rushing upstairs to congratulate her.
But Louis steps forward, as protective as ever. “You might have a very specific problem on your hands,” he says to the department head. “Even allowing him on the floor is suspect.”
“Oh, no need to start barking at me, Mr. Morrell.” The Flemish angel practically pushes Louis aside to get to Nell. “I can’t go into specifics, you understand, but having one of the largest museums in the country involved helped his case.” She’s shaking Nell’s hand so vigorously, it’s like she’s shaking Nell bodily. All professional distance is gone. The woman is full of unabashed excitement. “Also, the Indian government let it be known they approved. Knew there was a better shot than not that it might be coming back home. There are international interests as well, you understand,” she says to Nell. “And of course certain funds were held in escrow, that’s all I’ll say.” She holds up a hand in warning. “Please don’t quote me. But I do feel it’s only fair to tell you, given the unique circumstances.” She turns to Louis. “You’ve no worries on the surety front. Please rest assured.”
As much as Nell’s excited, the money feels unreal. The whole scene feels as if she’s underwater, and it’s then she knows what she wants.
“Can I meet him?” Nell asks. “I want to meet the maharaja.”
The department head’s mouth twists down in a little moue. “Of course,” she says, faux brightly in a way Nell knows means the opposite. “I don’t see why not.”
THE BUCKEYE
“I want to drive,” May insisted when they walked out the front door. The chauffeur had left the Packard four-seater in front of the house, the roof tucked and folded. Already, the seats looked hot.
“Have you been crying?” Ethan asked with ill-disguised disgust now that they were outside in the sunlight.
“Hay fever,” she said, though she had no history of it. She crunched across the gravel, but Ethan held his grip on the keys. “Can’t I do one thing? Besides, you’re drunk.”
Ambrose was alert, and he knew defiance was not the way to handle Ethan right now. Ambrose had noted the glass in his brother’s hand in the gunroom, though Ethan seemed the same, straight Ethan in spite of it. Only the slight slurring together of words suggested that mixing whiskey and his pain pills might be more than Ethan could handle. They’d waited for May in stilted silence as Ethan refreshed his drink and drank a second whiskey straight down.
Out front, Ethan kept his grip on his keys. Not that Ambrose could blame him; handing May the keys would be akin to handing over his manhood.
Ambrose climbed over the door and plopped himself down in the back seat, waiting for them to finish their brinkmanship.
“I won’t get in,” May said, crossing her arms over her chest, and Ambrose had to admit, the stance was unattractive.
But Ethan seemed to know when she wouldn’t be moved. He handed the keys over to her, without looking at her face, and then silently walked around to the passenger side.
With a little stamp of her foot May then hopped behind the wheel, and Ambrose realized her satisfaction at being in control—of anything.
May started the car and as they accelerated, Ambrose noted that she kept continual watch on Ethan out of the corner of her eye. He thought he saw Ethan mouth something to her, but he couldn’t make out what it was.
“Eyes on the road,” Ethan said over the wind.
“My eyes are on the road. If you hadn’t been drinking, you’d see that,” May said primly.
“I haven’t been drinking,” Ethan said. Typical Ethan, Ambrose thought sourly. He never would own up to his questionable behavior.
She turned down a dirt lane connecting the Shaw farm and the Van Alstynes’ new place. She picked up speed on the straightaway.
“Slow down,” Ethan said.
She laughed. “Don’t be such an old woman.” She continued to accelerate the car.
“You know, darling,” Ethan said, his eyes on the road. “Don’t you think it’s a little much to be wearing that necklace today?”
May’s hand was instantly at her throat. “I wear it every day.”
“Just like your wedding ring,” he said, turning fully sideways to face her.
Dry dust from the road rose around Ambrose, mixing with the hot day and coating all the leaves on the trees. And then his brother said, “You think I’m stupid.”
Ambrose leaned over the driver’s seat then, his hand on May’s shoulder.
“I think you’re stupid drunk,” May said, eyes facing front.
“You think I don’t know what’s happening right in my own house?” Ethan said.
“What’s happening in your house, Ethan?” May said, drawing out the “your.”
Ambrose’s hand slipped in front of May’s chest, pressing her back into her seat protectively. “Watch the road,” he said in her ear, willing her to keep them safe.
“You don’t tell her what to do,” Ethan said, turning fully toward the back seat.
“Neither do you,” May said. Ambrose wanted to tell her to quit it, to get along, but that had never been May’s way.
Turning to May, Ethan said, “I want it off.” His voice was loud and dangerous. Then, in a flash Ambrose couldn’t have anticipated, Ethan swiped his right arm, his good arm, across the car toward May’s throat.
Ambrose blocked him.
“I’m driving.” A nervous little chuckle arose out of her as her hand fiddled at her neck. “I’ll take it off when we stop.” That she acquiesced so easily meant she recognized the danger in the situation.
“I want it off!” Ethan yelled, lunging toward May again. The car swerved, and Ambrose fell back as Ethan reached for the necklace, gaining purchase. He gripped the side of the delicate cording and dug his fingers in, wrapping around the silk, and then he tugged—hard.
“Ethan, stop,” May said in a garbled voice. One hand grabbed for the wheel and one hand scrabbled at her throat as Ethan pulled her head toward him. “You’re hurting me.”
But Ethan pulled harder until Ambrose could see the cording imbedding in the opposite side of her neck. He rose up between the seats again and hit his brother’s arm, trying to sever his grip. The car swerved, but Ethan didn’t let go.