I had three printed pictures of my mother wearing the necklace, taken years apart, outside his front door the night Claire’s father came home.
Without saying anything, I placed them on the table between us and let him examine them. He picked one up, put it down again, and folded his hands as though holding it motionless would make time stand still.I said, “I can go to the police.” “Or you can tell me where you got it.”
Either something was seriously wrong, or my memory was failing me.
He exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that precedes the truth. He then filled me in on everything.
He had received the jewelry from a business associate twenty-five years prior. According to the man, it had been in his family for many centuries and was believed to bestow exceptional good fortune on its bearer.
He had requested $25,000. Because he and his wife had been trying for years to conceive and he was willing to believe in practically anything at that point, Claire’s father had paid without haggling.
Eleven months later, Claire was born. He claimed that since then, he had never once questioned the purchase.
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