Priced to Move

with your talent, expertise, and honesty. You can spot a flaw a mile away, never mind a fraud. Where am I going to find someone else who can do that? Besides, we’ve always worked very well together.”

I take a gulp of coffee . . . two. “Thanks for the compliment. It means a lot. Really. It does. But you know the GIA graduates top-notch gemologists all the time. That’s where I learned what I know. Call them. I’m sure they’ll hook you up with the right person.”

“They’ll know their stuff, but will they care?”

“Sure. Gemologists love rocks.”

“But will they care? About business. About negotiating.” “I can’t make any promises.”

“See? I need you back.”

“No, you don’t, Roger. And I can’t go back. You might never understand.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Even though you think I went temporarily insane when I jumped at the chance to come home again, I had been praying for a change. Aunt Weeby’s accident just gave me the push I needed.”

“But what about your career? All those years of studying?” Aargh! The guy does know my weak spots. As I think of an appropriate response, I glance at the woman on the couch. She shuts her eyes fast in a lousy effort to pretend sleep. I feel bad for disturbing her, but I can’t handle cell phone and coffee and walk all at one time. So I tell Roger, “Thanks for the free trip down the guilt aisle, Rog. It just won’t work. I quit.”

“I really need you, Andie. Take a couple of days to think it over. I can postpone the trip to New Delhi while you reconsider. I won’t hold it against you once you come to your senses.”

Big of him, huh? And here I thought I’d come to my senses the minute I decided to come to Louisville. “Don’t, Roger. Don’t hold out hope. I’m staying here.”

“Not for long, you won’t. You’ll get bored in days, and besides, what are you going to do for a living? Can’t imagine there’s a huge need for gem experts down there.”

“I don’t know one way or the other.” I tamp down the panicky butterflies in my stomach, and give the by-now irate woman on the couch an apologetic smile. “But I do know I’m staying here. Now, hang up and call the GIA. I’m sure the perfect gemologist is out there, waiting for you to find him . . . or her.”

“Andie, really. I—”

“Good-bye, Roger. Give Tiffany my love.”

This time, the snap of the closing phone sounds more like the thud of the floor falling out from under me. What am I going to do with myself? Does anyone need a gemologist in Louisville? If so, where? Who? And if not, then what else does my skill with expensive sparkly stones qualify me for? My nerves detonate another stomach salvo, one unlike the earlier butterflies. This one threatens to wake up my dormant ulcer.

I burst up out of the uncomfortable chair. “Well, enough of that.”

Your choice, your choice, your choice. My footsteps seem to mock me as I march down to Aunt Weeby’s hospital room. She has to be done with that sponge bath by now. There isn’t a whole lot of her, so how long can a lick-and-a-promise swab-down take?

I slam the door on every thought that even considers popping into my head as I put foot in front of foot.

3⁰⁰

At the door, I hear a familiar, throaty laugh.

I grin. “Hey, there, Miss Mona! I didn’t know you were coming.”

“But here I am, and I need me a hug.”

As always, Miss Mona Latimer looks like a million bucks, somewhat less than she’s reported to be worth. Her sage green suit brings out the green in her hazel eyes, and her hair is in its usual sleek silver bob. By comparison, I feel ready for the next episode of What Not to Wear in my boring blue-on-white pinstriped button-down shirt and gray pencil skirt.

After I extricate myself from the solid, comforting hug, I catch a glimpse of Aunt Weeby. Uh-oh. The tricky twosome is up to something, and this time, I don’t think it has anything to do with matchmaking. That’s Aunt Weeby’s thing. Miss Mona would rather eat ground glass than mess with someone else’s love life. And she’s said so. About a million times.

“Okay, you two.” I frown and waggle a finger. “Spit it out. I can tell when you’re making trouble.”

“What?” Aunt Weeby can’t pull off the blase thing worth beans. “Can’t a woman be happy to see her best friend and her favorite niece both at one time?”

“Favorite niece? What’s up with that? I’m your only niece, you fraud, you. And you and Miss Mona fight more like sworn enemies than best friends. So tell me what’s up.”

Aunt Weeby turns to Miss Mona. “It’s your idea, so go ahead and tell her.”

“Of course it’s my idea, but she’s your niece, and you think it’s a pretty good idea too, so you tell her.”

I roll my eyes, something I do around these two way more than anywhere else. “Why don’t you both do what you always do and talk over each other? I’ll figure it out.”

“Why, Andrea Adams, that’s rude. We don’t talk over—” “My, my, Andie! Your auntie and I would never engage in such—”

Both zip up at the same time, their eyes huge, their cheeks rosy.

“You don’t, do you?” I shake my head. “So what’s the big deal? Why don’t you just tell me what you’re up to?”