Page 26 of The Murder Club

I don’t suppose you could come over, could you?

The answer came back in less than a second.

I’m on my way.

* * *

Unlike his friend and business partner Kaden Vaughn, Dom wasn’t an impulsive man. Even when he’d immigrated from France, it was a decision he’d made when his mother first was diagnosed with cancer. He’d known when she was gone there would be nothing left for him there. And during those awful, grinding months, he’d worked and saved every penny he could scrape together. Evenings he would sit next to his mother’s bed and read from English books she’d collected during a rare trip to London. When the time came he’d grabbed the bag he had packed and walked away.

Actually, the only truly impulsive thing he’d ever done was agree to Kaden’s proposal to quit his job in LA and join him in Vegas.

Until today.

As soon as the text from Bailey hit his phone, he was grabbing his keys and sprinting toward the door. He didn’t bother to ask what was wrong. It didn’t matter. If she needed him, then he was going to be there. ASAP.

Traveling at a speed that caused his Land Rover to fishtail on the loose gravel, he reached her house in less than ten minutes. He parked in the driveway, halting to glance around for anyone who might be lurking in the area before he headed toward the door.

It opened the moment he stepped onto the porch, revealing a pale-faced Bailey, who motioned him inside with a tense expression.

“Are you okay?” he demanded, a strange tightness clenching his chest. As if a vice had been wrapped around him. “Did Gage come back?”

“No, this doesn’t have anything to do with him.”

She turned to hurry through the living room into the kitchen. Dom followed behind her, his gaze searching for any hint of trouble. Everything appeared to be neatly in place. There was nothing broken or turned over. Even the dogs were curled on a rug next to the fridge as he entered the kitchen, regarding him with a sleepy lack of concern. If there’d been an intruder, they would be on full alert.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged.

Bailey moved to grab an object from the kitchen table. “I want you to look at this.”

Dom frowned as he glanced at the pearl necklace that dangled from her fingers. It didn’t look in need of repair. In fact, it was in perfect condition.

“Did it belong to your grandmother?”

“No, she never wore jewelry except for her wedding band. And it didn’t belong to my mother. She hated pearls.”

“I’m not sure what you want from me.”

She swallowed, as if she had a lump in her throat. “Can you tell me if they’re real?”

Dom took the necklace from her extended hand. His years working in a pawnshop had made him an expert in determining the value of any piece of jewelry. A mere glance was enough to tell him all he needed to know.

“They’re real pearls, not plastic, if that’s what you’re asking,” he told her.

Bailey leaned toward the table, turning the open laptop until he could see the picture of an older woman fill the screen. She was wearing a strand of pearls.

“Is this the same necklace?”

He bent forward, quickly shaking his head. The image had been enlarged and was clear enough to make out the details.

“No. Pearls are like diamonds. They’re graded by size and type and quality. I’m not a professional jeweler, but I’m certain that the necklace that lady is wearing is one you could buy in any department store.” He returned his attention to the string of pearls spread over his palm. “This necklace came from a high-end store with a hefty price tag.”

“You’re absolutely certain it’s not a fake?”

Dom was confused. The answer was obviously important, but he had no idea why.

With a shrug, he held the necklace so it would reflect in the light. “There’s a luster to the pearls that’s unmistakable, as well as the fact they’re perfectly symmetrical.” He brushed his thumb over the clasp. “And look here. This is silver filagree studded with real emeralds.”

Bailey released a shaky breath. “Thank God.”

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