FORTY

ALL hospitals feel the same. This building was a different facility, in a different part of town, and it was Gus, not Sully, wrestling with the Grim Reaper. But the anxiety was the same, along with the tears, the waiting, the dreading of the doctor’s prognosis. Even the Spartan snack room was painfully familiar with its single-serve coffee machines that allegedly brewed “the perfect cup every time.”

FYI: They don’t—the preground beans are old by the time the hot water hits them, their complexity and vibrancy long gone. But, this coffeehouse manager and master roaster hadn’t had caffeine in six grueling hours.

Time to compromise.

My taste buds were still protesting that first dead stale sip when Sophia appeared with Matt by her side.

“Dad’s stabilized, but he’s not out of danger,” she announced.

“What happened?”

“The doctors aren’t sure. They found no signs of injury. He didn’t have a heart attack, and there’s no indication of a stroke, thank God. They hope to know more when the test results are in.”

Tears welled up in Sophia’s big, amber-brown eyes. Matt hugged her, and spoke into her ear. “Remember, Gus survived the Andrea Doria. He’ll survive this.”

“Why was Gus alone?” I asked. “You mentioned a girl when we tried to get into the shop—”

“Monica?” Sophia shook her head. “I don’t know why Dad puts up with that stupid girl. Yes, Monica was supposed to be on duty, but she wasn’t. And I haven’t been able to reach her for an explanation.”

“Have you told your husband?”

“Hunter texted me that he’ll come soon. He’s tied up with some important client meeting at the 21 Club, and can’t possibly break off the engagement.” Anger clouded Sophia’s pretty face. “It’s probably a woman . . .”

“I’m sorry—”

“It doesn’t matter, Clare. I need your help with something else. You told the police you saw someone fleeing my father’s property. Do you think you could identify that person?”

“Only by the clothing. I never saw a face. And I only got a glimpse of the figure before it disappeared into the shadows. But I did see the person was wearing a long black coat, or raincoat, hood up.”

“That’s good enough.”

Sophia used her smartphone and the waiting room’s Wi-Fi to link to the jewelry shop’s closed-circuit television cameras. We three sat around a table to review the surveillance video on the tiny screen.

“We’ll watch the in-store video first to see if anyone broke in.”

The fast-motion, herky-jerky recording began with Sophia kissing her father good-bye earlier in the afternoon. Matt and I recognized Monica, the nervous blonde we met on our last visit—the one in the minidress and high-heeled Louboutins with platforms so big they looked like her mother’s shoes.

“What’s this?” Sophia cried. “Dad’s sending Monica and our armed guard home and closing the store. But the camera clock says it’s only three thirty? This makes no sense.”

“Maybe Gus planned to join you at the World Diamond Tower appointment,” I offered.

“Dad would have left Monica in charge, the guard on duty, and his workshop staff busy upstairs. There was no reason to close altogether.” Sophia bit her lip in thought. “Maybe he was preparing a private viewing for a VIP.”

But after Sophia sped through a group exodus of the Campana staff via the front door, and the armed guard carefully locking up after them, there was no arrival of a Very Important client. We saw no figure in a black hooded coat arriving, either, or anyone else on the rest of the camera’s recording—not until Matt and Sophia pushed through the front door hours later.

“Thank God no one got into the store,” Sophia said, relieved.

“But who changed the security code, and why?”

Sophia shook her head.

“Okay. What about the other camera?” I asked. “The one I saw positioned over the arch at the entrance to your courtyard.”

Sophia hacked into the second CCTV view. This time it took only a moment for the Phantom to make an appearance. Fortunately, our collision and my embarrassing pratfall happened off camera.

“I don’t understand how this person got in! Only Dad, me, and my older sister, Perla, have keys. Not even Monica has one.”

“Go back to noon,” I suggested, “and see who came through the archway’s gate in the hours before the Phantom ran out.”

Sophia nodded and ran the recording. The only person we saw was Gus, who left around one PM and came back at two. There was nothing after that, not until—

“What?!” Sophia cried, her manicured fingers tightening on the smartphone. “I don’t believe this . . .”

“What is it?” Matt asked.

“Dad buzzed in a visitor at four twenty.”

She displayed the phone. On screen, Matt and I saw a tall, broad-shouldered figure with an angular face and light blond hair.

“Who is that man?” I asked.

“It’s my husband, Hunter Rolf.”