The Liar

She put her hands under the desk so he couldn’t see them shake. “That means it’s fake.”

“It simply means it was created in a lab. It’s a very nice example of a man-made diamond.”

Callie began to whine. Shelby heard the sound through the throbbing in her head, automatically dug in her bag, pulled out the toy phone. “You call Granny, baby, tell her what you’ve been up to. It means,” she continued, “this isn’t a D-grade diamond, and this ring isn’t worth what it says here on this paper? It isn’t worth a hundred and fifty-five thousand dollars?”

“No, my dear, it’s not.” His voice was as gentle as a pat, and made it worse. “I can give you the names of other appraisers, so you can ask for other opinions.”

“You’re not lying to me. I know you’re not lying to me.” But Richard had, over and over and over. She wouldn’t break down, she told herself. Not now, not here. “Would you look at the rest, Mr. Brown, tell me if they’re fake, too?”

“Of course.”

The diamond earrings were real, and that was all. She’d liked them because they were pretty, and they were simple. Just studs that didn’t make her feel awkward in the wearing.

But she’d prized the emerald pendant because he’d given it to her the day they brought Callie home from the hospital. And it was as false as he’d been.

“I can give you five thousand for the diamond studs, if you’d still like to sell them.”

“Yes, thank you. That’d be just fine. Can you tell me where I should take the rest? Is it best to go to a pawnshop? Do you know of a good one? I don’t want to take Callie into someplace that’s . . . you know what I mean. Sketchy. And maybe, if you don’t mind, you could give me an idea what it’s all really worth.”

He sat back, studied her. “The engagement ring is good work, and as I said, a good example of a lab diamond. I could give you eight hundred for it.”

Shelby studied him in turn as she pulled off the matching wedding ring. “How much for the set?”

She didn’t break down, and she walked out with $15,600—Richard’s cuff links weren’t fake, and had given her what she thought of as a bonus. Fifteen thousand six hundred was more than she’d had. Not enough to pay off debts, but more than she’d had.

And he’d given her the name of another shop that would look at Richard’s watches.

She stretched her luck with Callie, tried two more banks, then gave it up for another day.

Callie picked a My Little Pony DVD, and Shelby bought herself a laptop and a couple of flash drives. An investment, she justified. A tool she needed to keep everything straight.

Business, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t think of the fake jewelry as another betrayal, but as something that gave her some breathing room.

She spent naptime creating a spreadsheet, entered the jewelry, the payment for it. Canceled the insurance policy—and that would help her expenses.

The utilities on the big house, even with rooms closed off, were a killer, but the money from the jewelry would help there.

She remembered the wine cellar Richard had been so proud of, hauled the laptop down and began to catalog the bottles.

Somebody would buy them.

And what the hell, she’d splurge on a bottle for herself, have a glass with her dinner. She selected a bottle of pinot grigio—she’d learned a little about wines in the last four and a half years, and at least knew what she liked. She thought it would go just fine with chicken and dumplings—a Callie favorite.

By the time the day was done, she felt more in control. Especially when she found five thousand dollars tucked into one of the cashmere socks in Richard’s drawer.

Twenty thousand now in the fund for cleaning up the mess and starting over.

Lying in bed, she studied the key.

“Where do you fit, and what will I find? I’m not giving up.”

She could maybe hire a private detective. It would likely take a good chunk of that cleaning-up fund, but might be the sensible thing to do.

She’d give it a few more days, try some banks closer to the city. Maybe go into the city.

The next day she added thirty-five thousand on the sale of Richard’s collection of watches, and two thousand three hundred more for his golf clubs, skis and tennis racket. It so boosted her mood that she took Callie for pizza between banks.

Maybe she could afford that detective now—maybe that’s what she’d do. But she needed to buy a minivan, and her research told her that purchase would take a deep chunk of her fifty-eight thousand. Plus, it was only right she use some of that to bump up the payments on the credit cards.

She’d work on selling the wine, that’s what she’d do, and hire the detective that way. For now, she’d just check one more bank on the way home.

Rather than haul out the stroller, she propped Callie on her hip.

Callie got that look in her eye—half stubborn, half sulky. “Don’t want to, Mama.”

“Me either, but this is the last one. Then we’re going to go home and play dress-up tea party. You and me, baby.”

“I wanna be the princess.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

She carried her now giggling daughter into the bank.