Thunderbolt over Texas by Barbara Dunlop Page B

hope in hell of getting the real one back.”
    Cole stared at her in silence. Was she serious? She looked serious.
    He opened his palm and inspected the brooch.
    â€œThink about it, Cole,” she stressed. “Run it through your suspicious, little mind. How could I possibly get away with it? How, in the world, could I think for one minute that I could get away pretending the Thunderbolt was a fake?”
    Cole closed his hand again, letting the points of the brooch dig into his palm.
    She was right. But who would fake it? Who could fake it? And who could do it so well that nobody had ever noticed?
    There were no pictures of it in circulation. It would have to be somebody who had access to it for more than—
    A light bulb exploded in his brain. He stomped his way to the office door, flinging it open.
    â€œJoseph!” he bellowed.
    The lawyer appeared almost immediately, bustling his way down the corridor. “Mr. Erickson?” His voice betrayed his obvious concern.
    Cole stepped back into the office and closed the door for privacy. “We need an appraiser. Now.”
    â€œA conservator,” said Sydney.
    Both men turned to look at her.
    â€œA museum conservator,” she repeated. “One who specializes in gems and jewelry.”
    â€œIs something wrong?” asked Joseph Neely.
    â€œThe brooch has been faked,” said Cole, watching the man closely. Somebody at the firm could easily be the culprit.
    Neely was silent for a long moment. He didn’t look guilty, but his lawyer brain was obviously clicking through the implications. When he finally spoke, his voice was a rasp. “I don’t see how it could have—”
    â€œWe need to find out when and how and why,” said Cole, accepting that Sydney was telling the truth.
    This was a catastrophe.
    His chest tightened at the thought of his grandmother’s distress. He had to help her. He had to protect her.
    No matter what happened, she could never find out.
    Â 
    In Neely’s office eight hours later, the words on the newly penned conservator’s report blurred in front of Cole’s tired eyes. Joseph had offered the use of the facilities as long as they needed them. It was probably half generosity, half concern for the firm’s liability. Cole didn’t particularly care which one. He just wanted some answers.
    After gauging the level of expertise at the local museum, he’d given in and flown Sydney’s colleague Gwen Parks down from New York. The two women had talked technical for a couple of hours, quickly losing Cole. But it didn’t matter. The only thing important to him was the final verdict.
    Gwen had just confirmed that the brooch was indeed a reproduction, and that it was made sometime between nineteen fifty and nineteen seventy-five. It didn’t tell them who, and it didn’t tell them why, but it did tell them that they had at least a small hope of finding the real one.
    â€œI can put out some feelers,” Gwen was saying to Sydney while Joseph put the brooch back in its box to be returned to the safe.
    Cole dimly wondered why he bothered. Sure the jewels themselves were valuable, but they were also replaceable. A fifty-year-old ruby, emerald and diamond reproduction was hardly something to lock up in titanium.
    He clenched his fist, crumpling it around the report.
    â€œIf anybody’s ever sold it, or offered it for sale…” Gwen continued, leaning against Joseph’s wide mahogany desk “…somebody out there will know something.”
    Gwen might be dressed in blue jeans and a Mets T-shirt, but the woman had convinced Cole she knew her stuff.
    â€œYou got a way into the black market?” asked Sydney.
    Gwen nodded her pixie blond head.
    Both women were silent for a moment. Sydney didn’t ask any questions, and Gwen didn’t offer an explanation.
    Sydney turned her attention to Cole. “I think we should go talk to Grandma