“I’ll go back.”

The Brooch Beneath Her Hand

When I returned to the ballroom, Andrew came toward me at once.

“Evelyn, tell me what is happening.”

“Not yet.”

Margaret placed herself between us.

“Whatever this is, it should not interfere with Andrew’s ceremony. People are already whispering.”

I looked at her carefully.

“That seems to trouble you more than what might actually be wrong.”

Celeste approached with a bright, strained smile. Her fingers repeatedly touched the lighthouse brooch.

“Is everything all right?”

“Perfectly,” I said.

She studied my face, checked the time, and excused herself to call her driver.

Instead of heading toward the lobby, she entered a service corridor behind the ballroom. Admiral Keene gave me a nearly invisible nod, and I followed. Andrew came after me despite being told to remain behind.

We found Celeste near a loading entrance, speaking quietly into her phone.

“She’s here, and Keene knows her,” she whispered. “No, I don’t know how much they found.”

When she saw us, she lowered the phone.

“Andrew, thank goodness. Your wife has been following me.”

Andrew did not move toward her.

“Who were you calling?”

“My driver.”

“Then why were you talking about Evelyn?”

Celeste’s expression hardened.

“Because she has turned your promotion into some strange performance.”

My eyes settled on the gold brooch.

“Remove it and place it on the table.”

She covered it with one hand.

“You have no authority to order me around.”

Admiral Keene entered behind us with two security officers.

“She does tonight.”

Celeste looked at Andrew, and her carefully polished composure vanished.

“You told me she spent her days doing bookkeeping.”

Andrew’s face lost its color.

“I never told you to take anything from my office.”

“You gave me access and enjoyed being admired too much to ask questions.”

The truth of that sentence reached beyond Celeste’s actions. It reached Andrew, Margaret, and me.

Celeste unclasped the brooch and placed it in an evidence pouch. She was then escorted to a private office, where legal counsel would meet her.

Andrew watched the door close.

“Who are you?” he asked me.

His voice was not angry. It was wounded and bewildered.

“I am the same wife who sat beside you while your mother called me useless.”

“Why didn’t you trust me?”

“Because every time I tried to show you that something mattered, you chose whatever answer kept the room comfortable.”

He looked down.

“I should have defended you tonight.”

“You should have defended me long before tonight.”

He nodded slowly.

There was no dramatic excuse and no immediate request for forgiveness.

“You’re right.”

Those two words did not repair our marriage, but they opened the first honest door it had seen in years.

The Compass in the Cedar Chest

The officers’ club was secured while investigators searched for Gavin Cole. Inside the conference room, Director Bell examined the lighthouse brooch as Andrew provided a complete record of every access request Celeste had made.

Margaret appeared in the doorway, pale and unusually quiet. Her eyes went directly to the silver compass pin on my dress.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

I touched it instinctively.

“A colleague gave it to me after the Louisiana inquiry.”

Margaret stepped closer.

“My husband owned one exactly like it.”

Andrew’s father, Philip Hart, had passed away two years before our wedding. He had been a county building inspector after retiring from public service, and Margaret had always described him as a practical man who disliked unnecessary attention.

Director Bell searched the old case database.

What she found changed the entire meaning of the evening.