Rory burst through the shop’s side door into the brownstone’s lobby, where a handful of people were smoking cigarettes and checking their mail. Ignoring them, he snatched up the party-line telephone and bit out the exchange and number for the operator.

The call was answered on the second ring. “This is Arthur Kenzie.”

Kenzie’s voice was deep and confident and he had a ritzy accent, like he hadn’t always lived in America. It was unquestionably sexy and that only pissed Rory off more. “You think `cause you got money you can stomp all over us?”

All heads in the lobby turned his way. In his ear, Kenzie sounded very unimpressed as he said, “I beg your pardon—”

“How dare you give Mrs. Brodigan that—that thing.”

There was a barely perceptible intake of breath. “Who is this?” Kenzie’s voice had gone sharp.

“We don’t appraise weapons!” Rory’s heated shout nearly sent his broken glasses tumbling off his face.

“Where’s Mrs. Brodigan?” Kenzie demanded. “Why do you know about the ring—”

“That’s no ring. Whatever that piece of hell is, you’re taking it back.”

“But—”

“Keep your job, keep your money, and keep the hell away from us. You’ll get your monster back tomorrow and I better never hear your fucking name again.”

Rory slammed the receiver back on the cradle. He stood for a moment of righteous anger—then slumped as all the fight left him in a rush.

That…might have been a bit harsh.

He hunched his shoulders, conscious of every pair of eyes in the lobby staring at him. He slouched as small as he could and slunk away from the phone—

When it suddenly rang.

Rory froze. His gaze landed on the phone. It rang again, the long-long-short ring that meant a call for the antiques shop. And no one else in the lobby was moving, all eyes staring at him, so finally he swallowed hard and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Don’t bother sending the ring back,” said Kenzie. “I’m coming to get it myself.”