“… So anyhow, this Texas soldier was just trying to save a wounded comrade, but it was just too late. Our Texas soldier had no idea the guy was carrying these three fancy jewels until he’s caring for the body, trying to bury him. Anyway, the old guy was gone, no identification on him, so he took the jewels back to Royal-”

“And this is a true story?” Klimt asked.

Justin yanked his gaze off the dance floor and looked at Klimt again. The man couldn’t be five foot five, but for a little guy, he sure had the puff of a banty rooster. Everything about him was starched-posture stiff as a ramrod, linen shirt perfectly creased, hair perfectly brushed, smile perfectly appropriate. Even his shoes shone like mirrors. Justin’s glance strayed to the smaller man’s left temple. There was a mole there, right by his eye. There were beauty marks, and then there were moles. This happened to be a plain old ugly mole-Justin immediately looked away; it was just second nature as a doc to notice a precancerous physical condition. And in this case, the minor flaw was particularly striking because everything about the guy was so spiffed-up-perfect in every other way.

Riley was laughing. “Aw, none of the story is true. Or maybe it is. The truth is that none of us seem to care. The town loves the legend, so we’ve been passing it on for years.”

“So tell me more about these jewels,” Klimt requested.

“Well, to start with, each of the jewels refers to the motto on the Texas Cattleman’s Club sign, see? Each of the gems is really unusual, partly because they’re so rare as to be priceless. You couldn’t buy one for love or money, not then and not now. Which made it all the more interesting and mysterious, why this Texas soldier was carrying them-but we’ll never know that answer. The point is that he had them. And one stone was a red diamond-”