It was harder to believe, harder to accept, that she could jangle his nerves just by standing ten feet away.

With his eyes still on hers, he went back to his polishing. “Do you want something?”

She let out the breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. “I'm sorry to just drop in this way. I'm Suzanna Dumont. Suzanna Calhoun.”

“I know who you are.”

“Oh, well...” She cleared her throat. “I realize you're busy, but I'd like to talk with you for a few minutes. If this isn't a good time –”

“What about?”

Since he was being so gracious, she thought, annoyed, she'd get right to the point. “About your grandfather. He was Christian Bradford, wasn't he? The artist?”

“That's right. So?”

“It's kind of a long story. Can I sit down?”

When he only shrugged, she walked to the pier. It groaned and swayed under her feet, and she lowered herself carefully.

“Actually, it started back in 1912 or '13, with my great – grandmother, Bianca.”

“I've heard the fairy tale.” He could smell her now, flowers and sweat, and it made his stomach tighten. “She was an unhappy wife with a rich and difficult husband. She compensated by taking a lover. Somewhere along the line, she supposedly hid her emerald necklace. Insurance if she got up the guts to leave. Instead of taking off into the sunset with her lover, she jumped out of the tower window, and the emeralds were never found.”

“It wasn't precisely –”

“Now your family's decided to start a treasure hunt,” he went on as if she hadn't spoken. “Got a lot of press out of it, and more trouble than I imagine you bargained for. I heard you had some excitement a couple weeks ago.”