The Address(80)

Melinda put her finger down her throat and pretended to gag. “Gross.”

Tony blinked. “What’s the deal with the sheath?”

“They had a photo of the knife in the paper, and we’re certain we have the sheath part of it.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” asked Melinda, suspicious.

“Renzo Duffy.”

“The super? Jesus Christ, Bailey. I told you to avoid him.”

“How can I avoid him? I’m supervising construction in his building.”

“It’s not his building. The tenants, meaning me, own the building. The super is my employee.”

“As a matter of fact, the tenants of a co-op own shares in a building, not the actual building,” said Tony, always the expert.

Bailey held her impatience at bay. “Renzo was there when I opened the trunk and he’s been very helpful.”

“I don’t want him in my business, Bailey. I told you that.”

Tony interrupted again, thankfully. “Enough about the super. That knife is really valuable. Which means the sheath is really valuable.”

Melinda leaned forward. “How valuable?”

Bailey spoke up, relieved that Melinda had been redirected from Renzo. “The paper says the knife is worth half a million dollars. Right now it’s at the Met, being studied and cleaned.”

“They’ll want the sheath, right, to go with it?” Melinda’s voice went up in pitch. “If it was found in my stuff, then it’s mine, right?”

She should have known this was the road the conversation would take. Melinda wanted nothing to do with their possible blood bond. “I thought you’d be interested in the idea that we might be truly related. Don’t you think that’s amazing? That maybe we’re second cousins or something like that.”

Melinda put her hand on Bailey’s. “Your mother desperately wanted you to be part of the Camden family, and after she died, I get why you feel compelled to carry on her wishes. We don’t know if we’re really cousins, and we may never know. But I will always think of you as my sister, no matter what.”

Talk about a brush-off.

“Where’s the sheath now?” Tony finished his drink in one gulp.

“At the Dakota, with Renzo.”

“What? You left it with the super?” Melinda dug her nails into Bailey’s hand.

“Ouch. Yes, it’s fine. He’s trustworthy. He has a safe in his office. That’s where it is.”

Tony tossed his napkin on the table. “Let’s go check it out before he sells it on the underground market.”



Renzo gave Bailey a huge smile when she walked into his office, but it faded fast when he spotted Melinda and Tony behind her.

“Where’s the knife sheath thing?” Melinda spoke to him like he was a servant and she the lady of the manor.

Bailey offered Renzo a halfhearted smile of apology. “I told them about the knife and they’d like to see what we found.”

“Okay.” He blocked the safe from their view as he fiddled with the combination. After he yanked it open, Tony crowded forward, eager.

They were like vultures, he and Melinda. Tony practically licked his lips as Renzo placed the two tissue-wrapped packages on the desk. He unfolded the larger one.

The sheath, a battered remnant of a long-ago era, gleamed in the light.

“It doesn’t look that great,” said Melinda. She pointed to it. “What’s that? Mud?”

Bailey shook her head. “I think it might be blood. Theodore Camden’s blood. There’s a set of plans in the same trunk, covered with splotches that look like blood.”

Melinda pulled back her hand, as if the stain might leap out at her. “Ick.”

Renzo picked up the newspaper on his desk, the same one he’d shown Bailey, and pointed to the photo. “It’s a perfect match.”

“Totally.” Melinda put her hands on her hips. “What do we do now?”

Tony wrapped one arm around Melinda’s shoulders. “Anything you want to do; it’s yours. Finders keepers, right?”

She grinned up at him. “If it was in my storage unit, it belongs to me.”

“Don’t you think it should end up with the knife, at the Met?” Bailey looked over at Renzo for backup, but he stayed silent. “Ultimately, I mean?”

“If they want it, they should pay for it,” answered Tony.

No question that Bailey had seen dollar signs when she’d first realized how much the thing was worth, but Tony and Melinda’s crassness made her think twice. Someone made the weapon with their own hands, before it traveled around the world and ended up in New York City. “Think of the history of this piece of metal. Imagine where it’s been and who’s owned it.”

“Who cares?” Melinda lifted it up with her finger and thumb, avoiding the cracked blood on it. “It’s all rusty and dented and filthy.”

Bailey cringed at her carelessness, holding her breath until Melinda returned it to the tissue. Of course the sheath would be what interested Tony and Melinda, not that Bailey might be a relation.

“There’s a problem, though.” Renzo finally spoke, his voice quiet and deep. “With the sheath.”

“Oh yes, what’s that?” Tony looked bemused, as if Renzo was a stammering idiot.