Diamond Fire (Hidden Legacy, #3.5)(8)

It should’ve clashed, but instead it all melded into a perfect blend of Texas, Spain, and Morocco. There was something magical about it. Like opening a book of fairy tales and stepping through the pages into some fantasy castle. And Mrs. Rogan glided through it all with effortless elegance, a graceful queen of the palace. Even her wheelchair somehow fit.

I looked down on the floor. Of course, she fit here. She belonged here. It was her house. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that this house made me feel weird. Being here was like walking through an expensive furniture store or a museum filled with priceless antiques and being afraid to touch anything. It was someone else’s space and I just wanted to get out of it and go back to the familiar space of our warehouse.

“I would like to show you something.” A heavy leather-bound volume slid from the top shelf and floated to Mrs. Rogan’s hand. She opened it.

I came closer and stood on her left. On a thick page an old, yellowed photograph showed a man in a dark uniform and a beautiful woman in a black dress with a black veil, holding a bouquet of white flowers in her hand. A beautiful tiara secured the veil. In its center, under the highest peak, sat a stunning jewel shaped like a heart. It had to be the size of a walnut and it glittered even through the old worn paper.

“My great-grandmother at her wedding,” Mrs. Rogan said.

“Oh wow. But the dress is black.”

“Traditional Spanish wedding dresses are black.” Mrs. Rogan smiled. “Catholicism has this slightly morbid part to it. By wearing a black dress, Catholic women promise to love their husband until death.”

That was a little morbid. Who wants to think about death during a wedding?

“Black dresses for devotion and orange blossoms for fertility and happiness. The white wedding dresses didn’t come into fashion until British royals adopted it in the 19th century. Elite European families followed suit, but my great-grandmother was a holdout.”

Mrs. Rogan turned the page. Another beautiful bride, in a white dress this time, next to a groom in a black suit. The gown’s silk train was fanned out in front of them across the floor. The same tiara secured a beautiful veil.

“My grandmother.”

“She is very beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Another turn of the page. A third bride in a white dress cinching her waist next to a man in a tuxedo, with a 1960’s hairstyle. The same crown holding back a veil that blew in the wind, but this time the photograph was in color and the blue green of the jewel took my breath away.

“My mother,” Mrs. Rogan said.

“She is also very beautiful.”

Why don’t we have this? As soon as I got home, I would buy a photo album online and get Grandma Frida and Mom to cough up their wedding pictures.

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Rogan turned the page and I saw her, young and radiant, next to a man who looked like Mad Rogan. She was glowing. Her gown was delicate like spiderwebs. The tiara perched on her dark hair as if it always belonged there.

“Wow.”

Mrs. Rogan laughed. “Thank you so much for cheering me up. I’m going to add Nevada’s picture to this album. Rogan is my only child, but I will be gaining a daughter and her picture will belong in this album.”

“She will be very honored,” I told her.

“Did you notice the tiara?” she asked.

“Yes. It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s called the Sealight Crown. Technically it’s a kokoshnik, not a crown, but crown sounds more impressive. The jewel is an aquamarine. Most people don’t know this, but natural aquamarine is often found in sea foam color. They heat it to achieve the light blue. But this stone hasn’t been altered in any way. This particular shade of blue green is important to our family.”

Rogan had given Nevada a beautiful necklace with a pendant. She thought it was an emerald at the time, but it turned out to be Tear of the Aegean, a one-of-a-kind blue-green diamond. Now it totally made sense.

“Will you let Nevada wear the tiara?” I probably shouldn’t have asked that. It was rude.

“I was counting on it. After the wedding, the Sealight will belong to her and she can pass it on to her and Connor’s children.” Mrs. Rogan sighed. “One small problem.”

“Yes?”

“The crown is missing.”



“What do you mean it’s missing?”

Concern flickered over Mrs. Rogan’s features. “It was in its usual place two days ago and it’s not there today. Unfortunately, we have to conclude that it was stolen.”

Considering how many people had been in and out of the house, it wasn’t shocking. We vetted everyone, but background checks never told you the whole picture. A landscaping crew prepared the grounds for the wedding, carpenters were building the custom arbor, another crew was raising an enormous clear tent, at least eight people were hanging lights on the trees, the interior designer and her people, the furniture delivery people . . . That would be a lot of people to interview. It would take Nevada at least two hours. Getting her to sit still for that long would be a challenge.

“The Sealight is tagged with a sensor,” Mrs. Rogan said. “It’s embedded into the crown and cannot be removed without destroying the tiara. The system can track it through a satellite with the accuracy of up to one mile. Right now, it’s telling me that the tiara is still on the premises. I would like you to find it.”