Mercedes Epstein, on the other hand, was in the hospital, the prognosis not good. But she had confessed to the murder of Tony Ciccone. And Frank Epstein, in trying to save his own neck, had given up everything he had on the dead Roman Markowitz. The 30-year-old cold case—Sara Duncan’s homicide—was thus finally solved.
Epstein had also offered up the names of two contract killers who’d handled several jobs for Markowitz—including the murder of Marion Robb, aka Lucky Lady.
Rita flipped off the kitchen light, her head beginning to hurt again. Dinner with her niece Marisa and her man Patrick Moore had been wonderful, and Rita was real happy for Marisa, but she was worn out and needed sleep.
But before going to bed, she unlocked her gun safe and removed a small box. She just needed to see the contents just one more time.
Pulse quickening, Rita opened the box…and an ice-cold nausea swept into her chest.
The diamond was gone!
Rita stared at the empty box, her heart jackhammering, sweat forming over her body. She should never have brought The Tears of the Quetzal home. She couldn’t even articulate why she’d done it, but she had.
She’d gone into that evidence room compelled by some strange force to take a look at the mysterious stone. And when she’d lifted the diamond out of the box and held it to the light, luminous shafts had darted out, picking up a rainbow of colors from green to gold to champagne. It had clean stolen her breath.
Along with her mind.
Overcome by a strangely powerful impulse, Rita had slipped The Tears of the Quetzal into her pocket, locked the door and gone home.
And now The Tears of the Quetzal was missing…
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3818-7
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