“Call security.”
Megan said it under her breath, but I heard her clearly.
The woman who had spent almost two hours at my counter was walking toward the elevator with a $42,000 diamond bracelet still on her left wrist.
“Don’t,” I said.
Megan stared at me. “Nora, she’s leaving.”
“I can see that.”
I stepped around the counter.
“Ma’am?”
The woman stopped and turned.
She was in her late fifties, maybe early sixties, dressed in black pants and a plain cashmere sweater. Nothing about her screamed money. No obvious designer bag. No stack of diamonds. Just an old jade bangle on one wrist and sensible flats.
Which was probably why Megan had decided she was wasting our time after the first twenty minutes.
I smiled.
“Before you go, would you check your left wrist for me?”
She looked down.
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