“This is a copy, Serena,” Arthur said, tilting the page toward the dull sunlight leaking through the window blinds.

“Where’s the original?”

“Locked in Patrick’s mahogany cabinet at the house,” I said, my thumb rubbing the little silver locket at my throat over and over.

“I took a picture with my cell phone Tuesday morning while he was in the shower and printed it at the public library.”

Arthur leaned back in his vinyl swivel chair, which let out a long metallic squeak beneath him.

“A black-and-white photo printed on cheap paper won’t stand up in Crestview Municipal Court.