“Looking for the filigree brooch?” he asked, his tone casual as he fiddled with his silver cuff links.

“I was,” I said.

“Someone moved the blue velvet box.”

“I took it this morning,” Spencer said, hanging his tie on the brass valet stand.

“The clasp was slipping last week.

I sent it out for a routine appraisal and repair in Midtown before the autumn gala.”

“You didn’t mention that you’d taken it,” I said.

“It was a minor repair, Vivian,” he said.