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didn’t want to start all over again somewhere else.
    But if something didn’t change, that’s exactly what Farrell would be doing. She knew Range wanted her out.

Chapter 17
    Bunny’s back room was crowded at lunchtime, with students from Seton Hall and other village residents and shopkeepers. A short drive from campus on South Orange Avenue, the bar and restaurant was popular with anyone who wanted some good, cheesy, New Jersey pizza. Up front, men sipped midday beers at the old wooden bar, while college students hung out and chowed down at booths in the back.
    Peter and Professor Kavanagh sat in a booth in the corner.
    “I think you’ll have to tell your mother about this, Peter.”
    Peter helped himself to another pizza slice from the raised metal pie plate in the center of the table. Watching the young man shake red hot-pepper flakes and garlic powder over his pizza, the professor noticed that Peter’s worries weren’t affecting his appetite any.
    “My mother already has enough to worry about. Besides, I promised Olga I wouldn’t tell anyone about her egg.” Peter looked uncomfortable. “I’ve already broken my promise by telling you.”
    Professor Kavanagh considered Peter’s predicament as he sipped his cold Budweiser. Before it was over, many people were going to have to know Olga’s secret.
    “Peter, we’re talking about art fraud and millions of dollars here.”
    “I know. I know.” Peter closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the booth. He heard a loud conversation at the booth behind him, about the Seton Hall Pirates and their March Madness prospects. How he wished he could be concentrating on something as simple as basketball right now. But he knew the professor was right. He should tell his mother about all of this. Then she could decide what to do and how to tell Olga.
    Tim Kavanagh peeled several singles from his billfold and tucked them under the pizza stand for the waitress.
    “Look. If you want, I’ll come with you and we can both tell your mother. Would that make it easier?”
    Peter considered the professor’s offer. It would be good to have someone there to help figure things out, someone to lean on a little. That might be great for his mother . . . and for him.
    “If I decide to tell her, I’ll let you know.”

Chapter 18
    It had been a good day, but Pat was anxious to finish up and get over to the American Woman health club to work out. With Emily curled snuggling at her feet, Pat was entering the day’s receipts into the Consignment Depot sales ledger when she heard the creaking of the front door opening. She rose from her desk tucked at the rear of the shop and, seeing who it was, Pat smiled with pleasure.
    “Olga! I was hoping you’d make it in today.”
    The wizened old woman looked brittle and worn as she crept toward Pat, but when she smiled back, it was clear that she was pleased by Pat’s welcome.
    “Here, Olga. Come try out this big wing chair we just got in.”
    As Pat helped Olga into the upholstered seat, she noted that the aged lady looked thinner and smaller than when she’d seen her just a few weeks ago, when she’d picked up the old woman’s brooch to take it to Churchill’s.
    Churchill’s reputation as a first-class auction house was well deserved. Over the last few years, as she had handled the arrangements for Olga to sell her pieces of Fabergé, Pat had been impressed with Churchill’s staff and their attention to detail. Each object to be auctioned was inspected, studied, and authenticated by Churchill’s experts. The auction house staked itsconsiderable reputation on the fact that Churchill’s could be trusted to reveal everything known about works of art, furniture, and decorative objects on the auction block.
    That’s why Pat had taken the pin into Churchill’s weeks ago. Clifford Montgomery insisted on inspecting all Fabergé items himself before they could be listed in the Churchill’s auction catalogue.
    “Why don’t I