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him or apologize again. It was best to do neither. “Biff,” Pandora decided with relish. “This sort of low-minded trick would be just up his alley.”
    “I’d only vote for Biff if you find a few rocks missing.” Michael rocked back on his heels. “He’d never be able to resist picking up a few glitters that could be liquidated into nice clean cash.”
    “True enough.” Uncle Carlson—no, it seemed a bit crude for his style. Ginger would’ve been too fascinated with the sparklesto have done any more than fondle. Pulling a hand through her hair, she tried to picture one of her bland, civilized relations wielding a pair of nippers. “Well, I don’t suppose it matters a great deal which one of them did it. They’ve put me two weeks behind on my commission.” Again she picked up pieces of thin gold. “It’ll never be quite the same,” she murmured. “Nothing is when it’s done over.”
    “Sometimes it’s better.”
    With a shake of her head, she walked over to a heater. If he gave her any more sympathy now, she wouldn’t be able to trust herself. “One way or the other I’ve got to get started. Tell Sweeney I won’t make it in for lunch.”
    “I’ll help you clean this up.”
    “No.” She turned back when he started to frown. “No, really, Michael, I appreciate it. I need to be busy. And alone.”
    He didn’t like it, but understood. “All right. I’ll see you at dinner.”
    “Michael…” He paused at the doorway and looked back. Amid the confusion she looked strong and vivid. He nearly closed the door and went back to her. “Maybe Uncle Jolley was right.”
    “About what?”
    “You may have one or two redeeming qualities.”
    He smiled at her then, quick and dashing. “Uncle Jolley was always right, cousin. That’s why he’s still pulling the strings.”
    Pandora waited until the door shut again. Pulling the strings he was, she mused. “But you’re not playing matchmaker with my life,” she mumbled. “I’m staying free, single and unattached. Just get that through your head.”
    She wasn’t superstitious, but Pandora almost thought she heard her uncle’s high, cackling laugh. She rolled up her sleeves and got to work.

Chapter Four
    B ecause after a long, tedious inventory Pandora discovered nothing missing, she vetoed Michael’s notion of calling in the police. If something had been stolen, she’d have seen the call as a logical step. As it was, she decided the police would poke and prod around and lecture on the lack of locks. If the vandal had been one of the family—and she had to agree with Michael’s conclusion there—a noisy, official investigation would give the break-in too much importance and undoubtedly too much publicity.
    Yes, the press would have a field day. Pandora had already imagined the headlines. “Family vs. family in the battle of eccentric’s will.” There was, under her independent and straightforward nature, a prim part of her that felt family business was private business.
    If one or more of the members of the family were keeping an eye on Jolley’s Folley and the goings-on there, Pandora wanted them to think that she’d brushed off the vandalism as petty and foolish. As a matter of pride, she didn’t want anyoneto believe she’d been dealt a stunning blow. As a matter of practicality, she didn’t want anyone to know that she had her eyes open. She was determined to find out who had broken into her shop and how they’d managed to pick such a perfect time for it.
    Michael hadn’t insisted on calling the police because his thoughts had run along the same lines as Pandora’s. He’d managed, through a lot of maneuvering and silence, to keep his career totally separate from his family. In his business, he was known as Michael Donahue, award-winning writer, not Michael Donahue, relative of Jolley McVie, multimillionaire. He wanted to keep it that way.
    Stubbornly, each had refused to tell the other of their reasons or their plans for some