PART TWO 1 page

H ere he was at the Bay Street Theatre, just across from the bay in Sag Harbor, Andy Pavano and Vince’s cousin Cora, in town from Bath, a little town in Maine, where she waitressed at a barbecue restaurant and took classes at Bowdoin, studying for a degree in social work.

Andy got all that info in the first five minutes when he picked her up at Vince’s house and drove into town on a foggy, drizzly Saturday night. She talked quickly, with a slight Maine accent he hadn’t heard much before, and kept tapping his shoulder as she talked, as if trying to keep his attention.

Cora wasn’t bad‑looking. She had sort of a bird‑beak nose, but her eyes were round and pretty. She had the kind of smile that showed her gums, a toothy smile Andy liked. She was small and girlish‑ except for her truck‑driver laugh, he thought. But maybe she just laughed like that because she was nervous. She said she’d never been out with a cop before.

“It’s not really a date,” he said. “Vince just thought we’d have fun together.” Then he felt like a total dork for saying that. He could feel his face grow hot, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She had to be five or ten years younger than him. Thirty maybe. She dressed young, like a college girl, in black tights and a purple square‑necked top that gathered at her waist and came down low like a skirt. She didn’t have much on top, he noticed. Her dark hair was short and layered.

Andy parked on the pier and they walked past a little lobster shack, closed for the night, and B. Smith’s, a large, bustling restaurant overlooking the bay. A crowd stood at the entrance, waiting for the outdoor tables. Enormous white yachts lined the pier along the side of the restaurant.

The aroma of barbecued chicken floated out from B. Smith’s kitchen, and Cora made a face. “Don’t take me near a barbecue place. Sometimes after I’ve been at work in the restaurant, I have to shampoo three times to get the smoke out of my hair. Dogs follow me home because I smell like pulled pork.”

Andy laughed. She had a good sense of humor about herself.

“You and Cora should hit it off,” Vince had said the night before. “You’re both in‑tell‑ect‑u‑als.” That’s how he said it, pronouncing every syllable. Was he being sarcastic? Probably.

Andy had told him he liked to read mystery novels and police procedurals, and Vince had teased him ever since, calling him Sherlock and telling him he should smoke a pipe.

Vince wasn’t a Neanderthal, but he pretended to be. He thought it was part of his role as a small‑town desk cop.

Cora seemed to think she had to tell everything there was to know about her before they got to the theater. Maybe she just had a thing about silences. Andy knew he wasn’t keeping up his end, but it was hard to get a word in, and he was getting to like her soft schoolgirl voice.

She’d had a long affair with a guy in Bath she met at the barbecue restaurant. He said he was in the music business and seemed to know a lot about music clubs and new acts. But it turned out he sold jukeboxes and pinball machines, and he was married.

After she broke it off with him, he stalked her for a while, sitting outside the restaurant in his car and phoning her again and again, leaving threatening messages and muttering obscenities. When she changed her phone number, he finally went away.

“Did you call the police on him?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t think they’d do anything. Usually, the police don’t do anything in stalker cases till the woman is raped or stabbed in the chest.”

“Usually,” Andy agreed. “But sometimes a couple of cops can go to the guy’s house and‑you know‑reason with him a little.” Andy waved a fist.

Cora stopped outside the theater. “Have you ever done that?”

Andy stared at her. “Well, no. But I saw it on Law amp; Order. ”

They both laughed.

The play was called Whodunnit? Cora accused him of only having one interest in life. “Do you only go to plays about cops and crime?”

“I don’t go to many plays.”

The play wasn’t great. It was supposed to be a comedy, but people weren’t laughing. The mystery was impossible to solve. The murderer could have been any one of the six people onstage.

Andy hated stories like that where you didn’t stand a chance of figuring it out. The culprit could even be the nearsighted police inspector hamming it up on the old‑fashioned living room set.

Cora seemed to be enjoying it more than he was. She kept squeezing his arm every time something surprising took place. She laughed when the police inspector stepped on his eyeglasses and stumbled blindly over the tea cozy.

At intermission, Andy led Cora through the chattering crowd, out the doors to the walled terrace in front of the theater. Horns honked as traffic rolled by. The air smelled tangy, salty as the sea. He was about to ask if she wanted to skip the second act and go get a bite to eat when he saw Sari walk out of the theater.

Something pinged in his chest. A real physical feeling. Like a hard heart thump. Or an alarm going off.

Cora was saying something, tapping his shoulder, but he didn’t hear her. He heard a rushing sound in his ears like water washing over a steep waterfall. How could Sari still have this effect on him?

She wore a short, white tank dress that clung to her body, showing off her long legs and her trim waist. Her black hair fell loosely behind her shoulders.

And who was the guy she was arm‑in‑arm with? Was he the guy?

That shrimp. He was at least a head shorter than Sari. Wearing a geeky black‑and‑white wide‑striped shirt like a referee wears and white chinos torn at one knee, and a rope belt. Some kind of gold necklace hanging in front of his chest. And a tennis hat. The fucking guy wore a tennis hat with the name of his store on the front to the theater!

Andy lurched toward them. He saw Cora reach for him with both hands, startled by his sudden escape. But he wasn’t moving on brainpower. This was some kind of weird primitive force propelling him, the rushing waterfall in his ears sweeping him away.

“Andy?” Sari let go of the shrimpy guy, her dark eyes flashing surprise.

Andy nearly knocked over the tall sign announcing Whodunnit? with photos of the cast. He caught his balance and took her by the elbow.

The shrimp peered out from under his tennis cap, eyes wide with surprise. He had freckles and a wide, innocent face. Reminded Andy of someone from an Archie comic book.

“I need to speak to Sari,” Andy explained to him.

He expected more of a reaction. But the guy just shrugged and flicked his eyes toward Sari.

She didn’t resist as Andy pulled her away, to the side of the theater. A few people turned to watch. He glimpsed Cora behind him, arms crossed now, following him with her eyes till he disappeared around the corner.

Sari giggled. “Are you crazy? We have to go back.”

He backed her against the wall. Her skin felt soft and warm. Her eyes glowed even in the darkness here. He felt a rush of feeling, so powerful he had to take a deep breath.

She had hurt him so much the first time. Caused him so many feelings he didn’t know he had.

And now here they were again. Here he was, feeling this insane rush of emotion, leading him.. where?

“Andy, you look funny. What is your problem? You don’t have anything to say to me‑do you? We have to‑”

“I’m back,” he said.

And then he was kissing her. Kissing her. And she was kissing him back. And he felt the electric tingle of her fingers on the back of his neck. Just that light touch could make his head explode, he realized.

He kissed her harder. She wasn’t resisting.

When the kiss ended, they stared dumbly at each other. Her hands slid off his neck. With a shiver of her shoulders, she slithered out from between him and the wall.

A long silence. Yes, his heart was pounding, and yes, the blood was throbbing, pulsing in his temples. But he didn’t hear it now.

Silence. Silence.

And then she shook her head, sending her hair flying loose. She slowly rubbed a finger over her lips, as if wiping off the kiss. “That didn’t mean anything,” she murmured. “Hear me?”

Then she grabbed his head, pulled his face close, and kissed him again.

A ndy didn’t hear much of the second act. He was aware of Cora squeezing his arm a few times. Was she trying to snap him back to reality? He didn’t want to go back. He could still smell Sari’s perfume, like oranges, sweet oranges. He could still feel the silvery touch of her fingers on the back of his neck. The whisper of her hair falling over his cheeks.

Cora turned slightly away from him, eyes straight ahead, her lips pursed. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She was giving up. The characters moved across the stage, making broad hand gestures, shouting accusations at each other.

After the second kiss, Sari had repeated her warning. “That didn’t mean anything, Andy. Please believe me.” Then she turned away with a funny, short sigh and went running back to the shrimp.

When he saw her grab the guy’s hands and lean down to kiss him on the cheek, Andy had some evil thoughts. Maybe arrest him for being unsightly. Then beat the guy to death with one of those new titanium tennis rackets.

It wasn’t the first time he had thought of using his profession to settle a score or right a personal wrong. But of course he had never done anything like that. He was a good person and a good cop. A few free counter lunches were the only perks he had ever allowed himself.

He couldn’t help it if his brain got overheated every once in a while. You can control your actions but not your thoughts. And yes, he had violent thoughts.

But the most violent moment of his life? It was back in the living room of the little two‑family house in Forest Hills when his father, after too many Budweisers (for a change), settled an argument by punching his mother in the jaw. And Andy, maybe seventeen at the time, had grabbed the old man by the shoulders and shoved him hard, sent him staggering headfirst into the stone mantel. He could still hear the smack of his dad’s bald head, the gasp of surprise, see the darkening line of blood on his forehead.

He’d expected the old man to spin around and come snarling back at him. But instead, he coiled his body, curled into a cowering position against the flowered wallpaper. To his shock, Andy realized his father was afraid of him.

It should have changed everything. But it didn’t. Anthony Pavano was a bully. His son Andy wasn’t.

Then Andy did twelve years as a New York City cop. Nothing as violent as that impulsive moment.

And why was he thinking of it now in this theater with people laughing all around him? Onstage, the nearsighted inspector was interviewing a coatrack. Andy glanced around, searching for Sari. But he couldn’t locate her in the dark.

He really needed a smoke. He could feel the pack of Camels in his jacket pocket. Cora probably wouldn’t approve. Who was Cora? He had to remind himself.

The play ended finally. Yes, the nearsighted inspector had committed the murder. But he was too nearsighted to realize it. At the end, he arrested himself.

Andy climbed to his feet and started to follow Cora across the aisle toward the exit.

“Very clever,” a woman said behind him.

“Too clever,” the man with her said.

“Did you guess the ending?”

“Yes. About an hour ago. But I still enjoyed it.”

“It’s one of his lesser works.”

“All of his plays are lesser works.”

Into the cool night air. A chatter of voices as people hurried to their cars. Cora walked along the sidewalk toward the pier till they were away from the crowd, then turned back to him. “It wasn’t very good, was it.” Said with a shrug and a sad smile.

“I don’t think I laughed,” he said. His eyes were over her shoulder, searching for Sari. How had she disappeared? He just wanted a glimpse of her.

“It was supposed to be sophisticated,” she said. “But the actors camped it up too much, don’t you think? If they’d played it sincere..”

He didn’t want to discuss the play. He wanted to catch one more look at Sari and have a slow, soothing smoke. He wanted to burn his throat and let the smoke make his eyes water.

No. He didn’t know what he wanted.

But when he heard the shrill shouts, he suddenly snapped alert. He turned toward the cries. From the pier? He spun away from Cora and took off running.

H e heard shouts for help. Shrill cries. And, in the circle of light from a tall streetlamp, saw a small group of people wrestling against the side of the darkened lobster shack. He didn’t realize they were children until he was a few feet from them.

“Stop! Police!” he boomed.

He stepped in something soft. Glancing down, he saw a smashed ice cream cone on the pavement beneath his shoe. Another cone lay near it, ice cream still round at the top.

“You dumb shit! You dumb shit! You pay me back!” a blond‑haired boy in a blue Southampton sweatshirt was screeching.

A big dark‑haired kid, nearly twice his size, had him by the front of the sweatshirt and swung a meaty fist above the boy’s face. “Shut up! Shut the fuck up, liar!”

Two or three other kids stood back a few feet and watched. They were all shouting angrily at the big guy.

Not even teenagers, Andy realized. Their voices hadn’t changed.

“You fuck! You pay me for that cone!”

“You want a cone? I’ll shove it up your ass! You think I can’t? You want to dare me?”

Kids!

The big kid started to lower his fist to the smaller boy’s midsection. Andy stepped between them and absorbed most of the blow on his side. The kid had a pretty good punch.

“Break it up. Police.”

He grabbed the big kid by the shoulders of his gray hoodie and pushed him backward.

“Get off me, asshole. You don’t look like no police.”

“Sag Harbor Police,” Andy said, as if that would convince the kid. “What’s the fight about?”

The blond‑haired boy pointed to the asphalt. “My ice cream cone. He tried to take it.”

“Liar!” the big kid screamed. He lunged at the smaller guy again. Andy caught him and stood him up.

“Ethan is telling the truth!” a girl cried. The others joined in agreement.

“You’re Ethan?” Andy asked.

The blond kid nodded. He had tears in his eyes. He brushed back his straight blond hair with one hand. His whole body was trembling. Andy saw he was struggling with all his might not to burst out sobbing.

“And what’s your name?” Andy asked the other kid.

No reply. Instead, a sullen stare.

“Derek Saltzman,” the girl said. “He knocked down my cone, too.”

“I’ll knock you down, too,” Derek told her.

“You’re not going to knock anyone down,” Andy growled. “What’s your problem?”

“Derek is mean,” the girl said. “He’s always picking fights.”

“He’s always stealing our stuff,” Ethan said in a trembling voice.

“Fucking liars,” Derek muttered.

“Nice language,” Andy said. “How old are you?”

“Old enough,” the kid muttered, still offering up the surly glare.

He has a face like a bulldog, Andy thought. And a personality to match.

“He’s twelve,” the girl offered.

“And how old are you?” Andy asked Ethan.

Ethan took a step back. He didn’t take his eyes off Derek. “I’m twelve, too.”

Cora stepped up beside Andy. “What’s going on?”

“Kids fighting,” he told her. “Over ice cream.”

“I didn’t take their ice cream,” Derek snarled. His fat cheeks puffed in and out like a blowfish. “They’re total liars.”

Andy noticed he cleaned up his language with a woman present.

“Then how did the cones end up on the pavement?” Andy asked.

Derek shrugged. “They dropped them.”

“Liar!”

Cora squinted at them. “Why are you kids all alone out here? It’s ten o’clock at night.”

Before anyone could answer, hurried footsteps clicked over the asphalt. Andy turned to see a red‑haired woman running awkwardly toward them on high, spiked heels. She was tall and lean and had a white jacket tied around her shoulders, which flared behind her like a cape as she ran. Gold bracelets jangled up and down one arm.

“Derek?” she called breathlessly. “What’s going on?”

She stopped a few feet from Andy and Cora and eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you? Is there a problem?”

“I’m a police officer,” Andy started. “I‑”

“Police? What did he do? Who are these kids?” Her voice was throaty, hoarse, a smoker’s voice. It rose with each question. Her chest heaved up and down beneath her violet sweater. The bracelets matched a gold chain with a jeweled heart that hung from her neck.

“I didn’t do anything,” Derek said, jutting his fleshy jaw out defiantly.

“Is he your son?” Andy asked.

She nodded. Then she brushed a strand of coppery hair off her forehead. “Yes. Derek Saltzman. He’s my son. I’m Elaine Saltzman. I left him for ten minutes by the ice cream store.” She pointed toward the end of the pier.

“These kids say your son tried to take away their ice cream. I think there was some kind of scuffle.”

“Liars!” Derek shouted.

“We’re not lying!”

Mrs. Saltzman squinted at Ethan, seeing him for the first time. “I know you. You’re Ethan, right?” She turned back to Andy. “He’s in my son’s class. What happened, Ethan?”

Derek lurched forward. He raised both hands as if to give his mother a shove. “Why do you ask him? Why don’t you ask me?” In a whining voice that made Andy want to cover his ears.

He glanced at Cora. Her eyes were on one of the tall, white yachts at pierside. Three people had come onto the deck to watch the confrontation.

Bet Cora is impressed seeing a cop in action, Andy thought wryly. Spilled ice cream is a felony in this town. Ha. Wait till I slip the cuffs on the kid. She’ll be all over me.

“Derek tried to take our cones,” Ethan reported. “When we said no, he knocked them to the ground.”

“Stupid liar! They knocked my ice cream to the ground!”

Mrs. Saltzman stared down at her red‑faced son. “Are you telling the truth?”

She didn’t wait for him to answer. She wrapped her hand around Andy’s arm and led him across the pier. She waited for an SUV to pass, then pulled him to the side of a parked car, out of her son’s hearing.

“Derek has problems,” she murmured, fingers still tight around Andy’s sleeve. She leaned against him and brought her face close to his. He could smell her flowery perfume and a whiff of alcohol on her breath. “Ever since his father left, he’s been angry, very troubled.”

This was definitely more than Andy wanted to hear.

“Mrs. Saltzman, I really have to be going. Why don’t you just solve this thing by buying cones for all three kids?”

She blinked. Did she expect him to get tough or something? She was still holding onto him. A strong breeze off the bay fluttered her hair.

“Good. Okay,” she said. “I just wanted to explain. I mean, these days sometimes Derek acts out. But he’s basically a good boy. He has a good head on his shoulders. A good head. Really.”

Of course, neither Andy nor Elaine Saltzman, nor anyone on the pier that night, had any idea of what would happen to Derek’s head a few weeks later.

“M y parents say we’ll have a house in Malibu. That’s where they are right now. In L.A., buying it. It’s right on the ocean. See, you go out the back door and you’re on the beach.”

“That’s awesome, Ruth‑Ann. Can I come live with you? I mean really.”

“It’s like being on vacation all the time. Only you live there. And there are celebrities all over the beach. You know. Movie stars. And TV. And you just hang out with them.”

“You think Johnny Depp could be your neighbor?”

“No way. He’s too old. They don’t let old people in Malibu.”

The girls both laughed. They sat almost side by side on Ruth‑Ann’s bed, talking and texting each other at the same time.

“Dylan Sprouse?”

“You like him? I like the other one.”

“They could be your neighbors. You could hang with them and they’d ask you to be on TV. And you’d be a star.”

“No way, Elena. I’m only fourteen. I don’t want to be a star till I’m sixteen.”

That made them both laugh again.

Elena Sutter and Ruth‑Ann Glazer had been friends since third grade, and best‑best friends for two years since sixth grade, mainly since they shared the same sense of humor, although Ruth‑Ann was the real wit, sharp and sarcastic. And because they lived two houses down from each other and were in the same eighth‑grade class at Sag Harbor Middle School, and because they looked so much alike, they could be sisters.

They agreed that Ruth‑Ann looked like the older sister, because she was at least four inches taller than Elena, and already had the beginnings of a woman’s body, meaning she had breasts, and wore her hair in a more sophisticated, layered look, which she acquired during one of her many trips with her parents to L.A.

They were both pretty and smart and popular. They both had an easy way of getting along with other kids, and of not getting in their own way when it came to success at school. They were both spoiled but not in an obnoxious way. They knew how to get whatever they wanted from their parents and still allow their parents to think they were the ones in charge.

Elena was a miniature fourteen‑year‑old version of Lea, her mother. Creamy‑white skin framed by straight, black hair, serious dark eyes, a delicate face and a wiry body, perfect for the gymnastics classes that she was becoming more serious about.

They tapped on their phones for a few minutes without speaking. Elena’s phone bleeped. She squinted at the screen. “Ethan.”

Ruth‑Ann lowered her phone. “Ira’s friend Ethan? What’s he want?”

Elena shrugged. “Nothing. Just said ’sup.” She thumbed the keys rapidly.

Another bleep. “He wants to come over. His PlayStation broke.”

“Tell him no way. Tell him your brother Ira isn’t here. He’s at your house. Ethan pretends he wants to hang with Ira. Then he just stares at you. Like a sad puppy dog.”

Elena laughed. “He does look like a puppy dog.” The light from her phone gave her face a pale tint. “Hey, I’m not kidding about Malibu. Your parents would let me come with you, right? Just for the summer, I mean.”

Ruth‑Ann studied her friend. “You’re joking. You’re getting two new brothers, and you want to come live with me?”

Elena scrunched up her face. “Why do I want two new brothers?”

“Because they’re hot? Show me that photo again.” She grabbed Elena’s phone and began shuffling through photo screens. She stopped at the twins’ photo and brought it close to her face.

Elena grabbed it away from her. “You think they’re cute? I think they’re blond freaks.”

“You’re messed up, Elena. They are totally hot. I mean, for twelve‑year‑olds. Check out those smiles. Those dimples on this one’s cheeks. What’s his name? Danny? Adorable. They could be on TV. Really.”

Elena stuck her finger down her throat and made a gagging sound.

She squinted at the photo. Daniel and Samuel. Wavy blond hair, almost white. And those big blue eyes. Wearing red T‑shirts way too big for them. And those sick, sweet smiles.

“Like they’re posing as angels,” Elena said. Where did that thought come from? Weird!

“Where are they going to stay?” Ruth‑Ann studied the photo. “Are you changing rooms? They’re not moving into the playroom downstairs, are they?”

“No way. Dad fixed up the attic. He made it really awesome. He bought them a laptop and a TV, and he got them a Wii. He said they’ve had a tough life. He wants to make things nice for them.”

“Tough life? No kidding. They lost both their parents, didn’t they? And their house? And all their stuff?”

Elena nodded. “I think Dad wants to write a book about them.”

Ruth‑Ann handed the phone back to Elena. “For real? You know, my parents were talking about your dad’s book. Did you read it?”

“Not really. Just kinda looked at it.”

“Mom said the book says parents should let kids do whatever they want. Just let them be free. My parents made jokes about it. They said it would make a great sitcom.”

“Is that all your parents think about? Sitcoms?”

“Well, yeah. Their show was picked up for another year. All they talk about are jokes and scripts and stuff.”

“Ruth‑Ann, do you watch it?”

“Of course not. No way.”

They both laughed.

Elena twisted the phone in her hand. “My dad’s book isn’t true. He is stricter than your parents. I mean, he doesn’t let Ira and me do what we want. I always have to trick Mom into letting me go places. Or Roz. Roz is the easiest because she’s busy worrying about Axl.”

“I forgot about Axl. It’s gonna be crowded in your house, Elena. I mean, a mob.”

“That’s why I want to come to Malibu with you guys.”

“How is Ira taking the new brothers thing? Is he freaking?”

“Of course he’s freaking. Ira freaks when his shoelace comes untied.”

“Now you sound like my parents. They’d like that joke. They’d type it into their BlackBerries right away.”

“It’s no joke. The poor kid is totally stressed already. I mean, he thinks sixth grade is really hard.”

Ruth‑Ann snickered. “Wait till he gets to eighth.”

“He hates his teacher. Miss Montgomery. Did you have Montgomery?”

“No. I had Price, remember?”

“Montgomery acts real nice. She’s real pretty and she’s very sweet, but she gives hours and hours of homework every night. And then she doesn’t even collect it or go over it or anything. Ira says she just makes you do it.”

Ruth‑Ann snickered. “Tell Ira to suck it up.”

Elena sighed. “I think he really misses Mom and Dad when they’re both away. Roz is great. But.. you know.”

Elena’s phone rang, startling her. She stared at the screen, but she didn’t have to. She recognized her dad’s ringtone.

“Hi, Dad. Oh. Okay. Okay. I’m coming. Bye.”

She clicked the phone shut. “It’s my new brothers. They’re here. I gotta go.” She jumped to her feet and strode out of the room. She was making her way down the stairs when she heard Ruth‑Ann’s shout.

“Hey, Elena‑good luck.”

A t LaGuardia Airport, Mark hugged Lea and held her close, wrapped her up like a prize that had almost been lost. He wanted to plant a hundred kisses on her face. The strong emotion welled in him, taking him by surprise. He was usually so level, no tidal waves of feeling rocking his calm.

But he let her go when he saw the two blond creatures gazing at him. My new sons?

Yes, they were beautiful boys. Their deep blue eyes were almost unreal. And Lea’s description‑angels‑came pretty close to describing the sweetness, the innocence on their pale faces.

So why didn’t he feel some kind of immediate connection with them? The wave of emotion seemed to pull back, leaving him with an empty feeling as he stared at the boys over Lea’s shoulder.

He didn’t want them here. He had argued with Lea almost until their plane had taken off. But he hoped that when he saw them.. when he actually saw the two angels, he would fall for them the way Lea had, and his doubts and objections would fade away.

What a disappointment that their hopeful blue‑eyed stares only aroused a feeling of dread.

And now, after the long drive to Sag Harbor, here they were in his house. About to meet his kids. About to join his family.

Just like that. Two strangers to take care of and worry about. And love.

The boys seem really happy to be here, Mark thought. They haven’t stopped smiling.

Guiding them to the living room, Lea stood behind them, as if backing them up, or maybe blocking any retreat. Her expression was tense. Mark noticed her eyes were bloodshot. She had one hand lightly on Samuel’s slender shoulder.

Ira stood halfway up the stairs, his chin on the wooden banister. He stared down warily at the two boys, gripping the banister tightly with both hands as if holding on for dear life.

He’s staring at them like they were circus freaks. I told Ira to give them a friendly welcome. Did he forget?

“Ira, come down and say hi to your new brothers.” Mark motioned him down.

“Hi,” he said, without budging from his perch.

“Ira, come down.” Lea’s voice sounded tight, shriller than usual. “Can’t you shake hands?”

“Kids don’t shake hands.” Ira’s reply.

The twins gazed up at him with those sweet smiles on their faces. Their blue eyes appeared to glow. Like jewels, Mark thought. They are extraordinary‑looking. He thought of beautifully crafted dolls.