The photo on my laptop screen shows a medium sized chandelier with thousands of hand-blown, filigreed edged pieces of glass dripping from its golden stems. Two years ago, I was hired to authenticate and value the chandelier. The photo doesn’t do it justice.

I scroll past the photo and study the text beneath it. A knock on my hotel door startles me.

The clock at the base of computer screen says it’s 9:13, local time. “It’s open,” I call out. I know exactly who it is. She’s on time. Punctual as always.

The hotel room door swings open, revealing a tall, stunning blonde woman leaning against the door frame. Well, usually she’s stunning. This morning she looks the way I usually feel when I’m beside her-rumbled and unkempt.

“Tessa?”

I stand up fast, bumping the table with the front of my thighs, causing my laptop, which I always seem to have too close to the edge, to start to fall. I scramble, catching it just in time, and slid it towards the middle before my attention snaps back to my bleary-eyed visitor.

“What happened to you?”

Tessa’s the most elegant and prettiest person I know. She can actually spend a full twenty-four hours on an airplane, and emerge from the experience not only sharp minded and clear eyed, but still looking perfectly pressed.

Tessa shoves herself upright, staggers across the room, and falls, face first, onto my bed.

“I’ve spent the past five hours on the bathroom floor having a meaningful relationship with the toilet,” she says in a raw voice. “I’m still not sure if it’s food poisoning or the flu, but either way, death would be preferable to what I’ve been going through.”

I creep closer to the bed and place the back of my hand on her forehead. Her skin is clammy.

“Did you call a doctor?”

“Any idea how health insurance works in this part of the world?”

“No…”

Six years ago, Tessa and I joined forces to create an antique consulting firm. I handle the authentication and valuing of various antiques while Tessa meets with clients and basically does all the other stuff that’s connected to running a business, including health insurance

“We’re covered, barely. The premium is scary high,” Tessa explains. “Rather than saddle myself and the business with medical bills we can’t afford, I choose to suffer in solitude.”

I don’t have any kind of medical knowledge, but even I can see Tessa isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

I reach for the cell phone on the bedside stand. “I’ll reschedule the meeting.” It’s not something I am looking forward to. Royalty doesn’t usually tolerate delays, even when they involve a sick associate.

“No!” Tessa rolls over onto her back and glares at me with blood shot eyes. “You can’t re-book. You know how royals are. They’ll take it as a sign that we’re flaky and unreliable, and go with a different consulting firm. We can’t afford to lose the business, and we really can’t afford to take the hit to our reputation.”

“But you can’t go, and I can’t do this by myself.”

I lack the patience and social skills needed to handle the über wealthy our antique consulting business puts us in contact with. Okay, so mainly my social skills are the issue. I’m painfully shy and always get tongue-tied and awkward whenever I’m around people. Tessa swears it’s all in my head, but I’m not sure if she’s telling the truth or just trying to make me feel better.

Tessa, by contrast, is always right at home with them. She’s pretty and flirtatious, and always knows exactly what to say to charm whoever she’s with. It works with both men and women. We’ve built our entire business around our strengths. She deals with the clients while I deal with their valuable antiques. The system works really well, until it doesn’t.

Like today.

“You’ll be fine,” Tessa says. Her exhausted eyes lock on my computer screen and narrow.

“No, I won’t. You know I can’t ever remember all the complicated stuff like when to curtsey, and who to make eye contact with, and who to address. I’ll mess it up.”

Just thinking about the number of different ways I can screw up sets my heart hammering against my chest. I grab the edge of the table and focus on taking deep, calming breaths.

“You’ll be fine,” Tessa insists.

“What if I’m not.” I hate the whining edge in my tone.

“Just keep the damn meeting,” Tessa snaps. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Sorry, didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that,” She gestures towards her face. “I feel like crap. Let me try again. Please stop fretting and go to the meeting. You’ve done stuff like this before, if something does go sideways, I’ll fix it as soon as I’m back on my feet.”

I yield. It’s not like I have much choice. She really is sick and the business can’t afford to lose a single potential client. “I’ll go.”

“Outstanding,” Tessa flashes a weak smile and points at the computer screen. “Now tell me what the Hell all that’s about.”

“Some art and antiques have been stolen recently, including a massive chandelier and some antique glass bowls from a private French residence. Interpol has some questions, so they sent me an email,” I explain.

“Uh huh. Why’d they send you an email about it?”

“I valued some of the items a few years back, so Interpol thought I’m one of the more qualified experts in their Rolodex to help with this particular case.”

It’s an understatement. I’m one of the few people in the world who specializes in antique glass.

“Interpol must know I’m in Moravia. They mentioned thinking there was a possibility of Moravian connections to the case, and I just can’t imagine why they’d say that if they didn’t know I was here.”

“Alexis, do me a favor,” Tessa says.

“Yeah?”

“If by some wild chance, you do stumble across some weird nut job who likes glass and steals it from the filthy rich-”

“I promise, I’ll be careful.” I don’t know why she bothers with the warning. Of the pair of us, I’m the least likely to do something impulsive or reckless. She knows that as well as I do. I’m the kind of person who, if someone shoved a gun in my face, would throw all my money at them and hide under a table while begging for my life.

“Yeah, that would be good, but what I was really going to say was to make sure you do something to drive more customers our way. We’ve got to come up with a new way to generate income.”

Tessa doesn’t give me a chance to respond. The points at the door. “Now get out of here before you’re late. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”