“Please,” she cried, clutching at them. “My Louis—I can’t find my Louis!” Beth’s pulse skipped. “What does he look like? How old is he?” “Not even two years old!” the woman sobbed. “Green and gold, with—” “I’m sorry, what?” Beth interrupted confusedly. “You mean his clothes?” Devon said. Now the woman was confused. “I mean my suitcase. My Louis Vuitton suitcase. It’s worth a fortune!”
