Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (6 page)

“Just hear me out. Okay?”

“Fine.”

“Jewels you have everything—”

“
Had
,” she quickly corrected.

Belinda’s head tilted, eyes pinched in reprimand at Jewels for interrupting her.

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“First of all, look at you. You’re thirty-four years old, have the beauty and poise of a cover model, the warm personality of a southern belle, and the business savvy of a Fortune 500 CEO....”

Jewels’ face reddened.

“And you’re a widow. Jewels, you’re single. Robert’s gone—”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she returned with a huff, bolting to her feet. “Every day, I come into the New Greensburgh Press, the printing and newspaper business Robert and I built from nothing, and take a seat behind this beautifully decorated and furnished office Robert and I used to share. And every day...,” her voice quivered, tears swam over her eyes, as she walked toward the corner window, “I’m reminded that despite these
things
,” she said, motioning at the expensive furniture and original paintings on the wall, “and even with all my wonderful friends and employees,” she said, warmly smiling at Belinda, “I’m lonely. If it wasn’t for Boo-Boo....” Unable to withhold her emotional pain any longer, she burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.

Belinda rushed to her, engulfing her in loving arms. “Oh, Jewels.” After hugging her long and hard, Belinda stepped back, “Your loneliness is obvious, that’s why I wanted to talk to you. Sure, I get no one could ever
replace
Robert. Certainly what you two had was special, but that doesn’t mean you can’t allow yourself to enjoy the companionship of another man.”

Jewels sniffed, nodded, strolled to her desk for a Kleenex and dabbed her eyes. “You’re right. I know. It’s just that—”

“You haven’t dated in over fourteen years and you’re scared,” Belinda finished with a laugh.

Jewels chuckled.

“That’s why I think Agent Hines would be a great breakout first date. You’ve known him for nearly two years now, so he’s not a stranger. He’s good looking, dresses like he’s related to some fancy Italian suit maker, is a big cheese with the FBI, and, most importantly, he’s crazy about you!”

“I guess when you put it that way—”

“Then go out with him. What do you have to lose? Who knows, maybe if you go out with him once, he’ll never call you again.”

A spontaneous tee-hee escaped Jewels’ lips. Once again Belinda had gotten her to laugh. “All right, Belinda, you win.”

“I’ll be right back with his number,” she said, darting out of the office.

Jewels hung her head. Robert had been her life since she was only twenty years old. He was the only man she ever had. The only man she ever wanted. The only man she believed she could ever truly love.

Reflecting upon the circumstances that stole Robert’s life still brought her to the brink of tears, even after eighteen months. How in the world could a huge newspaper roll slide off the forklift at the precise moment Robert passed under it, instantly crushing him? The odds of something like that happening were, what? One in ten trillion? A hundred zillion? God was the only one who knew. To police it was an open and shut case: accidental death.

What haunted Jewels the most was the mystery of her husband’s missing wedding band. Robert never removed his wedding ring; however, after the accident the ring could not be found ... anywhere. The authorities surmised the impact of the huge newspaper roll falling on his body probably shot the ring off his finger and it got lost,
somewhere
. But the mysterious black hole
theory didn’t sit well with Jewels.

“Here you go,” Belinda said, handing the pink message pad to Jewels while quickly scanning her BlackBerry calendar. “Tonight you’ve got the Shoot for MD fund-raiser at the Winston Range from five-thirty to eight. After that you’re free. And totally open Friday night.”

“Thank you.”

Belinda winked at Jewels, enthusiastically gesturing a thumbs up sign of support and moral encouragement as she quickly exited, softly closing the office door.

Almost with a sense of dread, Jewels stared at the pink message pad with Hines’ phone number written on it. Her mouth was dry. Armpits sweaty. Chest tight. Becoming aware of the nervous signs, she laughed aloud, “Jeez!”

Rapidly waving around the pink message pad to fan her face, she exhaled through loosely knit lips. “I’ll agree to dinner. That’s all. No movie. No show. No whatever else. Just dinner. And I’ll meet him wherever we decide to go.” Lifting the receiver of her desktop phone, she hesitantly pushed the buttons to dial Agent Hines.

“Jewels!” Belinda burst through the door, panic in her voice and on her face. “For you. An emergency phone call on line six.”

Nodding, Jewels punched the line six button, automatically disconnecting Hines’ number she had only partially dialed. “This is Julia Andrasy. How may—”

“Jewels! I gotta talk to you. Right away. Not on the phone.”

“Okay. Who is—”

“It’s me, Jewels, Sharon Marie. Remember me, Sharon Marie Jeppson from high school ... the
drama trauma gang
?”

“Of course, drama club. Sharon, what’s going on?”

“I gotta tell you something, but not on the phone. It’s a matter of life and death, Jewels. How long before you can get to our old drama club hangout?”

“Life and death? Shouldn’t you call the police—”

“No cops! It’s too dangerous. Just get here as fast as you can.”

“Uh, okay. Peggy Sue’s?”

“Shhh! Don’t say anymore over the phone. And, yes, that’s the place.”

Jewels glanced outside—a beautiful summer day—then peeked at the gold Rolex on her wrist: 10:38. “You know I’m in New Greensburgh, but I could probably be there in thirty or forty minutes.”

“Hurry, Jewels. Please hurry.”

• • •

So far, so good, she thought, hanging up the pay phone at the convenience store. No way would she use her cell. Didn’t want the bastards to track her by GPS on her phone. Plus, she had left any would-be follower in the dust not only because she had a great head start on her getaway, but because she had a knack for losing pesky tails. Unfortunately, she forgot a condition for acceptance into the compound was her Jeep be fitted with an open sky GPS, rigged on top of her exterior spare tire mount. Perhaps the vehicle tracking device, and not her assumed keen driving skills, was the reason she had seemingly so easily evaded being followed ... but that thought hadn’t crossed her mind.

Feeling smart and righteous, she piled into her Jeep and headed for Peggy Sue’s, a half a block away. Just like the old times, she parked in the rear, entering the restaurant through the back door.

When the door opened a cowbell clanged announcing Sharon’s arrival. About the size of a middle school gymnasium, the retro-fifties sandwich shop hadn’t changed since the last time she was there, over a decade ago. To the left of the back door entry, a reproduction of the classic Wurlitzer bubble jukebox. “Blue Moon” blared from its speakers and flashed a colorful light show in time with the song. Opposite the nickelodeon,
their
table.

Memories flashed through her mind. A pleasant smile pulled at the corners of her lips. Eight teens, shoulder-to-shoulder, crammed into the horseshoe-shaped booth. Laughing. Sharing milkshakes. Playing drama queens and kings. “Those were the days,” she whispered to herself, remembering the reason they had chosen the booth nestled deep in the alcove was for its private location.

Confident she had outsmarted the compound dragoons, and knowing Jewels wouldn’t arrive for at least another half hour, she decided to order a sandwich. Casually strolling toward the counter, she soaked in the sights as if on a journey back in time.

Shiny rectangular tables surrounded by bright red vinyl upholstered booths were lined up in neat rows on a black and white checkerboard floor. Retro schoolhouse lights hung over the tables.

Near the front door, the famous deli counter where mouthwatering magic was conjured from the rows and rows of lunch meats and cheese blocks neatly lined up in anticipation of becoming part of one of Peggy Sue’s famous custom creations.

A lean short man of Mexican origin, dressed like a butcher in a white apron and wearing a soda jerk hat, paced behind the counter.
Bored
written all over his face. “Can I help you, Miss?”

She knew exactly what she wanted. “Gimme a Peggy Sue’s special, loaded, with extra thousand island dressing on marble rye. And a monster Pepsi.”

Nodding, he went to work on building her made-to-order grinder.

Sliding onto one of the dozen classic bolted swivel-seat soda fountain stools in front of the narrow counter, she waited, strumming her fingers on the glossy red bar while continuing to bathe in the scene.

Three waitresses, with their hair pulled high into a ponytail, wearing poodle skirts and vintage lace-up white roller skates relaxed in a front corner booth, waiting for the lunch rush to begin. Grinning, she remembered how she was declined employment at Peggy Sue’s simply because she failed the roller skating audition. Fell flat on her ass. Twice.

An idea regarding her current situation unexpectedly jolted her from the stroll down memory lane. “Do you have a piece of paper, like a notebook sheet or something like that?” she asked the sandwich maker, a tone of urgency in her voice.

Grunting, he looked around. “Will this work?” he asked, waving a disposable white paper placemat at her.

“Perfect. Paper is paper, right?” she said, eagerly snatching it from his hand. “And how about something to write with?”

“What? Writing a love letter or something?” he quizzed. Acting put out, he moseyed to the cash register, plucking one of the pens out of the Pepsi cup posted next to the register. All the pens in the paper cup had a long red plastic spoon taped on the end to keep them from walking off with customers. “Will this do?” he asked, waving it at her.

“You’re the best. And I promise to return it,” she said, quickly snatching it from his hand.

Moments later, “Here’s your sandwich and drink. And if you need another
piece of paper
, use the one under your lunch,” he said, sliding the plastic carry tray toward her.

After paying for her sandwich and drink, nostalgia—along with the desire for much-needed privacy—motivated her to relax in the secluded horseshoe booth at the back of the restaurant.

While eating, she feverishly sketched, and by no means would she ever be accused of being an artist. Nonetheless, she did her best.

The cowbell clanged.

She glanced up, did a double take. Gasped. Coughed. Practically choked on the bite of sandwich she had just stuffed in her mouth. Instinctively she shoved her
art
under her thigh to hide it, at the time watching him pivot his head in her direction.

Before she could scream or move, he thrust his massive body into the booth next to her, his thick arm wrapping around her shoulder like a steel band, drawing her body close to him so he could whisper in her ear. “Say one word and I guarantee your blue-haired Auntie Bea will have an
accident
in her Jazzy.”

“Leave her out of this,” she hotly replied, her mouth full. Aunt Beatrice was like a second mother to her and she knew that he knew it—that was the bitch about the compound. Word had gotten around that
they
had
something
on everyone; an Achilles heel that could be exploited anytime a member didn’t toe the mark and walk the line. Aunt Bea was the chink in her righteous armor.

“Who did you call?”

“Call?” she echoed, quickly chewing and swallowing the food tucked in her cheek.

Continuing to hold her tightly while using the tabletop as concealment, he pressed the blade of a huge hunting knife near her bellybutton. “Don’t fuck with me,” he snarled, his voice low. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way....”

10:55 A.M
.
Breaking every speed limit to get there,
J
ewels screeched the Humvee to an abrupt halt in an empty parking space outside the front door of Peggy Sue’s Deli. With a wad of keys in one hand and her beige and platinum Gucci hobo handbag in the other, Jewels dashed from her car toward the deli.

Bursting through the door, slightly out of breath, she quickly scanned her head back and forth in search of her high school friend. A few early lunch eaters dotted the otherwise empty restaurant. Jewels didn’t recognize any of them as being the Sharon Jeppson she remembered from high school. The familiar surrounding rushed her mind with fond memories of drama club. Thoughts of Kirk Kirkland, her high school boyfriend, momentarily relieved the tension on her face. More than once, as the
drama trauma gang
snuggled tightly into the hidden booth, she had to smack the playful football star’s roaming hand off her thigh and keep his nimble fingers from scurrying up her skirt. Life was so simple back then....

Without warning, a hulking man clad in a black sweatshirt with the hood up over his head came barreling from the back of the cafe, making a hasty beeline to the front door.

As he passed Jewels, he clipped her hard on the shoulder with his forearm, as if on purpose, like a hockey player shoving his opponent away from the puck. The impact nearly knocked Jewels off her stilettos, but like a high wire walker using a raised foot for balance, she steadied herself.