The Jewelry Case (33 page)

Paisley laughed. "I'll make an exception for this." She went to get a pair of spoons from the kitchen, with its smoke-blackened walls. She'd washed the cutlery and dishes that morning, relieved to find the faucets still worked and that most of the crockery was salvageable. "My nerves are settled by now," she said, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the porch and reaching for the container. "But I'll eat ice cream any time. How did you know about the fire?"

Shirley gave her one of her shrewd looks, and Paisley sighed. "All right, so you hear about everything that goes on in town. What, did the firemen communicate with you by smoke signal?"

Shirley rightly ignored this. "There are rumors about other things that have been going on in this house as well," she said darkly. "I thought we were friends, Paisley. Why didn't you tell me anything about the burglary?"

Paisley looked guilty. "How on earth
…. N
ever mind, don't tell me. The reason I didn't tell you about it is because nothing happened. Nothing was taken, nothing was damaged except for a gouge in one wall. It was just someone rummaging around the house. And I have reasons for being certain it was unrelated to the fire."

Shirley looked at her sharply. After a moment, the bookseller shook her copper curls. "I think you know more than you're letting on. I know it's none of my business, but I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Me neither," Paisley said emphatically.

Shirley reached into the bag like Mary Poppins and pulled out a slim book which she plunked down, next to the carton of ice cream. "I brought you something else you might be interested in. After we found that Polish book with Ruth's picture in it, I thought I'd do a little further research of my own. The internet may be a sexier source of information, but nothing beats some of these old books for finding out-of-the-way facts. You'd be surprised how much stuff
hasn't
been posted online."

When Paisley craned her neck to see, Shirley laughed and handed her the volume. "Don't get too excited. There's nothing specific to what you've been looking for. I just thought you'd find the subject matter intriguing."

"What is it?" Paisley flipped the book open. It had lots of color photographs that immediately captured her interest.

"A catalogue of famous jewels. I found it at the book auction near Fresno. Cost me all of a buck fifty." Shirley stabbed a stubby finger ardoned with peeling orange nail polish at a page. "Look at that one: the DeLong Star Ruby; isn't it a beauty? And that one's called the Patricia Emerald. And you will probably recognize this pretty blue one."

"The Hope Diamond," Paisley said, her tone awed.

"I thought you'd know it. There’s a passing reference to some noble Polish family who was rumored to have nice collection, but nothing directly related to Ruth Wegiel."

"That's to be expected, isn't it? She lived a quiet life after retiring, and she rarely wore her jewelry after her brief years on the stage. As for these famous gems, all of them exchanged hands several times and were frequently displayed in public."

Shirley took back the book and flipped its pages, face rapt, glasses sliding down her nose. "This is the one I wanted you to see. Remind you of anything?"

"The choker being worn by Queen Alixandra?" Paisley said slowly as Shirley held up the page with its large photograph. "It looks a lot like the one Ruth was wearing, with those multiple strands of pearls and large pendants. But the ones on Ruth's necklace were rubies, not sapphires."

"Mmmhmmm." Shirley flipped to another page, and held the book up. "And look at this one. Ruth's brooch is an almost exact replica of this brooch belonging to Catherine the Great. That can't be accidental; the two pieces are too similar. Ruth's Russian lover must have had the famous pieces copied to impress her." She looked down at the picture, her face contemplative. "How big do you think that emerald is? Forty-five carats? Fifty?"

Paisley swallowed, feeling a new tingle of acquisitiveness as she gazed at the photograph. The treasure hunt was becoming less academic, and more visceral. She wasn't sure that was a healthy development. "I wonder how much Ruth's brooch was worth," she said, trying to sound casual. "Her stone looked nearly as big as that one."

Shirley grinned at her. "I know. It's not just theoretical any more, is it?"

Paisley shook her head, feeling slightly dizzy. She didn't know anything about jewelry, had done virtually no research on value because...well, because it had never seemed real enough to bother. But she was beginning to realize that the family treasure trove might be worth vastly more than she had previously imagined.

"Based on the legend, and on Ruth's photograph, I knew the pieces would be valuable," she admitted, "but to be honest, I really didn't think about their actual dollar value. I hoped for enough to pay my debts, that's all. A few thousand dollars, at most. And even that was a fantasy."

Shirley's plump face took on an air of concentration. "A long time ago, I saw a TV special on Elizabeth Taylor's jewelry. Before she died, her collection was valued at $150 million. A single necklace with 100 carats of sapphires and diamonds sold for $380,000. . Of course, Ruth did not own nearly as many pieces as that actress, but if you put everything together, I wouldn't be surprised if it added up to a couple of million dollars."

Paisley was glad she was sitting down, because her legs suddenly felt weak. Shirley had just provided plenty of motive for murder. But that only made sense if one had the jewels
,
and she didn't. Unless, like a character in an old Alfred Hitchcock film, she knew something she didn't know she knew. If so, what could it be?

Shirley set down the book she was holding, her hazel eyes growing serious behind the glasses. Her words confirmed Paisley's thoughts. "I can't help wondering.... Do you think someone has targeted you? I mean, it seems odd that your house would suddenly go up in flames like that."

"That's overstating it. It was just a small kitchen fire."

"And you're understating it. I saw the arson team leave. It could have been a lot more serious, Paisley. Think about it. If it turns out that fire was set, who knows what will be next?"

Paisley shrugged, and tried to make her tone light. "Well, if that's the case, they're wasting their time trying to steal something I don't have. And why would they do anything that would potentially damage what they're searching for?"

"So nothing has turned up?" Shirley sounded disappointed. "No more information, no clues, nothing?"

"Nothing that anyone who's interested couldn't dig up for themselves. I don't even care about them anymore, Shirley. Not even after seeing how much they might have been worth. The treasure hunt was a silly idea, and I'm not going to knock myself out looking any more."

"The worst thing you can do is give up," Shirley said earnestly. "You can bet
they're
not going to
,
whoever ‘they’ are. And if they find it first, there won't be any quibbles about rights of ownership."

Paisley's hair stood up on her arms. She could almost hear Kevin's matter-of-fact young voice: "If you found them first, it would have been too late." What if someone else was trying to find the jewels before she did? It would be a lot easier with her out of the way. It was the first time the idea had crossed her mind that she might be a target.

When she fell silent, Shirley licked her spoon clean and sat with her back against the porch railing, still leafing slowly through the book. "What a tragedy if those gorgeous jewels were cut up or taken out of their settings," she commented.

"Do you really think anyone would do that?"

"I'm a bookseller, and I've read a lot about the subject." Shirley wiggled, making her ample bottom more comfortable. "The problem when stealing a well-known work of art is finding someone to buy it. If it would be recognized, like, say, the Mona Lisa
…
which was once stolen from the Louvre, you know
…
the police would come down on the seller like the immediately. The only way to make any money is to find a private buyer who would never display them. Apparently, that isn't as easy as it might sound."

"But we're not talking about a work of art. And Ruth's rubies are not well known."

Shirley shrugged. "The point is the same. We're talking about historically unknown jewels which, once found, would likely be extensively covered in the media. Just think of the news stories! A beautiful Jewish opera singer, a smitten Russian count, a small child fleeing the Nazis.... Then mix in your own personal tragedy. The press would pounce on the story like dogs thrown fresh meat. Photos of the jewels would be plastered everywhere. No thief could hope to fence them intact. His or her only hope would be to cut the gems down so no one would recognize them."

"You keep talking as if it is inevitable that Ruth's jewelry will be found." Paisley was bothered by Shirley's words. She stood up and paced the porch to release her tension, forgetting that Ian had done the same only a few hours earlier. "For three generations, people have been looking for them, and we have no more to go by than Aunt Henka did!"

Shirley watched her. "Have you gone to the police?"

"Twice." Paisley made a face, remembering her experiences. "Both times, they made me feel like an imaginative idiot. I'm still waiting to hear the arson team's results."

"Huh." Shirley's mouth drooped. "But it can't be a coincidence. I've lived in this town and the worst thing that's happened to me was a parking ticket for blocking Main Street on the Fourth of July, when I ran into Abe's Soda Shoppe for a bottle of water and held up the parade. Why didn't you call me after the fire? We're friends, right? Friends care about each other."

Ian had said something similar. Paisley hung her head. Shirley was right; she sucked as a friend. "I didn't want to worry you," she muttered. "Besides, the whole jewelry connection seemed so childlike. I've been chasing my tail over something that until recently I wasn't sure ever existed. It's like something out of Robert Louis Stevenson: the next thing you know, we'll have some pirates show up looking for treasure
,
and I don't mean soft-hearted pirates, like in the Pirates of Penzance. I mean ugly, murderous ones armed with real cutlasses."

"Well, you've known for a while now that Ruth's jewelry wasn't a fantasy," Shirley said matter-of-factly. "I'm the one who showed you that picture of her wearing the rubies, remember? And if someone thought you had them ... the wrong kind of person.... Well, if the fire turns out to be arson, you'll know someone else is willing to kill for them."

The dramatic words hung in the silence, reverberating like a drum. Ian had said the same thing. And she had come to that realization herself, moments ago. But Paisley still had trouble believing it.

Shirley's shrewd round eyes were serious behind the thick lenses of her glasses. "You know what I think? Your best bet is to find the jewels before the bad guys do, and let the press know about them, as soon as possible. Call the Sacramento Bee, the San Francisco Chronicle, the TV news stations. Get the jewelry photographed and be interviewed on the nightly news flashing them proudly. Then the jewelry won’t be any use to a thief. No one will fence them."

Paisley swallowed. "That's assuming the jewelry exists, and that I can find it. What happens if I can’t?”

"Be careful, that's all." Shirley leveraged herself to her feet, rubbing her ample hips. "My, your porch is hard. And your house smells like a thousand campfires put together. Maybe you should stay with me for a few days till things get cleaned up."

"That's funny. Steve invited me to stay at his house, and so did Ian. I'm popular all of a sudden."

Shirley chuckled. "On a lighter note, I went over to Ray's real estate office yesterday, to see if he'd considered your invitation to perform in the play."

Paisley was glad for the change of subject. Any topic was better than jewels, arson, or death. "What'd he say?"

"He said he'd been thinking about it. You could have knocked me over with a feather, as the saying goes. At least he didn't laugh at me, or chase me out the door beating me over the head with a stack of "for sale" signs. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd think he felt ... flattered."

"That's great!"

"You don't sound as surprised as I thought you'd be."

Paisley laughed. "Ray likes to be the center of attention. I bet he'll love having an audience."

"Well, I think you're magic. When this is over, I don't suppose I could talk you into living here permanently, could I?” Shirley said hopefully. “Become director of the community theater? It would be a volunteer job, but you could build up a nice clientele through word-of-mouth. This town sure could use a music teacher." Shirley cleared her throat and got to her feet, shouldering the bag. "Aw, who am I kidding? It's obvious your voice is coming back and soon you’ll be leaving us for Paris or Milan. Yes, I heard about that too. Ian's one of my bookstore's regulars. Well, maybe we'll get lucky and you'll come visit us in the sticks from time to time." She headed toward the steps. "See you at practice, Paisley."

Paisley stared after her, stunned by Shirley’s off-handed invitation. The thought of staying in River Bend permanently had never crossed her mind. It was ironic, she thought, absent-mindedly picking up the plastic trash bag: in one breath, Shirley warned her that her life was in danger here, and in the next she had asked her to stay.