As Joanna went through the rest of the day—stopping by the dry cleaners for a Ceil Chapman gown that needed special attention for its delicate beading; taking Pepper to the vet for vaccinations; checking out a thrift store that often had vintage Mexican purses in stock—Mary Pat’s words rang through her head.
He was alive until you came.
Did she really think so, or was it grief? She should have known better than to show up at the mansion empty-handed. She could have brought flowers and a card. Anything. Instead, when Stroden’s sister had arrived home, she’d found Joanna rifling through her brother’s things.
“You killed it,” the thrift store cashier said. Joanna started. “I think you got the best stuff in the store. Did you see the hot pink Bruno Magli pumps?”
Heart rate calming, Joanna said, “I did. They’re fabulous, but they’re only a size six.” Sizes seven to nine flew out of the store, leaving her with a growing collection of shoes for doll-sized feet.
She gathered up her packages and drove home. Paul should still be at work, and Gene had been gone three days now. She checked for him every morning and night, and knew he’d be home eventually, as long as the earrings were still here. In the meantime, home had been peaceful, almost like the old days.
She wistfully remembered back only a few years ago when she was single and could take uninterrupted naps whenever she wanted. She’d make a dinner of gougères and ice cream at nine at night, if the mood struck. Or she’d play a marathon of old Joni Mitchell at top volume. Not that she’d ever give up her current life, but living alone had had its advantages.
She kicked off her shoes and settled on the chaise longue, feet pulled up, to think. Pepper jumped up next to her and rubbed his ears on her shoulder, apparently having forgiven her for the trip to the vet. Tonight, she’d have to tell Paul about her call to Crisp, but for now, she could relax. At last, her breath settled. She was reaching for a 1930s Harper Bazaar when Paul’s truck pulled in the driveway.
“You’re home already,” she said with a touch of irritation.
He paused in the doorway. “That’s okay with you, right?”
She sighed. “I’m happy to see you. I really am.”
He shifted a bag of groceries to his other arm. Gemma wagged at his feet. “I thought I’d surprise you with dinner. One of the guys at the job site brought in salmon from a fishing trip at the coast.”
“Sorry I sounded cranky. I’m just decompressing.” She rose and kissed his cheek.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She followed him to the kitchen and told him about her run-in with Stroden’s sister that morning. “You should have heard her. It was awful. The first time I’d seen her, she’d been so quiet and sweet. Then this.”
“You don’t think she’s overcompensating, do you? Faking it?”
Mary Pat’s words had stung enough that Joanna hadn’t thought the sister might be hiding something. She drew back. “She sounded genuine. She was nearly hysterical.”
“She’d be hysterical if she’d killed her brother,” he said.
A car pulled up in front of the house. Gemma ran to the window and nosed aside the lace panels but didn’t bark.
“Uncle Gene,” Paul said. “It’s about time he showed up.”
Joanna arrived at the window in time to see an older sedan pull away with what might have been a woman—or a small man—at the driver’s wheel.
“This is awkward,” she said.
“I suppose I’d better say something about the earrings.”
“Hush. Here he comes.”
Joanna and Paul were waiting for Gene when he came through the door.
“How’s tricks?” Gene said. He patted each of them on his way to the kitchen, where he slid a pie pan onto the counter. “I brought us some dessert. How do you like peach-blueberry pie?”
Joanna shot Paul a glance. They had to talk to him. Gene was Paul’s uncle. It would be better if he started the conversation.
Gene started humming “I Dream of Jeannie With the Light Brown Hair.” “You don’t have a little extra for dinner for me tonight, do you?”
Joanna glanced at Paul again and cleared her throat. “We’re having salmon. There’s plenty.”
“I’ll just go downstairs and drop off my things. I’ll be up in a minute. You can assign me clean-up duty.” He skipped down the steps as lightly as Fred Astaire, Gemma at his heels.
Paul squeezed Joanna’s hand. “I’ll talk to him.”
When Gene returned to the kitchen, neither Joanna nor Paul had moved.
Gene froze, and his smile faded. “What?” The smile returned, and his shoulders relaxed. “You were wondering where I was, is that it? A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
From the strain on Paul’s face, Joanna knew this wasn’t easy for him. Uncle Gene had been like a father to him, even if the skills he’d imparted had to do more with breaching security systems than becoming an Eagle Scout.
Paul stood straighter. “We found some emerald and diamond earrings in the basement.”
Joanna appreciated the “we.”
Gene’s smile disappeared once again. He pulled out a dining room chair and sat. “So, that’s it, huh?” His gaze fell on the earthenware vase of daisies at the center of the table. He drew himself up and turned to Joanna and Paul.
“Yes, I do know about them. And, yes, they’re stolen.”
Paul sat next to him. “You told us you had gone clean, that you weren’t breaking into houses anymore. And then you bring stolen property into our home?”
“I told you the truth, I haven’t touched anything that’s not mine since I was sentenced. Honest. Well, except the Greffulhe jewels. That’s what they’re called.” He stared toward the basement stairs. “There’s a necklace and brooch, too.”
“That’s plenty,” Paul said. “I suppose you knew where they were the whole time you were in prison, and you were waiting to get out and steal them back?”
“No. Not true.”
“Stealing from another crook is still stealing, and the jewelry still belongs to someone else. If the police find out they’re here, and that we’ve known about them, both Joanna and I stand to go to jail.” His voice picked up heat.
Gene grasped his temples with his hands, mussing his carefully brilliantined hair. “Listen. Can you listen to me just a second?”
Joanna took a chair, too. This would be good.
“Honey, you might want a martini for this,” Gene said.
“I’m okay, but thanks.” She didn’t want to move.
Gene dropped his hands to his lap. “Here’s the story. Yes, the jewels are stolen. Yes, I stole them.”
“You told us—” Paul began.
Gene held up a hand. “I’m not finished. It was a crime of opportunity, and I was the only one of the gang in on it. By chance, I had a solid alibi. I didn’t have a buyer lined up. I figured at some point I’d break them down and sell the stones separately. Until then, it was my savings account.”
A groan escaped Joanna. “Take out the gemstones? They’re so gorgeous as earrings.”
“It’s the only way he’d be able to sell them. The collection is probably too well known,” Paul said.
“That’s it,” Gene said.
“So you hung onto them for forty-plus years,” Joanna said without thinking. Uh oh. This was not the time to casually bring up her call to Crisp.
She had Gene’s full attention. “How’d you know that?”
“Just a guess,” she said hurriedly. “I mean, I hadn’t read in the paper about any big jewel heist, and you made it sound like it was a long time ago.”
“What’s your plan?” Paul asked his uncle without waiting a beat. “You must have a plan. You don’t expect to carry around a fortune in jewelry the rest of your life.”
“My plan is to get the jewels back to their owner.”
“What?” Joanna said.
“It is?” Paul said simultaneously.
“Yes. I’m through with crime. I want the jewels returned.”
Joanna was speechless. Paul, also seemingly devoid of words, laid his hands on the table. At last, Joanna found her voice. “So, you need to return the jewels without revealing that you stole them in the first place.”
“Right. But I’ve only been out for a few months, and I’m still on papers. I’ve been a bit distracted. I haven’t figured out the angle.”
“Why not just turn them in to the police? Wouldn’t that be easiest?” Joanna said.
Paul and Gene both raised their eyebrows. “Easiest one-way ticket back to prison,” Paul said.
“Why is that?”
“Like I said, I’m on papers. Parole,” Gene explained. “Anything that smells of crime could send me back to the joint.”
Joanna could take the jewelry to the police herself, making an excuse about finding it mixed in with some vintage clothing, but it would take a smart detective half a cup of coffee and two minutes on the computer to discover that a jewel thief lived in her basement. No, they needed help who knew the law and would keep their secret. Help like Foster Crisp.
Gemma loped to the kitchen and started banging her bowl on the floor, a sign that dinner was overdue.
Gene sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m putting you kids in a spot. I didn’t mean for you to find the jewels. Now that you know they’re here—”
“We’re at risk, too, remember,” Paul finished.
This was no lie, yet Joanna felt bad for him. “You said your alibi was solid.”
“Funny. I’d set up the alibi for another reason completely, but it ended up serving me better than I’d planned.”
“A woman,” Paul said. He turned to Joanna. “Uncle Gene was kind of a player.”
“A gentleman—”
“Never kisses and tells,” Joanna finished. “She doesn’t happen to be an accomplished baker, does she? Your taste seems to run in that direction.”
“No comment.”
“I hope she knows how to bake a file into a cake, because if we don’t figure out how to solve this problem, you’re going back to prison,” Paul said.
She had an idea. Or the spark of one, anyway. Maybe she didn’t need to rush to tell Paul about her conversation with Crisp just yet.