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When I got home, I recorded the day’s bead purchases in my old-fashioned ledger. Some of the chains the beads were on were irredeemably tarnished and clearly toast, so I trashed those and wiped off the beads with a soft cloth before sorting them into my red tackle box. One multicolored strand of beads—one of those great fifty-centers I’d purchased—cleaned up beautifully.
As I studied the colors, something started niggling at the back of my mind. It seemed as though it had to do with cleaning something, but I couldn’t remember what. Clean out my purse, maybe?
I always needed to clean out my purse—or as I sometimes thought of it, my portable office. After gathering the purse from its perch atop a red vinyl-padded kitchen chair, I stood by the counter and removed a half-empty water bottle, my makeup bag, my overfilled key chain, several weeks’ worth of store receipts, bill payment stubs, my monthly planner, an invitation to a bridal shower, and a folded piece of paper that didn’t ring a bell.
Straightening out the paper on the countertop, I realized it was the printout Harriet had given me on Wednesday. I’d meant to drop it off with Carleen, but that had gotten crowded out by all the other activities of the week. I glanced at the kitchen clock and saw that it was 3:19 p.m. I still had plenty of time before she closed for the day, but first I studied the necklace some more. It was a beauty, with one large teardrop-shaped stone flanked by six oval ones, three on each side. The stones were so well cut, they sparkled even in the photocopied image.
Carleen needed to see that printout so she would recognize the necklace if it ever came across her counter. Since the piece clearly wasn’t in Tina’s belongings—according to Harriet, at least—maybe Tina had actually ended up selling it to someone after all. And if the buyer was local, maybe the person would decide to sell it again.
Within ten minutes, I was walking through the front door of the Silver Squirrel.
“Didn’t expect to see you today,” Carleen said. “You were so swamped selling jewelry last night, I imagined you’d be recovering at home all day.”
I laughed. “I did have a great night of sales. And guess what? After we talked the other day, I went ahead and listed that Miriam Haskell brooch, and it’s already up to four hundred fifty dollars in one of my online auctions. You know, jewelry is definitely on a lot of minds these days.” I pulled the printout of the emerald necklace from my purse. “I need you to take a look at this.”
Carleen peered at me over her reading glasses, a puzzled look on her face. “Okay...”
She unfolded the paper and gave a low whistle. “That necklace is out of this world. And this note says our police department is looking for it. Why?”
“Tony LeMann thinks the necklace was in Tina’s possession at the time of her death, and he’s accused Harriet Harris of taking it. She gave me this printout when I was at her store the other day. I’m hoping this necklace doesn’t have anything to do with why Tina was killed, but naturally I can’t help wondering.”
“But since Teri’s inheriting everything, I wonder why he cares,” Carleen said. “Even if the necklace were found, wouldn’t it belong to Teri?”
“You’d think so.” I tapped my chin. “Maybe he’s planning to sue and thinks the necklace is something he has a right to.”
Carleen folded the sheet of paper in half and was handing it to me when I told her to hang on to it. “I’ve already taken a picture of it on my iPhone,” I said. “I’d rather you keep the printout since you’re the one who might see it show up for sale here.”
“Good point. Did Harriet say where they got the photo?”
I shrugged. “I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask about that. If the Roseland PD has the photo, they got it somewhere, and that arrogant Tony LeMann would be my guess.” I wrinkled my nose.
Carleen grinned. “Not wild about Tony, are you?”
“Would you believe he had the nerve to walk by my display last night and tell his lady friend to quit looking at my jewelry, that he’d get her some ‘real’ jewelry. And—wait a minute. Real jewelry. What if Tony was referring to this necklace, and he’s just pulling the wool over our eyes by letting everyone think Tina lost it?”
“But he’s an attorney, right?” Carleen asked.
“Which could mean he’s skilled at defending bad behavior.” I sighed. “I hate to say it, but I think perhaps I need to pay a visit to Detective Shelton and let him know what I heard last night. I imagine he’ll find this most interesting.”
* * *
EVEN THOUGH IT WAS close to quitting time on a Friday, Evelyn Wilson, the Roseland Police Department’s receptionist for the last thirty years, was extra friendly when I stopped by her office. I told her I needed to speak with Alan Shelton about a matter relating to the Tina LeMann murder investigation. She punched in his number on her desk phone, told him I was there to see him, and gave me directions to his office.
“I remember when you used to be in these offices daily,” she said. “But I’m not surprised it took a certain handsome detective to get you back over here.”
“You can’t be serious.” I found her suggestion rather ridiculous, but Evelyn didn’t need to know that. “Detective Shelton has been more than a little put out with me since this whole Tina LeMann case began, and it’s only out of loyalty to my late friend that I’m even here today.”
“I’ll let you two work that out.” Evelyn winked at me as I passed by her desk. I rolled my eyes in an exaggerated fashion so she would know exactly how I felt about her gesture.
It certainly wasn’t the first time someone had tried to play matchmaker for me since I’d arrived in town years ago. Once word had gotten out that a new single woman had moved to Roseland, everyone—or so it seemed—had wanted to play Cupid. The merchants wanted me to meet their sons, my coworkers wanted me to meet their brothers, and once, the mayor had tried to hook me up with his painfully shy, geeky nephew, who was helping his uncle install some new computer software.
Evelyn obviously didn’t know that I had absolutely zero interest in Detective Shelton. The first real shred of humanity I’d seen in him was when he’d come into the gallery shop earlier in the week. At least the man had good taste in jewelry. So far, that was the only nice thing I could say about him.
But if I could add a few details to his investigation, I was eager to help. First, I stopped by the restroom. I started to apply lip gloss but decided I didn’t want the detective—or Evelyn, for that matter—to think that I had been primping for him. I definitely didn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression of why I was there. My visit was purely business.
I walked down the familiar hallway with the worn, scuffed-up gray tiles. I’d been there many times when I first became a newspaper reporter, mainly to get copies of police reports but occasionally to interview someone for a feature story. I slowed my pace as I got near the detective’s door.
Leaning against a tan metal file cabinet just inside his door, Detective Shelton was looking over a piece of paper and glanced up, clearly awaiting my arrival. “Miss Madison, please come in.” He seemed in a good mood.
“Glad to.” I entered and took a seat in the guest chair he offered before he sat at his desk. “I’m hoping I can give you a piece of information that might help us make some progress in finding Tina’s killer.”
“Help us make some progress?” He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.
I was determined not to let him ruffle my feathers. “Yes, us. You know—the police, friends, interested citizens. The community has to come together at a time like this. There’s a danger to the entire town when a killer is on the loose, right?”
The detective seemed a bit baffled by my reasoning, but he simply nodded and drummed his fingers on his desk.
“Harriet Harris knows I’m passionate about old jewelry, and a few days ago, she shared a printout with me of the necklace Tony LeMann apparently told you was missing from his sister’s things.”
The detective coughed into his fist. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the details at this time. Is there something you wanted to tell me about the necklace?”
I paused. “Yes. You see, I was at the Gallery Stroll last night when Tony LeMann arrived at the Threads of Time Gallery with a woman I presume was his girlfriend. She was checking out some of my jewelry designs when Tony came over and told her they needed to leave and that he would get her some ‘real’ jewelry.”
Detective Shelton stared at me blankly and shrugged. “And?”
“And you don’t find that significant?”
“Why would I?”
“A man who claims to be missing some heirloom jewelry promises his girlfriend he’s going to get her some ‘real’ jewelry? Real? As in emeralds, maybe?”
“That’s quite a big maybe,” he said. “But then... you probably know a lot about gemstones since you make jewelry yourself, right?” Unsmiling, he held my gaze.
Much to my chagrin, I knew I was blushing. How does he know that? “Yes, I do. But I’m much more familiar with semiprecious stones and costume jewelry than fine jewelry. I make jewelry primarily from new beads and stones and incorporate vintage jewelry parts as well. I’ve rarely worked with precious gems because I’m trying to grow my client list right now. I’d rather make and sell a lot of smaller, more affordable things. At least, at this point in my design career I would.”
Good grief. Why am I babbling?
“Uh-huh.” He looked back at the stack of papers on his desk, probably notes on the investigation.
I could tell I had lost his interest. “May I ask you a question?” I hoped his curiosity would get the better of him.
“You can ask, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to answer.”
I chose my words carefully. “I know from Harriet Harris that Tony LeMann thinks his late sister might have had possession of this emerald necklace prior to her death. It seems to me that if she had such a valuable necklace, she could have sold it and wouldn’t have had to sell her home. But if for some reason she died owning the necklace, she must have had a good reason for wanting to hold on to it, right? And a brother she’d lost touch with wouldn’t be likely to have a photo of it, now would he?” I was hoping the detective would slip up and confirm that Tony had supplied the photo of the necklace.
“As I said, I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of this case, especially with someone who has decided to play amateur sleuth.”
“Excuse me?” His comment struck me as incredibly rude.
“I see what you’re getting at, Miss Madison.”
I raised my chin and stared him straight in the eye to let him know that I wasn’t easily intimidated. “And?”
“And I’m afraid I really can’t tell you any more than that. But I would like to suggest that you let us handle this investigation. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that murderers are pretty nasty people. Whoever killed Tina would very likely have no problem killing a meddling friend.”
I should have known our conversation was going too well. “Meddling? My abject apologies, then. I mistakenly thought I was doing you a favor by offering some new information today. I must have gotten confused somewhere in our discourse since I failed to understand that clearly, you have this case wrapped up and have precisely all of the information you need.” I stood up to leave. “I won’t waste your time by meddling in your case any further, Detective.”
I retrieved my purse from the floor by the guest chair, incensed that he was so ungrateful for my attempt at being a good citizen. He seemed bent on knowingly overlooking some obvious murder investigation details that needed to be checked out.
“Miss Madison, please. I just meant to say you might want to show a little restraint in letting so many people know you’re interested in this case. Word gets around fast in a small town like Roseland.”
I stared at him, daring him to break eye contact first. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”
This time, the detective stared right back with what appeared to be belligerence. “Okay, then, let me spell it out for you. Mavis Eastwood of the Cupcake Café, who was recently interviewed by this department, says the only people she’s spoken to about the case are her husband and her friend Emma Madison. Before the body was even cold, Carleen Wood, owner of the antiques store where the deceased was found, was talking about the case at length with one Emma Madison, a former newspaper reporter who is eager to see this case solved. Harriet Harris, owner of another antiques store, tells me one of her regular customers, a woman who designs jewelry that is sold at the local arts council gallery, is the only person who’s asked her anything about Tina LeMann since the woman’s death. Am I making myself clear?”
Yeah. It’s clear that I have a bunch of blabbermouths for friends.
The detective cleared his throat. “Trust me, I’m not trying to antagonize you, Miss Madison. I just want to impress upon you that this isn’t some scandal involving the town council. We’re talking about murder here, and I’d rather you didn’t get hurt attempting to solve this case.”
How patronizing. In an instant, I realized that would be the very last time I offered to help Alan Shelton with anything related to the investigation. “Will that be all?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
I turned and exited slowly in what I hoped was a most majestic manner. Even though I could feel my face flaming, I was proud that I was leaving the meeting with my dignity intact.
Less than a minute later, I was passing Evelyn’s desk again. She called me over and motioned for me to turn around. “Come here a minute, hon.”
“What is it?”
“You must have just run by the ladies’ room. Right?”
“No, but I did when I first came in. Why?”
She tugged at the end of the trailing piece of toilet tissue streaming out of the waistband of my slacks then crumpled it up and threw it in her trash can.
“Thanks, Evelyn.” I gave her a quick side hug.
So much for my dignity.