54
It took less than a day for Celeste to find her an estate sale in Truro. The sales manager granted Gemma and Celeste a preview before the general public.
The first floor had low ceilings and table after table filled with boxes of jewelry, figurines, and vintage shoes.
“I have another sale lined up for next week,” Celeste said.
Gemma picked up a silver chain-link bracelet. “Actually, I need to go back to the city for a day or two next week. Can you and Jack manage in the shop without me? Maybe on Tuesday or Wednesday when things aren’t peak?”
“Sure,” Celeste said, glancing at her. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” Gemma said quickly. “It’s just jewelry stuff.” Well, that much was true.
She examined a brooch shaped like a flower basket, wire inlaid with green and purple stones forming the petals.
“That’s a hand-wired Sandor brooch,” said a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair in a long braid watching from the corner. “From the 1950s.”
“Beautiful,” Celeste said, leaning over to examine it.
“Let me know if you have any questions,” the attendant said. “Everything in that section is twenty dollars. We can also do bundles.”
Gemma looked at a necklace of square-cut black glass. The segments were domed, with flat backs and set in black-painted metal. French jet. She’d take it if the price was right.
“So what’s your process here?” Celeste said.
“I look for pieces that can be turned into charms or rings. Like this necklace: I can break it apart, add a brass or silver hook to each individual piece of glass, and they can hang from any of my necklace or bracelet chains.”
“Such a fun idea. How long have you been doing this?”
Gemma smiled. “I mean, I’ve been making jewelry since I was a child. Even back when my mom and dad were around, I’d make necklaces for my Barbie dolls out of thread and tiny beads. I remember wanting to make her rings out of aluminum foil but the fingers on the doll weren’t articulated and it was so frustrating.”
“When did you start selling?” Celeste reached out and touched the subway token dangling from her necklace.
“Early in college. I spent every weekend scouring markets downtown or stoop sales in Brooklyn and Queens for knickknacks that could be turned into jewelry. I was always looking for pieces that could be personal to the wearer. Like this.” She picked up a small gold vermeil owl with blue glass eyes. “I add a hook, and voilà—an owl charm. Maybe it’s someone’s favorite animal, a good-luck charm of sorts.” She turned to the attendant. “How much are these?”
“Ten dollars each,” the woman said. “I’ll give you a ticket for all of your items when you’re finished and you pay at the front door.”
Even though Celeste insisted she was only there for Gemma and not to buy anything for the store (“Jack would have a fit!”), she drifted off to look at furniture.
The attendant beckoned Gemma over. “You might want to take a look at this piece—the best of the lot. You’re lucky you’re here early because it will get snatched up quickly.” She held up a gorgeous purple necklace formed out of clusters of pear-shaped and octagonal stones, some translucent faceted crystal juxtaposed against deeper violet cabochon stones. But what really caught her eye was the clasp; bell-shaped and textured metal, it was a piece of art unto itself. It was the perfect punctuation to the beauty of the necklace.
“Schiaparelli?” Gemma said, naming one of the most famous jewelry designers of the last century. The woman nodded.
Gemma checked the price tag—way out of her budget.
“How’s it going in here?” Celeste said, appearing in the doorway.
“I think I’m done.”
“Perfect timing. I need help carrying something to the car.”
“I thought you weren’t going to buy anything?”
She shrugged. “It’s a compulsion. What can I say?”
Gemma took her ticket from the attendant and followed Celeste into the hallway, where she pointed to a carved wooden chest with mother-of-pearl inlay.
“Ottoman Syria, 1800s,” Celeste said. “I just had to buy it. Even though it doesn’t go with anything in the house.”
Gemma grabbed one end while Celeste lifted the other. Before they made it to the front door, two large men wearing name tags appeared and offered to move it for them.
Celeste showed them to her car while Gemma paid for her jewelry, already thinking of how to break up the black necklace into multiple charms to be fitted onto a chain. And that clasp from the Schiaparelli piece! It was a shame she couldn’t afford it.
“Well, that was easy,” Celeste said when the chest was taken care of.
“It’s really pretty,” Gemma said. “If you don’t sell it you can always keep it.”
“We don’t have room for it. But I could give it to Maud. She owns a few places aside from the Victorian. There’s a gorgeous house at the far West End of Commercial. You’ve probably noticed it. Shaped like an octagon?”
Gemma looked at her in surprise. “The guy I’m seeing . . . the one who came into the store. He’s living at that house this summer. Such a small world. I noticed that the whole summer rental thing is interesting here—the way so many people in town rent their houses and then move somewhere else in town temporarily?”
Celeste nodded. “It’s a big part of the economy here. But Maud’s place is truly spectacular.”
“I know. It’s amazing. Connor made an offer on it.”
Celeste looked at her funny. “That house isn’t for sale.”
“Are you sure?” Connor had said he made an offer—hadn’t he?
Maybe she’d heard him wrong. She was probably confused.
Yes, she was definitely confused.
“Speaking of houses,” Celeste said slowly. “I hope you’re not too put out by this, but Elodie is moving into the room down the hall from you. Today.”
Gemma blinked. “She’s moving in?”
“Lidia rented out the room she’s in and town is full, so . . .”
It was a little close for comfort, but there was one silver lining to Elodie staying in P’town a bit longer: She wouldn’t be in New York when Gemma met with Sloan Pierce.
Tito carried Elodie’s suitcase up the two flights to the top floor of Celeste’s house. There was very little to actually move, and still he insisted on helping her. The past few days, they both found every excuse imaginable to spend time together, and yet their physical relationship hadn’t gone any further than the kiss on the beach.
Last night at Lidia’s, she lay awake in her bed, Pearl snoring by her side, fighting the urge to tiptoe down the stairs to visit Tito. She didn’t know what was holding her back. Fear of rejection? Fear of being physical with someone after all these years?
“Watch that top step, it juts out a little,” he said. She was a few paces behind him, coaxing Pearl to keep moving. Ultimately, she had to stop and scoop her up in her arms and carry her the rest of the way.
The small growl vibrating through her little body told Elodie that Pearl was displeased with the move. Frankly, Elodie wasn’t too happy about it, either. As small as her room had been at Lidia’s, it was downright palatial compared to the cramped closet of a space her sister had available for her. Yes, she was grateful for the place to stay. She should probably be grateful that Celeste had even thought to welcome her into her home. But on some level, way down with all her deep-rooted bitterness, she felt it was the least her sister could do after letting her down when she needed her all those years ago.
“I’m glad to see you and your sister patching things up,” Tito said.
“Yes,” Elodie said. “Peace is certainly preferable to acrimony.” She was thinking she should invite Celeste to dinner to thank her for her hospitality. It was the gracious thing to do.
“This is a cozy room,” Tito said, lifting her suitcase onto the bed.
“I know beggars can’t be choosers, but perhaps it’s a bit too cozy,” Elodie said. She sat down on the edge of the bed—a generous word for the narrow and wobbly piece of furniture. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept on something this small.”
Tito looked out the window at the view of the yard. When he turned around he said, “Well, if you have a hard time sleeping here, you can always stay with me.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“I have to admit, on more than one restless night I thought about coming upstairs at Lidia’s to pay you a visit.”
Elodie smiled. “I had the same idea.”
Tito sat next to her on the bed. “I like you, Elodie. I hope it’s not too much to say this, but I’ve been hoping for someone like you for a long time.”
The statement had the strange effect of making her delighted and uncomfortable at the same time. She wasn’t used to such directness—not from a man.
“Is that why you never got married? You never found the right person?”
“When I was younger I was married to the sea. With my schedule, there was no time for a wife. It would have been selfish of me to even try. But things are different now—have been for a few years.” He reached for her hand. “What I want to know is, how did a catch like you stay single?”
“My work took precedence, too,” she said.
“That’s it?” He seemed skeptical.
“Well, yes. There was one bad experience that perhaps made me gun-shy.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. It was so many years ago I hardly remember.” She wished that were true. Maybe, someday, it could be.
He leaned over and kissed her, and her heart beat so strongly she was sure he could feel it through his shirt.
“This bed might not be great to sleep in, but I think we could find some use for it,” he said.
She stood and locked the door.