CHAPTER SEVEN

ABBY DIDN’T EXPECT ANY activity at the museum on this drizzly day, but after her talk with Hugo a lively tour group from Scotland showed up and wanted a guided bird walk through the conservatory woods. It turned out, in spite of the drizzle and dripping trees, to be a surprisingly successful walk. An eagle perched regally atop the dead snag of an old cedar, almost as if posing so everyone could admire and take his photo. Blue jays were in noisy abundance, and she even spotted a colorful ring-necked pheasant on the ground. Several people in the tour wanted their photos taken with Abby.

The group trooped through the museum afterward and bought what looked to Abby like enough postcards for all their known relatives back home.

Later, when she was back to work on the new exhibit, organizing a display of feathers along with information on how the different types affected flight, Hugo stuck his head into the workroom. “No effect from the curse yet?”

“I haven't even seen another mouse.”

“Good. Maybe we’re safe then.” He gave her a jaunty wink.

Abby was pleased to see that Hugo's usual good humor had returned, although she wondered if he wasn't putting on a cheerful face for her benefit. Hugo was not usually a winking man.

Abby looked at her watch and was surprised to see that it was already almost 1:30. “I think I’ll run into town for lunch, okay?”

“Sure.” He hesitated, and for a moment Abby thought he was going to issue another warning about being careful. But all he did was smile and say, “Just don't let Donna talk you into buying a flock of her glow-in-the-dark frogs. She's already donated a bunch of them to Dr. Randolph to give to kids at the medical center.”

Hugo obviously guessed she intended to use her lunch hour for a trip to Bayside Souvenirs. “I’ll be careful.”

“About getting stuck with a lifetime supply of frogs?”

She smiled too. “About everything. I’ll be close to the Springhouse Café, so I’ll probably stop there for a sandwich.”

Once in town, she had no difficulty finding a parking space right in front of Bayside Souvenirs. Traffic was light today. Touristy items filled the windows, everything from Sparrow Island T-shirts to big ceramic platters with topographical maps of the San Juan Islands. And yes, floppy-footed frogs of rubbery green plastic that looked as if they indeed might glow in the dark.

The shop was empty of customers at the moment, but Donna, fortyish, slim, blond and bubbly, was rushing around restocking shelves. “Have you run into those tourists from Scotland? They came in here and bought everything in sight! There are going to be Sparrow Island T-shirts all over Scotland.”

Before Abby could even respond to that greeting, Donna rushed over and gave her an enthusiastic hug. “What are you doing in here today? Oh, you’re looking wonderful! I love those bluebird earrings. How about some woodpecker salt and pepper shakers? And aren't my frogs fantastic?”

Abby laughed. Donna's enthusiasm for her merchandise almost made her want to scoop up a purchase, even though the last thing she needed was salt and pepper woodpeckers. Or floppy frogs, which peeked from nooks everywhere. “Today I’m just after information.”

“Information?” Donna's bubbles turned to surprise. She was wearing a green paisley smock over dark slacks and a turtleneck, blond tendrils escaping from a haphazard topknot tied with a green ribbon. “What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“It's about the desk in my office in the museum. Hugo says he bought it from you.”

“Oh yes, I remember that desk well! Those beautiful walnut burl inserts and all those compartments and pigeonholes.” She clasped her hands together as if enraptured by the memory. “And those lovely dangling wooden drawer pulls with the brass tips.”

Hugo had definitely not made a mistake about having purchased the desk from Donna, then. Her description was exact, right down to the brass on the drawer pulls.

“I bought the desk with the intention of keeping it for myself,” Donna explained. “I had it here at the store just until I could get rid of an old metal desk at home to make room for it. But I rather quickly realized I’d paid more than I could afford for it and decided to sell it. I mentioned that to several people, but then, by the time Mr. Baron showed up asking about it, I’d become attached to it and decided not to sell after all.”

Donna smiled at Abby's bemused expression as she listened to this rather convoluted explanation of her relationship with the desk.

“But then you did decide to sell the desk to him after all?”

“He wanted you to have something really special, I think. He mentioned you specifically, and I just decided such a handsome old desk really deserved to be in some place like a museum rather than stuffed in a corner of my living room.”

“So where did you get the desk?”

“It was in an estate auction right here on the island. Remember that guy out on Wayfarer Point Road who died of a heart attack, and then his widow had some professional outfit come in and hold a big auction? It's that big yellow house with all the rock work out front.”

“I know the house. I think some people named Duranger own it now. They don't live there full time, but they’ve come to the museum a couple of times.”

“Maybe the heart attack was before you came back to the island. Although it couldn't have been much before. I don't remember how much time there was between the man's death and the auction. Although I do remember it was about the time I had the new sign put on the front of the store here…” She cocked her head as if trying to withdraw the information from some memory bank.

Abby tried not to get impatient with Donna's irrelevant details, but she prodded gently to hurry her along. “And so—?”

“And so I went out to the auction, fell in love with the desk and bought it. I wanted to bid on a beautiful old étagère too, but after buying the desk I couldn't afford it. The prices were exorbitant. And you know how it is when you’re bidding on something. You wind up going way higher than you intended. Buyers came from Seattle and Portland and everywhere. It was quite an event.”

“You checked the desk over thoroughly when you bought it?”

Donna gave Abby a look that suggested she thought that an odd question. “I suppose. Although I don't really remember. Are you thinking it isn’t an antique, maybe just a rip-off copy?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. Definitely antique. A beautiful antique. I’m just wondering …You didn't find anything in it?”

“Maybe a couple of old pencils and some paper clips. But no stash of hundred dollar bills or family jewels or anything like that, unfortunately.”

Abby knew Donna's mention of “family jewels” was just chatter, but its closeness to the possible truth jolted her anyway. “You didn't hide anything in it yourself?”

“Me? No. Of course not. Why? Did you find something in it?” Donna's green eyes lit up with interest.

Abby detoured that question with one of her own. “Do you know anyone named Claudia?”

“Here on the island?”

“Possibly. Although not necessarily.”

“I have a cousin named Claudia down in California. But I don't know any Claudia here on the island. Abby,” Donna chided with a small frown, “you’re acting very mysterious. What's this all about? Did you find something in the desk?”

Abby again detoured the question. “Do you have any idea how I might go about contacting whoever formerly owned the desk? The widow I guess it would be. Is she still on the island?”

“I’m sure she isn’t. I don't think she even attended the auction. Too painful, I suppose. She’d lost her husband, and then to have to get rid of her home and all her beautiful furniture and antiques too. I’d certainly have been sad to see them go if I were her.”

“Do you remember this woman's name?”

“Oh sure. It was kind of unusual. It’s—” Donna broke off, frowned and caught her lower lip between her teeth, as if that might help her think. Apparently it didn’t. “Well, isn't that frustrating? The name is right up there in my head, but I can't quite grab it. But I can look it up, though I’ll have to go into last year's records to do it.”

Abby's first inclination was to say, Oh, I don't want to put you to all that bother. But on second thought she smiled encouragingly and said, “Could you?” She really wanted that name.

Donna headed for a green curtain strung across a door to her supply room and office in back. “This may take a few minutes. If anyone comes in, push those glow-in-the-dark frogs, would you? I can't believe how many I let that salesman talk me into buying.” Donna's disappearance behind the curtain was followed by several unidentified clunks and thumps, then a small crash as if something fell over, but she didn't stop talking. “Do you suppose the fact that he was so good-looking had anything to do with it? I’ll have to sell a frog to every tourist who visits Sparrow Island in the next six months to get rid of them all.”

“You can do it,” Abby said. She’d once heard someone say that Donna could sell hair spray to a bald man. Although it appeared she may have met her equal in the floppy frog salesman.

Donna returned triumphantly waving a scrap of paper. “Here it is. Her name was Liberty Washington. Isn't that odd? But kind of pretty too. Though it's hard to imagine a mother yelling, ‘Liberty, you get that smirk off your face right this minute!’”

Abby shook her head. Talking to Donna was like trying to carry on a conversation with a small tornado. “Do you have an address?”

“No, but you might be able to go through the auction company to get it. I wrote their name down, too, along with a phone number in Woodinville that was on the sales slip.” She pointed to a second name on the scrap as she handed it to Abby.

“Donna, thank you so much. You’ve been a big help.” She tucked the scrap of paper in her purse.

Donna tapped Abby on the front of the shoulder. “What I want to know is, a big help with what ?”

“A …problem. A small problem,” Abby added quickly, not wanting to whet Donna's curiosity. “And I do believe I’ll buy one of those glow-in-the-dark frogs.”

Bobby McDonald would get a kick out of it. She pulled out her wallet and handed Donna a ten. If she hoped the sale would distract Donna's curiosity, she was mistaken.

“That beautiful old desk. Something mysterious in it. A mysterious woman named Claudia,” Donna mused as she tilted her head before counting the change into Abby's hand. When Abby didn't offer any explanation, Donna said, “I know! You found some mysterious document hidden in the desk. A will, perhaps, maybe relating to someone named Claudia? Or maybe a long-lost pirate's map. Although it seems unlikely a pirate would be named Claudia.”

Abby laughed and didn't bother to deny Donna's wild speculations. “And here I thought I could keep it a secret,” she teased.

“Haven't I earned the right to know what this is all about, being so helpful and all?” Donna wheedled as she dropped the frog in a plastic bag.

“Later,” Abby promised. “For right now it's kind of a, oh, confidential matter.” Given the value of the necklace, Abby was now more certain than ever that the information shouldn't be scattered indiscriminately or people really would be coming out of the woodwork to claim the necklace. And given Donna's chatterbox personality, she wasn't the person to whom to tell secrets.

“Okay, I’ll just have to be patient then.” Donna gave a melodramatic, put-upon sigh. “Although patience has never been one of my virtues, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, Abby, tell Mr. Baron that if he ever decides to sell the desk, I’d love to buy it back. I have a different apartment now, one with more space.”

“I doubt he’ll ever want to sell.”

“Probably not. Oh, hey, I heard a bit of interesting gossip about Mr. Baron and a certain attractive woman yesterday!”

Donna's comment made Abby instantly uncomfortable. She tried to avoid listening to gossip and did her best not to pass it on. She didn't want to pay any attention to it now and this particular hint of gossip made her especially uncomfortable. Were people talking about some relationship between her and Hugo? “Oh?” she said warily.

“He's been seen several times with Dr. Randolph, you know.” Donna nodded significantly. “They were at Winifred's together a few evenings ago. People are saying there may be a big romance brewing.”

Abby was so dumbfounded that she simply stared. Hugo and Dr. Randolph ? Could that possibly be? Words popped out before she had a chance to think and stop them. “But she's half his age!”

“Well, she is much younger,” Donna conceded. “But she's not half his age, I’m sure. And men have never let an age difference stop them.” She wrinkled her nose. “I should know, considering that my marriage broke up over a college girl.”

Hugo and Dr. Randolph together at Winifred’s, certainly the most elegant and expensive restaurant on the island. Abby was astonished. The restaurant was popular with people staying at the Dorset, and tourists who had money to spare, and the food was excellent. But it was the kind of place Sparrow Island locals reserved mostly for special occasions. She and Henry had taken Mary there for her birthday.

“Not that I’m suggesting Mr. Baron is anything like my ex-husband, of course.” Donna shook her head vehemently. “No way. Actually I think this is rather nice for both of them, don't you? Mr. Baron is a wonderful person and he's been alone for years, hasn't he?”

“Yes, I . . . I believe he has.”

A blooming relationship between Hugo and attractive and personable Dr. Randolph would explain several things. Hugo's odd air of distraction. A man in love often was distracted. The phone calls he was keeping so private. Perhaps even the trip over to Seattle. Could he and Dr. Randolph have slipped off for a getaway day together? No wonder he wasn't interested in something so minor as a blue diamond necklace! His mind was on Dana Randolph.

“Of course Dr. Randolph has been seeing that other guy, the one with some kind of business over on Lopez.” Donna chattered on. Apparently she was well up on all the local gossip. “But that's probably all over now, with Mr. Baron in the picture. He's just the most distinguished looking man, don't you think?”

Interior embarrassment suddenly flooded through Abby. She’d been afraid it was she and Hugo people were gossiping about, which assumed that she was the “attractive woman” Donna had mentioned. Abby had never considered herself an egotistical person, but this certainly smacked of egotism. And right this moment, in her slacks and sensible shoes, she felt totally dowdy. She also felt a flush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks.

Donna didn't seem to notice. “And Dr. Randolph is a wonderful person too. When I came down with the flu last year, she really cared. I wasn't just a medical chart to her. They’ll make a wonderful couple.”

Abby nodded dumbly and hurriedly headed for the door.

“Hey, you forgot your frog!” Donna called.

Abby grabbed the plastic bag with the frog in it and fled to her car. She just sat there without turning the key. Hugo and Dr. Randolph. After the first shock, the idea of the two of them being attracted to each other wasn't all that startling. Why wouldn't they be attracted to each other? Hugo was a vital and handsome man, well-traveled, knowledgeable, thoughtful and kind. To say nothing of wealthy. Dr. Randolph was slim and beautiful, intelligent and competent, a descendant of the Randolphs who had founded Green Harbor.

Abby suddenly realized that Donna was watching her curiously from the glass door of the store. She hastily pretended to be searching for something in her purse, then started the car and headed back toward the museum.

Okay, she scolded herself sternly, why are you acting like some adolescent girl who expected to be asked to the high school prom and wasn't ?

Well, if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that was about how she felt. Yet she shouldn't feel that way, she told herself firmly. She and Hugo had been to dinner a few times, although these dinners certainly were not dates. And they’d gone hiking and bird-watching on several of the islands together. They also seemed to have many interests in common, but theirs was basically a working relationship.

So what's the problem here? the interior voice that often asked annoying questions inquired.

The problem, Abby decided uneasily as she poked warily at her subconscious, was that deep down it had always seemed as if there might be a stronger connection between Hugo and herself than just a working relationship. Maybe even a spark of something special between them.

Now she had to wonder if secretly she’d been hoping for more, a hope that would never be realized if Hugo was involved with Dr. Randolph.

Was the real problem here that she was muddling around in plain, old-fashioned jealousy ?

Oh no, certainly not that unlovely emotion, she thought, horrified with herself. But if not outright jealousy, she had to admit there was at least something here that she didn't want to feel.

Lord, keep me away from that, she prayed fervently as she passed the Stanton Farm. She managed a smile and wave at the hired farmhand, Samuel Arbogast, who was out front working on a stretch of fence brought down by a branch in the rainstorm two days ago.

She should, in fact, be happy about this. Finding out that Hugo's uncharacteristic behavior the last few days was due to a romantic involvement rather than some serious illness was good news. Had he perhaps felt self-conscious about the relationship, perhaps concerned that Abby would disapprove? Was that why he’d acted troubled as well as distracted?

Help me to be truly happy for both of them, she added in prayer.

Back at the museum parking lot, she realized that in her foolish turmoil about Hugo and Dr. Randolph she’d forgotten all about picking up a sandwich at the Springhouse Café.

Never mind. She didn't feel very hungry now anyway.