CHAPTER EIGHT

ABBY’S PHONE WAS RINGING when she walked into her office. She slipped out of her jacket as she picked it up.

“The Nature Museum. Abby Stanton speaking.”

“Hi, Abby. Henry here. I just wanted to give you a report on the necklace. Actually, I’m afraid it's more of a non-report.”

“You haven't found out anything?”

“Absolutely nothing. There are state and national reports on everything from missing people to stolen boats and stolen vehicles, and, locally, even a flock of stolen pink flamingo yard ornaments on one of the islands.”

“But no missing or stolen blue diamond necklaces?”

“No. And that does seem so strange. More than strange. Baffling actually. Wouldn't you be raising a ruckus if your three-million-dollar necklace was missing?”

“Maybe, to the owner, the necklace isn’t missing,” Abby speculated thoughtfully. “Maybe he or she hid it in the desk for safekeeping and believes it's still safely hidden there.”

“Just waiting for Claudia's birthday or Christmas or whenever to dig it out and give it to her?” Henry sounded interested but skeptical. “Possible, I suppose. But who would do that? Why would someone pick your desk in the museum to hide something in? And how could they do it without someone seeing? Does anyone come in after hours?”

“There's the cleaning crew. They’re here a couple evenings a week. And sometimes Rick DeBow the handyman comes in to repair something. Although I can't imagine any of those people planning to give someone a three-million-dollar necklace as a gift.”

“It's possible there's some crime involved here that we don't yet know about.”

“I also can't imagine any of those people having a connection with some big crime. I think they’re all completely trustworthy.”

“I have inquiries in with the state patrol and the FBI, and I’ll try to contact some insurance companies to see if they’ve had any claims on such a necklace. That's doubtful, though, since it hasn't been reported lost or stolen.” He paused, his tone different when he added, “Abby, I think you need to be careful.”

The same warning Hugo had given, but given by a law officer, it had even greater impact. “Why is that?”

“What happens if this unknown person suddenly discovers the necklace is now missing from the desk? Who does he suspect has it? You, of course, since it's your desk. And who does he come after?”

The obvious answer: Abby. She decided to sidestep those questions, however, or she’d be back hearing sounds in the night and finding her nerves skittering like exploding popcorn. “Actually, I picked up some information that makes me think we should be looking in a different direction for the owner of the necklace and Claudia's identity. In a direction not connected with the museum.”

“Oh? Been sleuthing again, have you?”

“I suppose you could call it that,” Abby admitted. She related the background of the desk as she’d heard it from Donna Morgan. “So what I’m thinking is that the necklace may have been in the desk before either Donna or the museum acquired it. Although probably not longer than a few years, since Gordon Siebert said the setting was modern and that the technique used for mounting the tiny diamonds to make a flexible strand has come into use only recently.”

“Hmmm. That's interesting. I remember the man who suffered the heart attack. As I recall, they medevaced him over to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, but it was too late. We had a rash of rather unpleasant things happen about that time,” Henry reflected. “Him, dying from a heart attack, another guy getting killed not long before that in a hang-gliding accident off Mt. Ortiz, and then a boat accident out near the lighthouse. All before you arrived on the island, I guess.”

“I’m thinking I could contact the auction company and see if they’re willing to give me a phone number or address for this Liberty Washington who sold the desk at auction. Unless you have some objection, of course.”

“None at all. It isn't as if this is a criminal case, and, even though the necklace may be worth a bundle, the department has limited resources for investigating this sort of thing if no crime is involved.”

“I’ll give locating Liberty Washington a try, then.”

“Although I can't think the widow would be much help. She certainly would have removed the necklace before she sold the desk, if she’d known anything about it.”

“But maybe she’ll know something helpful. The name of another previous owner, perhaps. I’ll try anyway.”

“You’re a stubborn and persistent woman, Abby Stanton,” Henry said. She could tell there was a smile in his voice when he added, “But I guess it runs in the family, doesn't it? Mary can be stubborn too.”

“Which is a very good thing for her. She wouldn't have made the kind of recovery from her accident that she has if she wasn't stubborn and persistent.”

“Very true,” he agreed. “Well,” Henry now said briskly, “you let me know if you get anywhere with Liberty Washington and I’ll let you know if I come across anything. By the way, Mary and I are going to try pizza at the Springhouse Café this evening. It's new on their menu. Would you like to come along?”

Abby knew he’d probably rather be alone with Mary, but he was a considerate and good-hearted man and often invited Abby to join them. Abby also knew gregarious Mary wouldn't mind her coming along; Mary's attitude in most situations was the more the merrier. For tonight, however, Abby declined.

It wasn't until she’d hung up the phone that she realized she hadn't passed along the information she’d found on the Internet about the Blue Moon. On second thought she decided that, at this point, it was probably irrelevant. She had no proof the diamond in the safe deposit box was the Blue Moon. She just had that persistent feeling.

SHE INTENDED TO CONTACT the auction company in Woodinville later that afternoon, but she forgot all about it when she got immersed in looking up information for a professor at a British Columbia university who called with questions about an unusual type of plover recently spotted in his area. She remembered the call on the way home and went to the phone immediately after walking in through the garage and calling to Mary, “Hi, it's me. I’m home.”

“I’m in the bedroom. The craft group was canceled tonight, so I’m having dinner with Henry. He was supposed to be here about six o’clock, but he just called to say he’d be a little late. I decided to change my sweater.”

Abby smiled to herself. Mary wasn't a fussbudget about her appearance, but she was very fashion conscious and never wanted to settle for looking less than her very best.

Abby dug out the phone number Donna had given her and dialed. She’d been afraid it was so late in the day that the business office would be closed, but the information she received was more dismaying than that.

Coming into the kitchen, Mary asked, “Something wrong?”

Abby briefly explained about who she was trying to call and why. “But now I’ve just found out that the number has been disconnected.”

“You could try Information.”

Abby did, but Information had no information to offer.

“I’ll try the Internet a little later. But it sounds as if the company has gone out of business.”

“How about the Chamber of Commerce?” Mary suggested. “They might know if the company moved somewhere else or changed its name.”

“I never thought of that. Good idea!”

Mary pushed up the sleeve of her emerald green sweater and looked at her watch. “Although it's probably too late today.”

“It's no emergency, of course. But talking to Liberty Washington seems, at the moment, like our only possible lead to whoever owns the necklace.” Abby inspected her sister more closely. “You know, stunning isn't a word that is often in my vocabulary, but that's how you look tonight. Stunning.”

It was true. The outfit was casual enough for pizza at the Café, but the brilliant green of the sweater and her matching earrings emphasized the silver gleam of Mary's hair. In spite of her inability to walk, Mary's figure was still trim and lovely.

Mary smiled her appreciation for the compliment. “Thank you.”

“Be on the watch for any stray Claudias,” Abby called after Henry arrived and the two of them were leaving for dinner.

Abby fixed herself a quick soup-and-salad supper and then got on the Internet to look for a Web site listing the auction company. Nothing. Neither did she have any success locating Liberty Washington. In total, it was a thoroughly frustrating evening.

IN THE BUSY TOURIST SEASON the museum and conservatory were usually open on Saturdays, but now that the rains had come and tourist activity was down to a dribble, Abby's Saturdays were free. This Saturday, she and Mary both slept a little later than usual, and Mary drove into town for breakfast with some friends. Abby caught up on e-mail correspondence with people back east and did one of her least favorite tasks, vacuuming. She studied the lesson for the class she’d be teaching the fourth- through sixth-graders the following day.

For lunch, she ate pizza leftovers Mary had brought home from her dinner with Henry the night before. Quite tasty, even warmed over. The phone rang as she was putting her plate in the dishwasher.

“Hi, Abby. This is Bobby,” a young voice said.

“Hello, Bobby,” Abby said. “What are you up to today?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to go walk on the beach. I looked at the tide book and there's lots of time yet. The tide's going way out, and we might be able to get clear out to that funny rock up there by the bend on Wayfarer Point Road.”

“I think that's a wonderful idea, Bobby. How about if I stop by your house, and then we’ll drive up and park at one of the turnout viewpoints on the road?”

“Awesome!”

Abby smiled, pleased that he could consider a beach hike with a friend her age as “awesome.”

“Oh, and I have a little something for you.”

“You do? Okay! “ She could hear the anticipation in his voice.

Abby dressed warmly in slacks, a turtleneck and a heavy jacket. Clouds and rain had given way to bright sun, but a brisk wind whipped the sea into a glitter of whitecapped froth. South of the beach, she saw that the small dock on the Wetherbees’ place was empty now. Old Lars Wetherbee must already have put his little boat into storage for the winter. When she turned into the McDonald driveway, Bobby dashed out to meet her. His mother, Sandy, who taught at the high school, followed, arms wrapped around herself against the wind.

“Brrr. You guys sure you want to do this?”

“I’m up for it if Bobby is.”

“Stop in for hot chocolate on your way back, then.”

Bobby slid into the passenger's seat of Abby's car. He offered her a stick of gum. Abby accepted gravely, although she never chewed gum except when she was with Bobby. She wondered if he’d ask what she had for him but wasn't surprised when he didn’t. Bobby's parents had brought him up to be too well mannered for that. She could see him peering around the car hopefully, however. She didn't keep him in suspense. She brought out the floppy green frog and tossed it to him.

“It's supposed to glow in the dark,” she explained. “Although I didn't check last night to see if it really does.”

“Hey, this is great! There are some deep-sea creatures that glow in the dark, you know,” he said, ever the scientist. “But I’ve never heard of frogs that do.”

“I doubt this one was designed with scientific accuracy in mind.”

Then, reverting from young scientist to small boy again, Bobby enthusiastically hopped the floppy frog across his legs and the dashboard and up the window. He giggled. “It feels kind of like Jell-O that escaped from the bowl.”

Abby parked at a turnout on Wayfarer Point Road. They carefully made their way down a short, steep trail to the beach. A wide stretch of rocky beach stretched in both directions now, but at high tide the very spot on which they stood would be under water. Piles of driftwood stumps and logs lined the upper edge of the beach, indicating that storm tides sometimes rose even higher than the average high tides. Strands of greenish kelp littered the rocks, and Abby remembered how once, when she was a little girl, she used a long strand to spell out the letters of her name. Now she spotted the sleek, dark heads of two seals swimming only a hundred feet from shore. She pointed them out to Bobby, and they watched until the seals gave a final flip and disappeared.

“I’m glad God made seals,” Bobby announced.

Walking on the beach with Bobby was always an interesting experience. Every shell, rock, feather and scrap of driftwood had to be examined, every bulb of kelp squished or popped. Gulls swooped and squawked overhead, and once a blue heron flew by, wings flapping with languid grace, long legs trailing behind.

Abby offered to carry Bobby's plastic bag of treasures as it grew heavier, but he’d soon collected another bag almost as heavy.

They talked about everything from what was going on at Bobby's school to information he’d found on the Internet about underwater volcanoes to the fact that he’d grown threequarters of an inch in the last six months. She told him about the new exhibit and was astonished when ornithopter turned out to be not a new word to him at all. He knew exactly what an ornithopter was.

“You can buy models on the Internet to put together. Some of them are powered with a rubber band. If I make one, will you put it in your exhibit?” he asked.

“Indeed I will. Sounds like a great idea.”

Abby hadn't thought about the house that had formerly belonged to Liberty Washington until she spotted it high up on the far side of Wayfarer Point Road. She suddenly wondered if the current owners might know how to reach the widow and made a mental note to herself to check that out.

Their progress was slow, but Abby and Bobby did make it to the “funny rock” near the big curve in the island. They both clambered up its rough but slippery sides, stopping along the way to inspect every clinging starfish and mussel, of course. Afterward, they shared hot chocolate at the McDonald house. Sandy wrinkled her nose and declared they both smelled as if they’d been wallowing in a boatload of fish.

Abby sniffed the jacket hanging on the back of her chair. Yes, she had to admit, it did have a certain fishy aroma.

“But maybe it's like that old saying ‘Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder,’” Sandy added. “Only in this case it might be, ‘Fragrance is in the nose of the smeller.’”

Bobby, ever the charmer said, “You’re beautiful, Mom. And you smell good too.”

Abby and Sandy just looked at each other and laughed, and Sandy gave her son a hug.

THAT NIGHT, Abby woke suddenly. She jerked upright in bed, muscles rigid as she realized the phone on her nightstand was ringing. Middle-of-the-night phone calls were not usually harbingers of good news. Her parents? She snatched up the phone. “Hello?”

“It does, Abby, it really does! It glows in the dark!”

Abby slumped back against the pillow, smiling in spite of the scare the ringing phone had given her. She didn't have to ask the caller's identity or what he was talking about. “I’m glad to hear that, Bobby. Now go back to bed.” She peered at the red numbers on her digital clock. “It's after midnight.”

“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry. I thought you’d stay up late. I will when I grow up. And sometimes I’m going to stay up all night!”

“I’m sure you will.” Just don't call me in the middle of the night and scare the wits out of me, Abby thought. Finnegan was up now too, apparently wakened by the phone. He padded upstairs to Abby's bedroom, checking things out. She gave him a pat on the head when he stuck his nose over the edge of the bed.

“Oh and, Abby, I sent for an ornithopter on the Internet tonight. It should be here in three days.”

“That's great. Now go back to bed.”

“Okay. See you in Sunday school tomorrow. I studied the lesson. I have some questions to ask.”

Abby would have to look over the lesson again before she and Mary drove into Little Flock the following morning. It wasn't easy keeping ahead of Bobby McDonald!

BY MONDAY AFTERNOON Abby hadn't heard anything from Gordon Siebert. She decided to leave the museum a little early and drop by the jewelry store to get his opinion on what she’d picked up on the Internet about the Blue Moon.

A customer was looking at rings when she arrived and Gordon appeared to be working alone in the store today. She wandered around admiring the displays. One glass cabinet particularly caught her attention. Everything in it was blue, the hues varying from stones of a clear, light blue to the opaque blue of turquoise. Scattered among the pieces of jewelry were raw chunks of a blue mineral and even peacock feathers with iridescent blue “eyes.”

Gordon came over after the customer made a purchase and departed. “After you were in, I got to thinking about all the blues the world of gems has to offer, so Judee and I put this display together. You might say it's in honor of your necklace, although I’m not telling anyone that, of course.” His smile was conspiratorial.

“Good. I want to keep the necklace confidential for a while yet.”

“There's even one blue diamond,” Gordon said, pointing to a ring with a tiny but vividly blue stone. “Nothing to compare with that blue diamond of yours, however.”

“It's not—” Abby automatically started to deny ownership, but she had the sudden feeling Gordon might be artfully fishing for information. So instead she broke off and commented on the display. “It's a beautiful display. Very creatively done.”

“Judee's good at that. She brought in the peacock feathers. The blue chunks of mineral I already had. They’re azurite, which is a hydrous copper carbonate.”

He went on to identify the varying blue tones of sapphires, the rich blue of a necklace made of beads of lapis lazuli, and the light blue of aquamarines.

“Aquamarine is the birthstone for those born in March, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.” Gordon laughed. “Birthstone jewelry is always popular and sells very well. I’ve always suspected the birthstone thing was invented by some enterprising salesman so he could sell more jewelry.”

Interesting, but not why Abby had come here. “You haven't found out anything about the necklace?”

“Not a thing. Which is puzzling. Someone should know something because that's a spectacular stone and I’m certain it's been reset in the last few years—though it may have been done far out of this area, of course. On the east coast, or even overseas.”

“Could it have been done in a . . .” Abby trailed off, not certain what word to use. She didn't want to imply that a criminal element could be involved here. Yet a criminal element might be exactly what they were dealing with. Hiding a three-million-dollar necklace in an old desk was not exactly on the up-and-up.

“The resetting could have been done by some individual outside the general commercial jewelry business,” Gordon suggested, the rather generic answer suggesting he knew what she was getting at. More bluntly he added, “If the gem were stolen that's exactly the kind of person who would be involved in resetting it.”

Abby pulled the computer printout out of her purse. “I found this on the Internet. I wanted to see what you thought.”

Gordon Siebert read the material about the Blue Moon with brow-furrowed intensity, occasionally tapping his mustache with a forefinger.

“I’m wondering if there's any chance the blue diamond I showed you could actually be the Blue Moon described here. The size is identical, and its ownership and location have apparently been unknown for some years.”

Gordon spread the papers on the glass display case and studied the black-and-white photograph of the gem in its old-fashioned setting. “Hard to say from this. But I definitely wouldn't rule out the possibility. The size certainly matches, and twenty-one carat blue diamonds are not exactly commonplace. What a find this would be if it actually is the Blue Moon!”

Was Abby hoping it was? She wasn't certain.

“What we need, of course, is a photo or diagram of the interior of the Blue Moon so I can compare it with your diamond. But the technology wasn't available to do such photography until recent years, so it may never have been done.”

“Do you have the equipment to do it now?”

“No, unfortunately I don’t. I let it go when I sold the business over in Tacoma. But an accurate diagram done by hand can be just as helpful and is in some ways preferable because you can get more of a three-dimensional effect. It's possible such a diagram was done sometime, but I don't know how we’d ever locate it.”

He read further then and laughed. “And a curse! How exciting. I hope you’re being careful of safes falling out of windows, hostile bird life, greedy jewel thieves, etcetera?”

“I’m not concerned.” Although his mention of greedy jewel thieves echoed Hugo and Henry's warnings about being careful. “I don't believe in superstitious curses.”

“I don't either,” Gordon agreed. “But I do hope you’ve put the necklace somewhere secure for safekeeping?”

“Sergeant Cobb rented a safe deposit box at the bank. I’m sure it's safe there.”

Gordon jumped on that, his gaze lifting with interest. “Oh, so the authorities are definitely involved, then?” He hesitated and then with a sideways tilt of his head, added, “Would it be too, ah, indiscreet of me to inquire if the necklace is the item found in your desk at the museum?”

“What? “ Abby gasped, astonished. “Where did you hear something was found in the desk?”

“Judee said something about it, although I didn't ask where she’d heard it. The necklace wasn't mentioned, but with what I knew about the necklace, I just put two and two together. And I’m keeping my conclusions totally confidential,” he assured her.

Abby knew where the information must have come from. She hadn't actually told Donna Morgan she’d found something in the desk, but basic honesty had kept her from fabricating a denial to Donna's speculations. Now, uncomfortably clutching her purse, she said, “Thank you. I appreciate that. We don't want finding the real owner complicated by a flood of phony claims.”

“I can understand that. May I keep this?” he asked, lifting the computer printout off the glass counter. “It's fascinating information and may be helpful in my inquiries. Again, keeping everything discreet and confidential.”

Abby managed a smile. “You keep all this confidential, and I’ll keep your comment about the economic factor in birthstones confidential.”

He also smiled. “It's a deal.”