CHAPTER TEN

THE FIRST CALL CAME THE following evening. Abby, Mary and Henry were at the dining room table eating dinner and discussing what Abby had found on the Internet about the Blue Moon and its curse when the phone rang. Abby got up from the table to answer it.

“Hi. Um, my name is Marcy Bailor?” The young voice sounded nervous and the name came out more question than statement. “Is this, uh, Mrs. Stanton?”

“Yes, this is Dr. Stanton,” Abby said. “May I help you?”

“The thing is, my boyfriend had a necklace he was going to give me and he . . . he worked for those people who lived out on Wayfarer Point Road? And he put the necklace in the desk there, just so it would be, you know, safe for a while, and then the man died, and Patrick didn't know what became of the desk or the necklace. And now I guess you’ve found it? It's really valuable. It belonged to his mother—” She broke off as a whispered voice said something behind her. “I mean, his grandmother. Anyway, I want to get it back.”

The story was so obviously phony, so awkwardly contrived that Abby would have laughed if she hadn't been so startled by the audacity of it.

“Are you Ida's friend from the café?”

“No, I don't know anyone named Ida.” She paused. “But maybe I do and I just don't remember her name . . .” The woman sounded as if she were willing to jump in either direction to help her case.

“I think you should talk to Sergeant Cobb from the sheriff's department about this. He happens to be right here. Hold on a minute please.”

Abby carried the cordless phone into the dining room and handed it to Henry. “A young woman claims she owns the necklace,” she whispered.

Henry took the phone. “Sergeant Cobb here, San Juan County Sheriff's Department.” He waited a minute, then pulled the phone away from his ear. “No one there.”

The three exchanged glances. Mary laughed first. “Maybe she wasn't so eager to tell her story to the strong ear of the law,” she suggested.

Abby laughed too. “Especially when she was having a hard time keeping her story straight.” She shook her head and related the details of what the woman had told her. “Did she really think I was just going to hand the necklace over to her?”

Henry had laughed with them, but his tone turned unexpectedly somber when he said, “You may be surprised what we’ll run into with a three-million-dollar necklace involved. I’ve already warned you, Abby.” He targeted her with a pointed forefinger. “But I think you both need to be careful.”

“Surely you don't think there's anything to that curse nonsense,” Abby protested.

“No, of course not. But I think there are way too many greedy people in this world who may do more than make phone calls. Again, you both need to be careful.”

“But why me?” Mary sounded surprised and a bit miffed. “What's any of this got to do with me?”

“With that much money at stake, who knows how the mind of someone who wants that necklace may work?” Henry said, still somber. “And Abby, if you get any more calls when I’m not around, just refer them to me at the station.”

THE NEXT CALL CAME Sunday afternoon, a few minutes after Abby returned from an invigorating hike on the trail around Cedar Grove Lake. Mary and Henry had taken the ferry over to visit friends of his on Lopez. Mary hadn't taken Finnegan along today, and Abby had just turned him outside for his daily playtime.

The call started out much as the other one had, although the young woman didn't sound quite so nervous.

“You don't know me,” she began, “but my name is Julie Richards. I work with Ida at the Springhouse Café and I heard you found a necklace in an old desk.”

“Yes, Ida mentioned that you might call.”

“I think it may be a necklace that belonged to my grandmother. It disappeared here on the island years ago.”

“If you want to make a claim for the necklace, you’ll have to go through the sheriff's department. They’re handling it.”

“The sheriff's department?” The woman sounded taken back by the fact that there would be legal formalities involved, but she agreed readily enough. “Oh well, okay. I can do that.”

Curiosity made Abby ask, “Do you have any idea how your grandmother's necklace could have gotten into the desk?”

“No. I don’t. No idea at all. It's puzzling.”

Abby appreciated the fact that the woman wasn't making up some outlandish story to explain the necklace's being in the desk. She had the impression that this woman, unlike the earlier one, actually believed the found necklace might be her grand-mother’s. “Could you describe your grandmother's necklace?”

“Yes, I can! I called my mother over in Redmond and asked her. She remembers Grandma wearing it when they lived here on the island. It had a gold chain, not a fine chain, but one with big, chunky links. Mom said the links had an almost sharp feeling. And the blue stone was big, really big, with a bunch of smaller blue stones around it.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that description doesn't match the necklace I found at all.” Nor did it match the photo of the necklace in the old setting that Abby had seen on the Internet. Abby found herself oddly disappointed. Wouldn't it have been nice if the valuable necklace really had belonged to this hardworking and apparently sincere young woman?

“Oh well, okay then. I guess I won't bother talking to the sheriff's department. Thanks.” The woman unexpectedly laughed. “I guess in a way I’m kind of relieved. I know the necklace you found is supposed to have some big unlucky curse on it, and I have enough troubles without that.”

AT THE MUSEUM the following morning, a Claudia actually showed up. She was tall and slim, black pants and spike heels accentuating her height. An abundance of red hair floated around her narrow face. Gold hoop earrings flashed at her ears. The woman tossed a driver's license on Abby's desk. “I’m Claudia Seaver. I understand you have a necklace that belongs to me.”

Abby picked up the Oregon license, which gave the name Claudia Seaver with an address in Portland, Oregon. The photo matched the face of the woman standing in front of her desk. If Hugo were in the office today, she’d call down to his office and ask him to sit in on this, but he’d had to make another trip to Seattle for more tests.

“This is my husband, Winston,” the woman went on in an imperious tone. She gestured toward the big, beefy man in a suede jacket beside her. If this woman had a scepter, she’d be waving it, Abby thought. “We’re staying at the Rosario resort over on Orcas Island for a couple of weeks and we heard about the necklace.”

“You heard about the necklace over on Orcas?” Abby repeated, astonished. Before Abby could get in another word, the woman launched into her version of the necklace's history.

“My ex-husband and I never actually lived here on Sparrow Island, but we vacationed here several times. Our marriage had been in trouble for some time, and the last time we were here, it came to a breaking point and we split up.” She tugged lightly on one of the gold hoop earrings.

Since Claudia had obviously already acquired a new husband, Abby didn't know whether to express sympathy about the breakup with the former husband or not. She discreetly murmured a noncommittal, “I see.”

“I had an old necklace that my grandmother had given me before she died a long time ago. I’d assumed the big stone in it was really just a chunk of blue glass and never thought of the necklace as having anything other than sentimental value. Anyway, I couldn't find the necklace in my luggage when I got home, and I realized Jack must have taken it with him when he walked out. We were staying at The Dorset,” she added.

“Did you report the necklace as missing at that time?”

“No. I was unhappy about losing it, of course, because it had been my grandmother’s. But since I thought it was just old costume jewelry, there didn't seem to be any point in reporting it.” Now she smoothed a finger across an eyebrow. “I didn't realize until yesterday how valuable it is.”

“I wonder why your former husband would bother taking it, if you didn't know at that time it was valuable?”

She leaned forward. “One of two reasons, I think. Either he took it just to hurt me because it was my grandmother's and I valued it for that reason, or maybe he already knew it was really very valuable. He was sneaky. For all I know, he could have secretly had it appraised.”

Abby mentally reviewed the story. It had a certain ring of plausibility, and the woman's eyes flashed angrily as she spoke of her ex-husband's motivation. Yet the woman's nervous gestures suggested she wasn't at ease telling the story.

“I understand you found the necklace here in the museum?” The woman glanced around warily and Abby realized the rumors she’d heard must not have included information about the desk as the hiding place.

“Would you have any idea how it got here?” Abby asked.

The woman hesitated and Abby had the impression this might be a weak point in her story. “Well, uh, no, I guess not.”

“I see. And could you describe the necklace for me?”

“Of course.” Without hesitation the woman launched into a detailed description of the necklace. A description that exactly matched the appearance of the necklace in that old black-and-white photo Abby had downloaded off the Internet, not the current modern setting. If photocopies had been made at Siebert's jewelry, Abby thought, they were apparently flying from island to island as if self-propelled.

“How long has it been since you saw the necklace?” Abby inquired, careful to give no hint that her suspicions were mounting.

The woman glanced at her husband. Abby wondered how long they’d been married. “A couple of years, I guess.”

It was possible that the blue diamond had been reset and hidden in Abby's desk during that time, although she definitely had her doubts. “You’ll have to talk to Sergeant—”

The husband, who had been silent until now, suddenly broke in. “We’re willing to pay a substantial reward for the return of the necklace, of course.”

The woman eyed Abby's tailored blue jacket and sensible shoes. Abby saw her shrewd gaze mentally price-tagging them as if evaluating how much of a “reward” it would take. “We’d be very fair,” she said.

“I see. Well, you’ll have to discuss that and all other details with Sergeant Cobb at the county sheriff's department. You can find him at the local substation on Municipal Street in Green Harbor. The sheriff's department is handling all claims for the necklace.”

“All claims?” The woman's eyes flashed in alarm. She and the beefy husband exchanged glances. “But it's my necklace. No one else has a right to claim it. I’m entitled to it.”

“Sergeant Cobb will give you every opportunity to prove that, I’m sure.”

The tall man leaned forward, palms on top of Abby's desk. “It's cursed, you know,” he warned. “If anyone has the necklace in their possession and isn't entitled to it, something very bad is going to happen to that person.”

It wasn't exactly a threat, but neither was it a have-a-niceday kind of statement.

Abby stood up. She was considerably shorter than both the Seavers, but she herded them toward the door with authority. “Thank you for your interest,” she said in as polite a tone as she could muster.

“We’re on our way to the sheriff's department now,” the husband said. As if this were a last-chance warning, he added, “You’ll never see a cent of reward money if we have to do that.”

“Fine,” Abby said. “Tell Sergeant Cobb I sent you. He’ll also be able to tell you if making a false claim is a form of attempted theft, a misdemeanor or a felony.”

She didn't know that making a false claim was a crime, of course, but neither did she know that it wasn’t. And she was almost certain now that this was a false claim. Especially when the couple exchanged worried glances as they went out her office door.

Perhaps she should start writing these stories down, Abby mused as she looked out the window and watched the couple cross the parking lot to a small motor home. She could title the collection of stories Granny and the Three-Million-Dollar Necklace, since a grandmother seemed to play a prominent part in these stories. Or, considering the quality of tales she was getting so far, perhaps it should be Granny and the Three-Million-Dollar Boondoggle.

WHEN THE PHONE RANG AGAIN a few hours later, Abby almost hated to answer it. Another phony claimant with a grandma story? But this was a boat owner down at the marina saying he’d just seen a seagull entangled in some fishing line near the dock and someone had told him to call her.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Abby said instantly. “Where can I find the bird?”

“It's near the south end of the dock. It's pretty well tangled up, but I didn't have any luck trying to catch it myself.”

She ran over to her lab in the conservatory building and exchanged her good clothes for a sweatshirt and an old pair of cargo type pants with pockets for everything. She didn't have her usual birding vest here, and she hastily stuck a pocket knife, small scissors and basic medications in the pockets so she’d have them with her whenever she managed to catch the seagull. She realized she probably looked more like a beach bum than an ornithologist as she grabbed a net and headed for her car. But she didn't mind if she could save a bird's life.

Considerably fewer boats were tied up at the long dock at this time of year than during the busy tourist season, but it was by no means deserted. Tie ropes creaked, and small waves, gentle in this protected area, lapped against the moored boats. Rigging on the tall mast of a sailboat clattered and clanked. She ran to the south end of the dock and stood listening, trying to catch sounds of distress above the usual squawks and shrieks of circling gulls. She found the gull a few minutes later sloshing helplessly against the dock.

It took a few tries, but she finally scooped the bird up in the net. She then knelt right there on the dock to work on it. The lines had tangled the bird's feet together, incapacitated a wing and even wound around the bird's neck.

She’d thought the bird was probably too weak to protest her rescue work, but it set up a noisy squawk and flailed its free wing. She ignored the bird's protestations and the drenching with seawater from the flapping wing and quickly used the small scissors to cut through the strong nylon fishing lines.

She was relieved as she removed the fishing lines to find the bird didn't appear badly injured. She held the bird gently between her knees and dabbed antibiotic ointment on cuts on the leathery yellow legs and under the bird's wing. She debated taking the bird back to the lab for care but decided to give it a chance on its own. Care in a human facility, even good, conscientious care, tended to be traumatic for any wild creature. But if it couldn't fly, she’d definitely take it in.

Carefully she released the bird on the dock and stepped back. It took a few unsteady steps, gave her an indignant look as if somehow this were all her fault, and then lifted its wings in wobbly but determined flight. Abby smiled. She didn't mind the lack of gratitude. She was just glad of the successful outcome.

Abby was now surprised to realize she’d had an audience of half a dozen people watching her work. They applauded as the bird flew and landed on one of the tall wooden pilings supporting the dock. She carefully gathered the scraps of fishing line and took them to a trash can on the dock for disposal.

She felt cheerful as she drove back to the conservatory to change clothes, gratified by the success of the rescue venture. Helping one of God's creatures in distress always lifted her spirits.

The upbeat feeling lasted until some fifteen minutes later when Ida led two people into her office.