Adventures are not all pony-rides in May-sunshine.
—J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, or There and Back Again
AFTER EVERYONE LEFT, Sadie locked the back door and headed upstairs. “Don’t forget to set the store alarms,” she called down. “If you need me, I’ll be in bed with a good book.”
With our cat Bookmark slung over my shoulder, I turned the open sign to closed and was about to lock the front door and activate the security system when the marmalade scamp leaped out of my arms and darted into the darkened event space.
“Come on, cat. I’m too tired for this. I can’t leave you down here, or you’ll set off the motion detectors!”
Her reply was a taunting mew.
“Okay. I’m coming in there!”
As I walked into the large, empty room, shadows played across the images on canvas, all those faces from long ago, and the longest was young Harriet McClure.
I still didn’t know all her secrets or what was in her jewelry box. But thanks to Violet’s research, I now knew why there were no earrings or necklaces adorning her poses in all those self-portraits—or rattling around in the box we’d found. She’d sold the gems to keep her household going.
That’s when Violet’s words came back to me about Robert McClure secretly buying back Harriet’s jewelry from the local pawnshop here in Quindicott.
“The local pawnshop,” I repeated, pausing to consider that phrase. “Jack, I know the history of the stores in this town, and there’s only one that began as a pawnshop.”
You don’t say.
“Gilder’s Antiques.”
The very same shop that’s now run by your old friend?
“Georgia Gilder was never a friend, only a classmate.”
My mind worked overtime, thinking back on Georgia’s entrance into this very room, how she’d immediately recognized the musical notes in the painting, how she’d been on the street to witness Conway’s argument with Tracy and my son’s filming of that confrontation.
Chills went through me that had nothing to do with Jack’s presence, and I felt a sudden urgency in setting that security alarm. After a few minutes of cat and mouse (though who was the cat and who was the mouse is anyone’s guess), I grabbed Bookmark again.
When I returned to the store, my nostrils flared. Jack whiffed it, too. And in that instant, I remembered—
La Chienne Number 5!
The preferred flower juice of the Georgia peach.
I could have kicked myself for two reasons: not getting that front door locked sooner and misjudging the faint floral aroma in Conway’s motel room.
Sacre bleu, Jack cracked. French fries masked the French perfume!
I remained outwardly calm, even as I fought to tame my panic.
Georgia must have slipped through the unlocked front door and hid herself while I was chasing Bookmark. What do I do now?
There are two ways to look at this. Either you’re trapped in here with her, or she’s trapped in here with you.
Jack’s meaning came through loud and clear.
I locked the door and activated the security system, including the motion detectors in the event space. Then I set Bookmark free. The cat gleefully scampered back to the art exhibit, tail held high in feline triumph.
With creepy silence, Georgia Gilder stepped out of the shadows clad in baggy pants and an oversize jacket with the hood pulled up. One gloved hand pointed a rose pink pistol at my heart.
That’s a snub-nosed .38, Jack cautioned. It’s a pretty little ladies’ pistol, but it has enough punch to put you in the morgue.
“Where is it?” Georgia demanded. “I know you have the lost jewel box. Your friends were bragging about it all over town.”
“You really think you’ll get away with this?”
“You’d be surprised what I’ve already gotten away with. Now, where is it?”
Keep her talking, Penny. That cat of yours is going to trip the alarm any minute.
“I’ll tell you where it is if you answer one question. Why is it so important to you?”
“I’m going to buy my future with it, that’s why. I know all about Ashley McClure’s upscale plans for this town. These little family businesses are finished, and good riddance! I’m done, too. I never wanted to come back here.”
“Then why did you?”
“Let’s just say I got a raw deal, but that Harriet legacy is my winning ticket out of here and back to the life I deserve.”
“The life you deserve?” I laughed in her face. “Good luck. You’re not going to get much capital from an iron box.”
“You stupid idiot.” Georgia sneered. “You figured out part of Harriet’s message, so you think you know everything. Clearly you don’t.”
“I know much more than you. I always did, you pretentious dimwit.”
Showing Georgia my own proud sneer was like waving a red cape at an agitated bull. It did the trick and kept her talking.
“Here’s what I do know,” she spat. “It was my grandfather who bought jewelry from Harriet McClure, right on her estate. That’s how he learned about her crazy coded paintings. He even sold some of them for her. When she died, old Malachi Finch called my grandfather up to the house. For years, that insane spinster kept her jewel box hidden. Before she croaked, she confessed the box still contained her ‘most precious treasure,’ and the map to finding it was written into her early paintings. But Malachi and his simple wife couldn’t figure it out, so he asked my grandfather to help. They came close to cracking it, too, until my grandfather stupidly mentioned his clever business dealings with Harriet’s brother, who Malachi hated. After hearing that, Malachi stopped trusting him and burned the paintings, right before his eyes.”
“So your grandfather was the one who spread the false gossip about why the Finches burned Harriet’s paintings.”
“Of course! He wasn’t going to tip anyone else off to the truth. On his own deathbed, he gave my parents all his notes and told them to keep looking for those weird early paintings. My parents never had any luck, but they never stopped trying to find Harriet’s treasure.”
“Not all treasures are gold or jewels. Whatever is inside that box—”
“I don’t give a damn what’s inside that box. I want the jewel!”
“You mean the red glass heart embedded in the top?”
“You jackass, that’s a ruby!” She smirked. “Without Conway’s digital files, you nerds couldn’t blow up the script on the cloud big enough to read it. If you had, you’d have seen the chemical compound for the crystalline form of aluminum oxide, aka a sapphire or ruby.”
She huffed. “Do you know what a pure ruby is worth? The Queen of Burma sold for three million at auction. The Graff Ruby for eight million. The Sunrise for thirty!”
“And did you tell Clifford Conway about the ruby, or did you just bring the champagne and seduce your way into his suite?”
“Men are easy. He died thinking he was the luckiest guy in town. And he was the perfect dupe to frame for the old man’s murder. You have to admit, planting Walt Waverly’s mobile phone in his motel room was genius.”
Acting confused, I shook my head. “How did you even get Mr. Waverly’s phone?”
“You really are stupid, aren’t you? All I had to do was set up my search engine’s alert for Harriet’s name. When I saw the watermarked thumbnail image on the old guy’s website, I contacted him, but the fool sold it out from under me! Then he refused to tell me who he’d sold it to. I had to act, so I pretended to purchase a painting in the entryway and up the ladder he went. You know, I tried to get rid of that walking encyclopedia friend of yours, too, but Seymour’s head was too hard.” She laughed. “How’s that lump I gave you? Still throbbing, I hope.”
My fists clenched. “I forgot what a vain workout queen you were. Do you still spend hours in the gym, trying to hold back the inevitable?”
“I’ll tell you what’s inevitable.” She waved that pink gun again. “Tell me where that box is, and I won’t make you suffer in horrible pain before you die. It’ll be over quick.”
“No, it won’t.” I folded my arms. “And you’re going to spend the better part of your life working out in a prison yard.”
Furious that I still refused to act as cowed as I had in high school, she tried to menace me by stepping closer. I moved backward, until my spine touched the counter.
“It will look like a robbery.” Georgia bared white teeth. “Everyone in town knows about that jewel box, including the junkies at the Wentworth Arms. I’ll leave the gun there and see to it one of them gets blamed.”
“Like you planted that umbrella on Tracy’s bike? Eddie said it was old, from a secondhand store. But it was really an antique, wasn’t it?”
“The box, Penelope! You have ten seconds left. Then I’m going to pull the trigger and look upstairs. Your old auntie and that cute little boy of yours still live up there, don’t they?”
That’s it, the ghost insisted. Time to act!
I’ve been ready, Jack, but that blasted cat isn’t doing her part!
I’ll fix that . . .
A sudden draft of supernaturally cold air swept into the event space. A second later, Bookmark let out an outraged howl and tripped the motion detectors.
The shrill alarm and blinking lights startled Georgia.
Go for it, Penny!
I snatched the gym bag off the counter and swung it as hard as I could at Georgia’s head. The pink pistol flew in one direction; the smug woman went another. As the gun rattled across the room, Georgia crashed into our Butcher Block Mysteries display and dropped to the floor, out cold.
I released the gym bag, and the decoy brick spilled out. (Harriet’s jewelry box had been safely hidden under my mattress.)
The alarm brought Sadie down to the shop, followed by Spencer, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Outside, a police car rolled up, and Deputy Chief Franzetti rushed in.
“Are you okay, Pen?”
“Better than okay,” I said, “because I finally know who killed Walter Waverly, who murdered Clifford Conway, who framed Tracy Mahoney, and who gave Seymour and me our blasted bumps on the head.”
Pointing at the figure sprawled on the floor, I knew one more thing: how incredibly relieved Hugo must have felt when he looked out that pulp factory window and said—
“That’s that.”