35

 

Ash and I watched an old, made-for-TV movie about a man-eating snake. Geoff arrived around the time the shirtless hero rescued the scantily-dressed heroine for the first time. By the end of the flick, he’d saved her a dozen times more. Then came the news, with the usual wars, earthquakes, and crime sprees. That American jewel thief was still at large, but our frog thief seemed to be flying under the radar.

We didn’t talk. We just stared at the TV and wondered what was happening at Geoff’s.

Andrew saved us from the late night talk shows when he tapped on the sliding door and let himself in. Wanting inside for the night, Sheba squeezed through with him.

“We’re done,” he said to Geoff. “You can go home now.”

“And?” said Ash.

“And what?” Sometimes Andrew could be so obtuse.

“Josh? What’s h-happened to Josh? Where is he?”

“On his way home with his dad, I expect. Unless they’re detouring for a donut on the way.”

“Home.” Her eyes overflowed with tears as she sprang from the chair to hug Andrew.

He gave her a cousinly back pat. “What did I do?” he mouthed.

“You saved her man from incarceration.”

“Long as Carrie’s happy with her frogs back, and doesn’t press charges.”

Geoff heaved himself from the couch. “Then you don’t think he had anything to do with Claude’s death?”

“Like you said to LeClerc, if the kid was gonna toss the murder weapon, he’d toss it with the rest of the stuff he lifted.”

“You told LeClerc that?” I slipped appreciative arms around Geoff’s waist.

“It’s a moot point, anyway,” said Andrew. “We found the missing frog candlestick earlier this evening, and it wasn’t anywhere near the beach.”

“Where was it?”

“Sorry.” Andrew grinned, knowing unsatisfied curiosity would keep me awake half the night. “Police business.”

I whacked him with a throw pillow. That was what they were called.

He pitched it back. There was some lighthearted banter. Andrew offered to drive Ash home, and they left.

Geoff departed soon after.

I stood in the middle of the living room, suddenly too weary to move. My arms felt like they weighed a million pounds. Such relief. Josh would be OK.

But Claude’s killer was still out there.

I forced myself to check the door locks and turn out the lights. Didn’t even bother to pull on pajamas before I fell into bed and sleep.

In the middle of the night, I woke up.

Carrie’s necklace!

I scrambled out of bed, and dumped my laundry basket on the floor. My jeans were still clammy wet, but the little velvet bag was safe in the pocket.

Thank you, Lord.

I set Carrie’s emerald and diamond necklace on my dresser and crawled back into bed. This time I did don my jammies first.

 

****

 

I didn’t get around to examining Carrie’s necklace until the clinic closed and I slipped home for a late afternoon lunch.

I sat with my tuna sandwich, Carrie’s beautiful necklace, and a jewelry supply catalogue spread across the table in front of me. Sheba also sat on the table waiting for loose bits to fall from my sandwich. She knew there were always some.

I’d quickly realized repairing the necklace’s broken clasp—an elegant European style popular in high end pieces—was beyond my skill set. Replacing it might be my only solution. I elbowed Sheba aside, and flipped pages, looking for a duplicate clasp to order. Problem was, my catalogues didn’t offer anything comparable.

I called Mr. Piteaux for advice.

“If you must know,” he said in his distinctive nasal. “I originally sold the necklace to Mr. Oui, so yes, I am quite familiar with the clasp. I may have something that will help.”

“If I brought it to you this afternoon?”

“This afternoon? Excellent. I’ll have everything ready. If the problem is what I think, I can replace the clasp while you wait.”

I hesitated. “This is rather embarrassing, but I suspect Carrie asked me to repair the clasp because she can’t really afford to replace it right now. Not on top of Claude’s funeral expenses.” The bill for her mom’s residence flashed through my mind, too. “I was hoping perhaps you could just show me?”

Mr. Piteaux cleared his throat. “Say no more. The replacement will be my gift. I’ve been hoping for an opportunity to express my condolences. Perhaps this will help in some small way.”

I thanked Mr. Piteaux for his graciousness and prepared a to-do list for my trip into town. While at work, I remembered that I’d left the seven page checklist Carrie gave me on the beach. I called, and she emailed me a second copy. That list I divided, and printed off. Then I emailed each Steering Committee member the section of the checklist that applied to them. They were now responsible to make sure every item on their list was looked after. I would not be doing the job for them.

I got some immediate, panicked replies, but I stood firm. I was not going to usurp their responsibilities, or the credit they deserved. The ‘not taking the credit’ part went over so well, I decided to give each person a recognition award. They could set it on their mantle, hang it on their wall, stuff it in their bathroom closet. It didn’t matter to me what they did with it, as long as they realized their hard work was appreciated.

I found a certificate template online, and printed them on parchment samples I had at home—I planned doing our wedding invitations the same way. I’d buy mats, and fancy frames for the certificates, ribbons, gift wrap and matching thank-you cards while in town. There were things on the checklist that fell under my purview. With Hum Harbour Daze only two sleeps away, I would get those items, too.

Meanwhile, I still needed to confirm whether the tent Sam found was for his purposes—did the lobster boat races need a giant tent?—or mine. I meant Reverend Innes’s.

Ash was back working at Dunmaglass. Geoff was updating patient charts. I had the entire afternoon to run errands.

First, I stopped at Piteaux Jewelers and left the necklace with Mr. Piteaux. Then I power shopped through the mall, hitting a couple of other downtown stores to round out the trip.

Mr. Piteaux was waiting for me by the time I returned. His face wore a very distressed expression, and I felt my heart sink. “You couldn’t fix it,” I said.

“Oh no, I fixed it. It was really a very simple procedure.” He spread the necklace on a black velvet cloth. The emerald and diamonds shimmered with blinding beauty. The new clasp looked perfect.

I stroked it with a cautious finger. Carrie’s necklace was, without doubt, the most expensive piece of jewelry I’d ever touched. I felt honored, and way out of my class at the same time.

Mr. Piteaux continued to frown.

“Is something wrong with it?”

“I am uncomfortable asking, but you’re sure this is the necklace Carrie gave you? The same one Claude purchased here?”

I yanked back my hand. “It’s the one she gave me. And I know she wears it all the time.” I flashed back to the moment I bumped it off her bedside table. “Except when she’s sleeping. So it must be the necklace Claude gave her. She never lets anyone else near it. “

No, that wasn’t true. The image of Black Hair yanking it from her throat filled my mind. “Why do you ask?”

“As I said, I find this is quite uncomfortable, but this is not the necklace I sold Claude Oui.”

How could that be? Carrie wore it everywhere. She and Claude would’ve known, immediately, if it wasn’t the same necklace he’d given her. Wouldn’t they?

“Then whose necklace is it?”

“This may still be Carrie Hunter’s necklace.”

“I don’t understand.”

He patted the piece sadly, as I imagine he’d pat a troublesome child. “This is a reproduction.”

“It’s fake?” I fell back a step. “Do you think she knows?”

“There’s more. A gentleman came in the other day, and asked me to appraise this necklace.”

“Who? What did he look like? This exact one? You’re sure?”

He chuckled at my string of questions. “The man didn’t give me his name, and I had no cause to demand identification because, as I told him, this is an exquisite looking piece, but the stones are man-made.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

Mr. Piteaux fidgeted with the necklace. “Jewelry I remember, faces, not so much, I’m afraid. He wasn’t from around here. Does that help?”

Not really. “Do you suppose Carrie knows the stones are fake?”

“I couldn’t say.”

I swallowed. Could Black Hair be this mystery man? Was he checking out Carrie’s necklace when he came to see Mr. Piteaux, but changed his mind when he saw Geoff and me? Did that mean he recognized us? “What should I do?”

“At this point, since no crime’s been reported, no fraud committed, you’ve nothing to tell your brother.” Like everyone else in these parts, he knew Andrew was a cop. “And there’s always the possibility that Carrie already knows.”

“She knows?”

“Haven’t you wondered why she brought the broken necklace to you, not me?”

“I thought it was because she was busy and their finances were tight.”

“Equally plausible reasons for committing the switch herself.”

I stared at the necklace, repulsed by its counterfeit glitter. “I have to give it back to her.”

“Of course.” He carefully coiled the necklace, and slid it into the velvet bag I’d brought it in.

“I’ll pay for the clasp myself.”

“The necklace’s being a reproduction is of no consequence to our little transaction. I promised to replace the clasp as my gift to Mrs. Oui. I’m a man of my word.”

I opened my purse, and Mr. Piteaux dropped in the necklace bag. “Have you any advice?”

He folded the velvet display cloth in thirds and rolled it up like a scroll. “Pray?”

I did that all the way home. Then I found Geoff.