The Blue Moon

by Lorena McCourtney

  “I thought maybe we could play Monopoly later,” Mary added. “I ran across our old board when I was cleaning out my closet earlier today, and stormy nights remind me of Monopoly evenings with Mom and Dad when we were kids.”

  “Great! I haven't played in years. I’ll just run upstairs and change. Want me to make a salad to go with the spaghetti?”

  “It's already made. And garlic bread is ready to go under the broiler. With the weather so awful I didn't go over to the flower shop today, so I had plenty of time. I’ve been working on some greeting cards using those flowers we pressed last summer.”

  Mary's creative talents with flowers had made Island Blooms well known even beyond Sparrow Island, but her talents were not limited to fresh blooms. She did popular dried arrangements as well. The greeting cards were one of her latest projects.

  “I’ll be down in a minute, then.”

  Abby had been discreetly concealing the plastic bag behind her purse so Mary wouldn't notice and ask what she’d bought at the hardware store. The bag bumped her leg as she carried it upstairs. The box weighed only a few ounces, but somehow it had seemed to get larger and heavier and more noticeable ever since she learned the contents were worth three million dollars. Or more.

  Upstairs in her bedroom, she looked around for a safe place to stash the box for the night, then reminded herself there was no reason she couldn't just leave it out in plain sight. No one was going to be prowling the house looking for it. She set the plastic bag beside the lamp on her night stand and draped her damp jacket over a chair.

  She jumped when a screech from the main road startled her. No doubt just someone braking suddenly on the slick road. Yet the unexpected sound reinforced her feeling that she didn't want the necklace out in plain sight. Just in case.

  Just in case of what? a small, interior voice questioned suspiciously.

  She refused to answer it. Small, interior voices never seemed to ask helpful questions, just annoying ones. But even though the necklace was undoubtedly perfectly safe out in the open, it wouldn't hurt to have it hidden.

  After trying several spots in the closet and in a chest of drawers, she finally tucked the box between the mattress and the box spring on her bed. Then she had to laugh at herself. Wasn't that the first place a burglar would look?

  She changed into a comfortable pair of faded jeans and an old sweatshirt with a cartoonish version of a hungry-looking vulture eyeing a Volkswagen Bug and the words “Think Big!” emblazoned across the front. Mary was dishing up spaghetti when Abby went down to the kitchen. Abby put the garlic bread under the broiler and poured coffee. When Mary dropped a potholder, Finnegan retrieved it for her without even being asked.

  Mary chattered animatedly all through dinner. She hadn't managed the Island Blooms flower shop herself since the accident that had confined her to a wheelchair, but she was still very interested in what was going on with her business. She spoke excitedly of an exceptionally large order of flowers for an upcoming wedding at The Dorset, Sparrow Island's elite resort hotel that was popular with Seattle residents for special events.

  “Oh, and I heard someone saw Ida Tolliver and Aaron Holloway renting a couple of horses to go riding together out at the Summit Stables,” she added. “Maybe they’ll get together yet.”

  So much for Ida's “secret” about the tentative relationship, Abby thought, smiling to herself.

  “And Dad called to say they had an oversupply of eggs now, if we want a couple extra dozen. I thought I might make an angel food cake. I remember you used to love angel food.”

  “Mmm,” Abby said. Maybe she should have left the necklace out in the car instead of bringing it into the house.

  “Is something wrong?” Mary asked.

  Abby jumped. “No. Of course not.” She realized she’d lost the train of the conversation. “The spaghetti is delicious.”

  “You seem rather preoccupied, as if you have something on your mind. Why are you looking at Finnegan like that?” Mary added suddenly.

  “I’m not—” Abby broke off as she realized she was watching Finnegan. “I just noticed that he keeps looking toward the sliding glass doors.”

  As if there might be something . . . or someone . . . lurking out there on the deck or in the backyard, though she didn't say that to Mary.

  “I didn't let him bring his ball in because it was all wet and squishy. He's probably worried about a raccoon or something making off with it.”

  Of course. Put a lid on the runaway imagination, Abby told herself firmly. What she said aloud was, “I’m busy working on the new ‘Bird Flight and Early Human Flight’ exhibit for the museum. I’d really like to find a model of an ornithopter to use in it.”

  Then she had to explain what an ornithopter was, and Mary, who had never quite understood Abby's interest in the bird world, laughed and said, “Sounds like something that would fascinate Bobby.”

  “It does, doesn't it?” Abby agreed. Bobby McDonald was the ten-year-old son of their next-door neighbors, Sandy and Neil McDonald. He was curious about anything to do with science or nature. A boy who could be as helpful as a third hand, or as unhelpful as a puppy underfoot. “I’ll have to tell him about it.”

  By the time Abby cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher, Mary had the Monopoly board set up on a card table in front of the fireplace.

  Abby sat in the upholstered chair by the hearth, determined to concentrate on the game and enjoy her evening with Mary. But just as she landed on a railroad square, a loud thump startled her. “Did you hear that?” she asked uneasily.

  “Hear what?”

  “That noise. Like . . . something out front.”

  “Just the wind tossing that old doormat around. We really should get a new one, you know.”

  Right. The doormat. Not a prowler sneaking around trying to figure out how to get into a house to steal a three-milliondollar necklace.

  The game progressed, with Mary rapidly gaining properties and adding houses to them. Abby couldn't seem to concentrate. She kept hearing things. Something rattling in the backyard. A rustle like someone trying to climb the trellis outside the kitchen window. When the phone rang she jumped so hard that she hit the edge of the table, sending Mary's little houses flying in all directions. She had to get down on her hands and knees to round them up while Mary talked on the phone with Candace, her manager at Island Blooms. A few minutes later she made an excuse to dash upstairs because she thought she heard a peculiar noise up there.

  When she returned, Mary finally tossed down the dice in exasperation. “Abby, what in the world is wrong with you? You’re as jumpy as Blossom when she sees a strange dog. You’re making me nervous. And Finnegan too.”

  Finnegan did indeed seem rather nervous, jumping up every few minutes to wander from the dining room to the sliding glass doors to the front door. Maybe she was making him nervous, Abby acknowledged to herself. Or maybe the storm bothered him. Or maybe, just maybe, he was nervous because he knew someone was out there prowling around.

  Logically, there was no reason for anyone to be prowling, Abby reminded herself. Only a few people besides herself knew of the existence of the necklace. Hugo, of course. Ida Tolliver. Gordon Siebert and his clerk. Hugo might also have told Dr. Randolph by now, although that seemed unlikely. Hugo hadn't appeared that interested in the necklace. Yet even if he had told the doctor, neither she nor anyone else on that short list of good people would be prowling around the house with criminal intent.

  Yet it was also true that there was someone else who knew of the necklace's existence. The unknown someone who had hidden it in Abby's desk. Could that person somehow have been keeping an eye on his hidden treasure and knew Abby had removed it from the hiding spot today?

  “Abby, is something going on that I don't know about?” Mary demanded. She tilted her head speculatively as she studied her sister.

  Okay, Mary had a right to know, Abby decided reluctantly. If there was danger, Mary should be aware of it. Silen
tly she went upstairs and returned with the plastic bag. She took out the box and opened it. Mary's reaction of wide-eyed awe was one with which Abby was already becoming familiar.

  “Abby, what is this? Where did you get it? It's gorgeous!” With none of Abby's own hesitation about touching the necklace, she picked it up eagerly. In the flickering glow of firelight, the diamonds glittered as if lit from within.

  Abby told Mary the full story, from cleaning out her desk to going to Siebert's Jewelry to getting to the bank too late to put the necklace in the safe deposit box. “And that's why I was hoping Henry would be here tonight,” she finished. “I keep thinking, valuable as the necklace is, that someone might be willing to do something quite . . . unscrupulous to get it.”

  “You really think there's danger of someone coming here?” Mary peered around their solidly built home. She sounded doubtful.

  “My head says there isn’t. My nerves don't seem to be getting the message,” Abby admitted.

  “The doors are locked. We have Finnegan. I’m not worried.” Mary waved a dismissive hand, and her eyes sparkled with a different thought. “What happens if you can't find the owner of the necklace?”

  “I don't know. I hadn't thought about that.”

  “Maybe you’ll own it!”

  “I’m sure the real owner will turn up. Surely no one's going to simply abandon something this valuable.”

  “You never know. Maybe the person passed away or has amnesia or something. Such things happen.”

  Abby could see that having the necklace here in the house definitely wasn't making Mary as edgy as it was her. Mary seemed, in fact, to be rather enjoying the unusual situation.

  “Let's try it on!” Mary said.

  “Try it on?” Abby repeated doubtfully.

  “Why not?” In a moment Mary had figured out the clasp, more complicated than anything in Abby's own small collection of costume jewelry, and held the necklace out to Abby. “Here, fasten it around my neck.”

  Abby did so, then brought a mirror so Mary could see the results. Mary laughed delightedly at the unlikely sight of the fabulous diamonds against her everyday pink sweater.

  “Just the thing for when Henry takes me to dinner at the Springhouse Café! Or you could wear it on bird walks with tourists at the conservatory. Or wouldn't it be fabulous as a collar for Finnegan?”

  Abby laughed at Mary's frivolous suggestions, and her own mood suddenly lightened. When Mary suggested Abby try on the necklace, she did. She laughed again. The cartoonish vulture made an even more unlikely backdrop than Mary's sweater for the luxurious diamonds.

  Mary picked up the card. “‘To Claudia,’” she mused. “I guess no one knows who Claudia is?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Maybe the necklace was meant to be an anniversary present. A fiftieth anniversary.” Mary's blue eyes went a little dreamy. “Wouldn't that be romantic?”

  “Not if it's a stolen gift.”

  “Who says it's stolen?” Mary demanded.

  “No one. But its being in the desk is just so strange. Something just doesn't seem on the up-and-up about it.”

  “So what are you going to do with it?” Mary asked as she carefully and, Abby thought, with some reluctance, tucked the necklace back in its box.

  “Take it to Henry in the morning and see what he thinks.”

  “Providing we survive the night, of course,” Mary said with a teasing twinkle in her blue eyes.

  Mary's refusal to be nervous took away some of Abby's lingering apprehension. They played Monopoly until it was time for the late news on TV. Then Mary, yawning, rolled her wheelchair toward her bedroom on the main floor, where everything had been remodeled to accommodate her after the auto accident.

  Finnegan would sleep on a rug beside Mary's bed, of course, as he always did, and Blossom would curl up on a favorite chair in Mary's bedroom.

  Abby went on up to bed too, taking the necklace with her. She determinedly parked it on the nightstand rather than nervously hiding it away, but it was a long time before she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IN THE MORNING, ABBY called the sheriff's substation before leaving the house, but Sergeant Cobb was at a meeting with other members of the sheriff's department on Lopez Island and wouldn't be in until later. She left a message asking that he call her at the museum as soon as he came in.

  She’d been hoping to be rid of the necklace before going to her office. She quickly dismissed the idea of taking the necklace to the safe deposit box because she’d just have to take it out again to show Henry. The only thing left to do was take it to work with her. Wilma Washburn, rather than Ida, was working at the front desk this morning. Abby stuck the box in a desk drawer and locked it, then ignored it as she worked on selecting photographs of birds in flight for the new exhibit.

  Rev. James Hale at Little Flock called and asked if Abby could teach the Sunday school class of fourth to sixth graders this coming Sunday. The regular teacher had to go off-island for the weekend. Pastor Jim and Abby had recently decided that her teaching abilities were most useful to the church as a fill-in because, as Pastor Jim said, she was able to relate to any age group and was always willing to do so.

  Henry Cobb called about ten o’clock. “I had a message that you wanted to talk to me?”

  “I have something here at the museum that I’d like to show you and discuss with you.”

  “I can come out a little later this morning. Or immediately, if it's an emergency.”

  Abby hesitated only a moment before saying, “No, no emergency.” What she didn't want was a law officer's presence at the museum arousing speculation and curiosity, because word would get around, of course. On Sparrow Island, word often seemed to travel faster than a computer virus whizzing around the Internet. “Would it be okay if I come into the substation instead?”

  “Sure, that's fine. I should be here all morning.”

  “I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes, then.”

  HENRY SPOTTED HER when she entered the substation and waved her past the front desk and into his office. As usual, when he was in uniform, his gun was in official evidence on his hip, along with his handcuffs, baton and other law-enforcement gear. Henry wasn't intimidating to her, but in his brawny, uniformed presence, Abby was always glad she was on the right side of the law.

  “Something wrong?” He sounded concerned as she slipped into a chair by his desk. She knew he was thinking of Mary.

  “Mary's fine,” she assured him. “This isn't about her.”

  “Good.” He leaned back in his swivel chair as if relieved.

  She set the box on his desk and opened it.

  Henry peered at the contents. He looked curious but not awed. “Very pretty,” he commented.

  Once more Abby went through the explanation about finding the necklace in her desk, showing it to Hugo and then taking it to Siebert's Jewelry. When she came to the part about Gordon's identification of the gem as a blue diamond and his estimate of the necklace's worth at three million dollars, Henry whistled. He scooted his chair closer to the desk for a better look.

  “Three million dollars! No wonder you seem a little jumpy, carrying around something that valuable with you.”

  Abby hadn't realized her jumpiness was so obvious. “We need to find the rightful owner, of course. But I really don't know how to go about it. Does the sheriff's department investigate this sort of thing?”

  “I don't recall any recent report of a lost or stolen necklace, but I’ll do some checking. It would seem that with something this valuable, someone would definitely be looking for it.”

  “Exactly. And in the meantime, until the rightful owner shows up… ?”

  “Found objects, especially something worth so much, have to be turned over to the authorities, of course.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that! I planned to put it in our safe deposit box yesterday, until I could contact you, but the bank was closed when I got there. I’ve been nervous having the nec
klace in my possession ever since I found out what it's worth.” Abby stood up, eager to get back to the museum sans necklace. “So I’ll just leave it with you—”

  “Hold on. Wait a minute. The sheriff's department has an evidence room with a safe over at Friday Harbor on San Juan Island where we keep important items for prosecution of criminal cases, but I’m not sure about something like this. I’ll have to check with Sheriff Dutton.”

  Henry put in the call to his supervisor, but the sheriff was on another line and Henry had to hold. With a hand over the phone he said to Abby, “You realize, of course, that if the owner doesn't turn up within a specific length of time …a year, I think it is, though I’ll have to check . . . you can claim the necklace yourself. There's no doubt some official red tape to go through, but I can help.”

  Abby shook her head. “I wouldn't feel right doing that. Somewhere there's a rightful owner, and he or she should certainly have the necklace. Or perhaps it should go to this Claudia, for whom it was apparently meant as a gift. I don't suppose you know anyone by that name?”

  Henry frowned without answering the question. He fingered the card with Claudia's name in bold handwriting on it. “You mean you wouldn't even put in a claim for the necklace?”

  “I don't want to try to obtain something that rightfully belongs to someone else.”

  “That's an admirable attitude, Abby,” Henry said, although he sounded rather less than approving. “But if no owner turns up within the specified time, you should be practical. You need to consider Mary's needs, and this necklace could go a long way toward providing security for both of you.”

  Abby was a bit taken aback by that comment, which seemed to suggest that Abby's and Mary's financial situation might be precarious. She straightened in the chair and said a bit stiffly, “We get along fine with my salary and what Island Blooms brings in. I don't believe Mary is wanting for anything.”

  Henry hesitated, frowning again, but finally he gave her a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to imply you weren't looking out for Mary's interests. It's just that she's so determined to be independent, and I worry about her sometimes.”