The Blue Moon

by Lorena McCourtney

  “He's been seen several times with Dr. Randolph, you know.” Donna nodded significantly. “They were at Winifred's together a few evenings ago. People are saying there may be a big romance brewing.”

  Abby was so dumbfounded that she simply stared. Hugo and Dr. Randolph ? Could that possibly be? Words popped out before she had a chance to think and stop them. “But she's half his age!”

  “Well, she is much younger,” Donna conceded. “But she's not half his age, I’m sure. And men have never let an age difference stop them.” She wrinkled her nose. “I should know, considering that my marriage broke up over a college girl.”

  Hugo and Dr. Randolph together at Winifred’s, certainly the most elegant and expensive restaurant on the island. Abby was astonished. The restaurant was popular with people staying at the Dorset, and tourists who had money to spare, and the food was excellent. But it was the kind of place Sparrow Island locals reserved mostly for special occasions. She and Henry had taken Mary there for her birthday.

  “Not that I’m suggesting Mr. Baron is anything like my ex-husband, of course.” Donna shook her head vehemently. “No way. Actually I think this is rather nice for both of them, don't you? Mr. Baron is a wonderful person and he's been alone for years, hasn't he?”

  “Yes, I . . . I believe he has.”

  A blooming relationship between Hugo and attractive and personable Dr. Randolph would explain several things. Hugo's odd air of distraction. A man in love often was distracted. The phone calls he was keeping so private. Perhaps even the trip over to Seattle. Could he and Dr. Randolph have slipped off for a getaway day together? No wonder he wasn't interested in something so minor as a blue diamond necklace! His mind was on Dana Randolph.

  “Of course Dr. Randolph has been seeing that other guy, the one with some kind of business over on Lopez.” Donna chattered on. Apparently she was well up on all the local gossip. “But that's probably all over now, with Mr. Baron in the picture. He's just the most distinguished looking man, don't you think?”

  Interior embarrassment suddenly flooded through Abby. She’d been afraid it was she and Hugo people were gossiping about, which assumed that she was the “attractive woman” Donna had mentioned. Abby had never considered herself an egotistical person, but this certainly smacked of egotism. And right this moment, in her slacks and sensible shoes, she felt totally dowdy. She also felt a flush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks.

  Donna didn't seem to notice. “And Dr. Randolph is a wonderful person too. When I came down with the flu last year, she really cared. I wasn't just a medical chart to her. They’ll make a wonderful couple.”

  Abby nodded dumbly and hurriedly headed for the door.

  “Hey, you forgot your frog!” Donna called.

  Abby grabbed the plastic bag with the frog in it and fled to her car. She just sat there without turning the key. Hugo and Dr. Randolph. After the first shock, the idea of the two of them being attracted to each other wasn't all that startling. Why wouldn't they be attracted to each other? Hugo was a vital and handsome man, well-traveled, knowledgeable, thoughtful and kind. To say nothing of wealthy. Dr. Randolph was slim and beautiful, intelligent and competent, a descendant of the Randolphs who had founded Green Harbor.

  Abby suddenly realized that Donna was watching her curiously from the glass door of the store. She hastily pretended to be searching for something in her purse, then started the car and headed back toward the museum.

  Okay, she scolded herself sternly, why are you acting like some adolescent girl who expected to be asked to the high school prom and wasn't ?

  Well, if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that was about how she felt. Yet she shouldn't feel that way, she told herself firmly. She and Hugo had been to dinner a few times, although these dinners certainly were not dates. And they’d gone hiking and bird-watching on several of the islands together. They also seemed to have many interests in common, but theirs was basically a working relationship.

  So what's the problem here? the interior voice that often asked annoying questions inquired.

  The problem, Abby decided uneasily as she poked warily at her subconscious, was that deep down it had always seemed as if there might be a stronger connection between Hugo and herself than just a working relationship. Maybe even a spark of something special between them.

  Now she had to wonder if secretly she’d been hoping for more, a hope that would never be realized if Hugo was involved with Dr. Randolph.

  Was the real problem here that she was muddling around in plain, old-fashioned jealousy ?

  Oh no, certainly not that unlovely emotion, she thought, horrified with herself. But if not outright jealousy, she had to admit there was at least something here that she didn't want to feel.

  Lord, keep me away from that, she prayed fervently as she passed the Stanton Farm. She managed a smile and wave at the hired farmhand, Samuel Arbogast, who was out front working on a stretch of fence brought down by a branch in the rainstorm two days ago.

  She should, in fact, be happy about this. Finding out that Hugo's uncharacteristic behavior the last few days was due to a romantic involvement rather than some serious illness was good news. Had he perhaps felt self-conscious about the relationship, perhaps concerned that Abby would disapprove? Was that why he’d acted troubled as well as distracted?

  Help me to be truly happy for both of them, she added in prayer.

  Back at the museum parking lot, she realized that in her foolish turmoil about Hugo and Dr. Randolph she’d forgotten all about picking up a sandwich at the Springhouse Café.

  Never mind. She didn't feel very hungry now anyway.

  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 suspec
t 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 Mc
Donald 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.