The Blue Moon

by Lorena McCourtney

  “Why not right now?” Mary suggested. She reached for the embroidered denim bag hanging on the arm of her wheelchair and pulled out her cell phone. She held it up invitingly. “No time like the present, and all that.”

  “Why not?” Abby agreed. Abby excused herself so her call would not disturb the other diners. Standing outside the café she punched in the numbers, by now having memorized them from other times she’d tried to call. To her surprise, someone picked up on the second ring.

  “Oh, Mrs.—” Abby hadn't been prepared for an answer, and her mind went momentarily blank. What was their name? Dowinger? No, Duranger. Yes, that was it. “Mrs. Duranger?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been trying to call you for several days now, but—”

  “Oh, we left for the season a couple of weeks ago. We just came back this morning. We wouldn't be here now except that Ward forgot and left some important papers here, and we had to come back for them. All the way from Palm Springs, can you imagine that?” she added, sounding exasperated.

  “I’m sorry to bother you. This is a neighbor here on the island, Abby Stanton. I’m trying to locate the woman who formerly owned your house, Liberty Washington. I’d thought I might be able to go through the company that auctioned off the contents, but they’re out of business. I’m hoping you can give me some information about her.”

  “I’m afraid not. We don't have an address or phone number.”

  “What about the real estate company that handled the sale?”

  “I can give you their name, but I doubt they’d tell you anything. Everything is so confidential now, you know. Although I do recall something about her moving down to Oregon, one of those little towns on the Columbia River. I don't remember the name.” Mrs. Duranger's voice faded as she apparently turned her head to snap at someone, probably the unfortunate Ward, who was definitely in the doghouse for his forgetfulness. “Don't bother looking in that drawer. I’ve already looked there.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Duranger,” Abby said hastily. “This information is very helpful and may be just what I need to locate her.”

  “Now if someone could just help us. I’d like to get started back to Palm Springs this afternoon.” Mrs. Duranger clicked the phone without saying good-bye.

  “Helpful?” Mary asked as Abby handed the cell phone back to her. She tucked it back in the denim bag.

  “Yes indeed. I’d looked at the Web site with phone listings on the Internet, but I’d only looked in Washington. Now I’ll expand the search to Oregon. And thanks for the suggestion about calling them now.” Abby reached across the table to pat Mary's hand to emphasize her thanks. “A couple more hours and I might have missed them completely.”

  “I’m on my way home after lunch. How about if I do it?”

  “You?”

  “I’d love to. I’m starting rather late in life, but maybe I can be a sleuth too!”

  Abby smiled. “To add to your many other talents.”

  MARY HANDED ABBY A SLIP OF PAPER as soon as she got home that day. “Liberty Washington's phone number. She lives in The Dalles, Oregon. It's a small town right on the Columbia River.”

  “Mary, this is great! Thank you.”

  “Actually, it wasn't all that difficult to find,” Mary admitted.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to find a Claudia using the Internet, but there's no getting around it, you have to have more than a first name.”

  “Maybe Liberty Washington will provide that.”

  That wasn't going to happen today, however, Abby realized in frustration when she immediately tried the number her sister had located. She received no answer then nor on two more attempts later that evening.

  But the following evening met with success. With the phone to her ear, Abby gave her sister a thumbs-up sign when someone picked up the phone.

  “Hello.”

  The voice startled her because it was male.

  “I’m trying to reach Liberty Washington.”

  “I just brought her home a few minutes ago. May I tell her who's calling?”

  “My name is Abby Stanton. I’ve never met Mrs. Washington, but I live on Sparrow Island. She also lived here at one time, I believe.”

  “Okay, hold on. Mom,” he called, “do you want to talk to someone from Sparrow Island?” Abby couldn't hear the answer, but a moment later he said, “She’ll be here in a minute.”

  There was a small clunk as he put the phone down. It took some time for it to be picked up again.

  “This is Liberty Washington. I’m sorry to be so slow. I broke my hip a while back and I have to use a walker to get around.” The pleasant, soft-spoken voice gave Abby a quick mental picture of a genteel older woman with silver hair and a kind smile. “I’ve never had one of those cordless phones, but I surely need one now. I could just carry it around with me.”

  “They can be very handy,” Abby agreed. She was pleased to realize that Liberty Washington was apparently the chatty type. “What I’m calling about is a desk that came from the house you sold here on the island. A very handsome desk, solid walnut with decorative walnut burl inserts. But if you’re busy I can call back later?”

  “Oh no, this is fine. My son was just leaving. Excuse me a moment.” There was silence as she apparently put her hand over the receiver to say good-bye to her son. She came back sounding eager to chat. “Oh my, yes, I remember that desk. It was in the guest room. One of my favorite pieces. I hated to let all those lovely old things go, but I knew I couldn't keep up that big house after my husband died. The people who bought the house weren't into antiques, so I just had those auction people sell everything. I have a lovely condo here in The Dalles now, with a lovely view of the river too. You bought the desk at the auction?”

  Yes, definitely the chatty type. Abby had the feeling that if she wanted to know anything from the price of condos in The Dalles to what Liberty had for breakfast, the woman would be happy to tell her.

  “No. A friend I work for at the local nature conservatory bought it for my office in the museum. He got it from the woman who bought it at the auction.”

  “He must think you’re very special.” Liberty sounded approving, maybe even a bit wistful. “As I recall, the desk brought quite a nice price.”

  “I’m wondering . . .” Abby wasn't sure how to handle this. Should she tell Liberty Washington everything? While she tried to decide, she realized one question might solve everything. “Do you have a daughter named Claudia?”

  “No, there's just my son Matt. I’ve been staying with Matt and his wife Debbie over in Hood River ever since I broke my hip. Today is my first day home. It's so good to be here! Not that I didn't enjoy Matt and Debbie and the grandchildren,” she added hastily. “But there's nothing like being in your own home.”

  “Do you have any other relatives or know anyone named Claudia?”

  “No, I don't believe so.” The woman sounded puzzled. “Does this have something to do with the desk?”

  “I’m not sure. The thing is, I found something hidden in the desk. Something quite valuable. A necklace, actually. A card in the box suggests it was meant as a gift for someone named Claudia.”

  “Really? How exciting! Like finding buried treasure. I wonder how it got there?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me. I thought perhaps you or your husband had hidden it there at some time.”

  “I certainly didn’t.” She laughed cheerfully. “I’m a bit forgetful these days. Would you believe I couldn't find one of my shoes this morning, and it turned up in Debbie's broom closet? But I’m fairly certain I wouldn't hide a valuable necklace and then forget it. What does it look like?”

  Abby's quick impression was that the woman was curious, but not greedy-curious. Just to be safe, however, she said, “We’re keeping that confidential until we locate the owner who can identify it.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  “How long did you own the desk?”

  “Oh, it had been in
the family for a long, long time. An aunt had it before I got it years ago.”

  There was no chance that a former owner may have hidden the necklace there, given what Gordon Siebert had said about the blue diamond having surely been reset fairly recently. “What about your husband? Could he have bought the necklace and hidden it in the desk, perhaps intending it as an anniversary or birthday gift for you later?” Although that wouldn't explain the card to Claudia.

  “Oh, I doubt that. I’ve never cared much for fancy jewelry, and if Norbert wanted to surprise me it would be with a cruise to the Caribbean or a week in London, something we could share.” She laughed again. “Norbert was a very solid man, more inclined toward assets such as real estate and stocks and bonds than something frivolous such as jewelry. Which I can certainly appreciate, now that he's gone. But someone other than either of us must have hidden the necklace there after I sold it.”

  Such refreshing honesty! So many people were making up preposterous stories and trying to claim the necklace, and here was Liberty Washington, who was certainly in a position to make a credible claim to the necklace, denying all knowledge of it.

  A second, rather disturbing thought suddenly surfaced in Abby's mind. Could husband Norbert have known a Claudia who did like expensive jewelry, someone Liberty had no idea existed? Could Norbert have hidden the necklace in the desk with the intention of giving it to that unknown Claudia, but suffered the heart attack before he could do so?

  Abby didn't want to think anything so devious of Liberty's husband, and it was certainly not a possibility she intended to bring up.

  “How about the people who owned the desk between the time of the auction and the time you got it?” Liberty asked, obviously wanting to be helpful. “Maybe one of them hid the necklace there.”

  “We’ve checked on that, and no one knows anything. But it's possible someone put the necklace in the desk after it was brought to my office.” Abby could tell the woman would happily chat longer, but now she was rather anxious to end the conversation. Liberty Washington obviously knew nothing about a necklace or a Claudia, and Abby didn't want this conversation to raise unpleasant suspicions in Liberty's mind about the possibility of Norbert's past relationship with some unknown Claudia. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me.”

  “Oh, that's fine. I’ve enjoyed it. A mysterious necklace. So exciting! I’m sorry I can't be more help. Perhaps you could tell me when you find out who owns it? I’d love to know.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I miss the island, you know. We had such good times there, fishing and walking on the beach and hiking the trails. And the people were so wonderful, so friendly. I had a flat tire once, and it wasn't two minutes before someone came along and fixed it for me. But it wouldn't have been the same without Norbert.”

  “I’m sure it wouldn't have,” Abby agreed. “Thanks again for talking with me. And I hope your hip doesn't give you any problems.”

  “Do call me again if I can be of any help.”

  IN THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS, several more claimants for the necklace contacted Abby, a couple of whom she gave four stars for creativity but none higher than a single star for believability. A young man and a middle-aged couple actually went on to talk to Henry, but no one made a formal claim, all apparently turned off by the need to provide actual proof of ownership. Then something peculiar happened to Abby.

  It was Friday afternoon and she had left the museum a few minutes early so she could stop by the bank before it closed. She was just crossing the bank's parking lot to return to her car when she had the strangest feeling that someone was watching her. It was an uncomfortable feeling and she turned uneasily.

  She scanned both the parking lot and cars passing on the street. For a moment she thought a tall, lean man in denim jacket and pants across the street was looking at her, but a moment later she told herself she must have imagined the odd feeling. An expensive sports car had pulled in next to her in the parking lot and she gave the little car an appreciative glance. When she looked up, the man was headed next door to the post office.

  Mary had dinner started by the time she got home. Abby added the broccoli she’d bought at The Green Grocer’s. Afterward, Mary took off for a meeting of her reading group, which had shifted to Friday for this month, and Abby relaxed with a copy of a Seattle newspaper she’d picked up at the grocery store. When Mary got home, they shared companionable cups of tea, and Mary laughingly told her about the rather heated discussion about which book the group would read next.

  The phone rang just as Abby started upstairs for bed. Mary was headed for her bedroom, and Abby picked up the phone, surprised that anyone would call this late.

  “Yes?”

  “Stanton?” a male voice said.

  No Ms. or Dr., not even a misplaced Mrs. An odd way to start a conversation. Could it be Jules Gamino? Abby hadn't talked to him enough to be certain whether or not she’d recognize his voice.

  “This is Abigail Stanton,” she said, her tone cautious.

  “You found the necklace.”

  “I found a necklace.”

  “And you know about the curse.”

  Doesn't everybody? Abby thought wryly. But what she said was, “I don't believe in curses.”

  “That could be a mistake. There may be something to this one.”

  She still didn't know if the caller was Gamino. He wasn't wheezing or rasping, but that may have been some temporary condition that had passed. But if it were Gamino, why wasn't he identifying himself? He’d done so readily enough before, had, in fact, tried to act rather chummy. Or was he just changing tactics?

  “What do you want?” she asked. “Why are you calling me?”

  “I’m calling because the necklace is mine.”

  “Then all you have to do is take your proof of ownership to the authorities, to Sergeant Cobb at the local sheriff ‘s substation, to be specific.” Abby had said those words so often that she was beginning to wish she could just press a REPEAT button to send them out.

  “I’m dealing with you, lady, not the authorities. I’ve been hearing people want you to get the necklace off the island. This is your chance.”

  “I give it to you, and you considerately take it off the island, thereby saving me and all the other inhabitants from doom?”

  Her sarcasm apparently escaped him. “You got it,” he said. “And it does belong to me.”

  “Exactly what is your claim to the necklace, Mr. . . . ?”

  He laughed. “Nice try, but I’m not falling for that sly little trick, lady. You don't need to know my name.”

  Apparently not Gamino, then, because she certainly already knew his name.

  “I do need to know why you think the necklace may be yours.”

  Another silence, but no rasp or wheeze, until he apparently decided he had to tell her something.

  “I helped Van Horn get it. I was supposed to get a commission, because I helped him make a good deal, but I never got a dime. In fact, I’m out some cash myself on the running around I did for him. So with Van Horn gone, I figure the necklace is mine. I’m entitled to it.”

  Abby was surprised. This was a very different story, one without a grandma, and it had a new name attached. Van Horn.

  “Who's Van Horn? And by ‘gone,’ do you mean that he's passed away?”

  “Van Horn is the guy who found out the curse on the necklace is real, big-time real. I would have thought you’d have found out about his accident by now.”

  Abby didn't see any point in trying to bluff. “I don't know anything about anyone named Van Horn or an accident. Perhaps you could tell me.”

  “All I’m telling you is that I want what's coming to me. The necklace. And you’re the person who can get it for me.”

  “No, I can’t,” Abby said firmly, not adding that she wouldn't even if she could, with no more proof than this. “There are proper legal channels you’ll have to go through with the authorities.”

  Abby didn't un
derstand why so many people thought if they could just convince her that they were entitled to the necklace, she could blithely hand it over.

  “Van Horn wasn't all that concerned about legal channels,” the man growled. “Although he didn't come out too well, of course, in the end.”

  “Aren't you afraid of the curse?” Abby asked, stalling for time while she tried to figure out what was going on here.

  Another silence, as if the man indeed had some qualms about the curse, then a rough laugh. “For what the Blue Moon is worth, I’m willing to risk it.”

  He’d called the diamond the Blue Moon. Was he just parroting the rumors going around or did he really know something?

  “I’m sorry, but this conversation is really rather pointless,” Abby finally said firmly. “The necklace is not in my possession now and I don't have the authority—”

  “But you know where it is. I’m guessing the bank, tucked away in a safe deposit box.”

  Abby's breath caught. She suspected he really was just guessing, but it was a guess that was too accurate for comfort. She reverted to the bottom line that people never wanted to hear.

  “You really will have to discuss all this with Sergeant Cobb at the sheriff's substation. I can't do anything for you.”

  “We’ll see about that, Dr. Stanton.” His tone was oddly confident, as if he knew something she didn’t. Then he hung up.

  He’d made no threats, but she now suspected that his calling her simply Stanton at the start of their conversation had been a deliberate rudeness, no doubt intended to intimidate her.

  At some point Mary had come out of the bedroom, apparently realizing this wasn't some pleasant social call. Finnegan stood beside her. “Someone else calling about the necklace?”