This made a viable scenario, Abby reflected as she hung up. This man named Van Horn bought a fabulously expensive necklace for his daughter's birthday, possibly making the purchase under shady circumstances or with money that didn't go through regular channels. Possibly making the deal with the help of the man who’d called Abby and claimed the necklace was his because he’d never received his commission.
Van Horn then brought the necklace to the island, intending to surprise his daughter with it when she arrived to celebrate her birthday. He taped it in that hidden part of the desk for safekeeping until he could give it to her. But he was killed in the hang gliding accident and no one else knew anything about the necklace.
A viable scenario indeed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THAT WAS QUITE A conversation,” Mary observed when Abby rejoined Mary and Henry at the table where they were still drinking coffee.
“A most interesting and informative one.” Abby refilled her own cup and relayed what Liberty Washington had told her.
“And so the necklace stayed right there, hidden in your desk all this time. Just think, if your drawer hadn't got stuck that day, the necklace might still be there,” Mary mused.
“And apparently no record of the purchase turned up after Van Horn's death, so no one ever came looking for the necklace,” Henry added.
“And even if he’d insured it, no one would ever have reported it missing and made a claim because no one even knew it existed!” Mary said.
“Perhaps we’re making some assumptions here that may not prove true,” Abby warned.
Henry tapped a finger against the handle of his coffee mug. “Interesting, very interesting, that the name Van Horn has now turned up twice. Too bad Claudia didn't turn up too.”
“Would what the man on the phone said, the one who mentioned Van Horn, entitle him to claim the necklace?” Abby asked.
Henry considered the question thoughtfully. The overhead light gleamed on the balding area that he’d long ago given up trying to conceal and did nothing to detract from his handsome face. “He’d have to have something to document it, of course. But I think that situation would go beyond the jurisdiction of the sheriff's department to decide. In fact, it sounds to me like something a judge might have to decide. The heirs, especially Claudia, would surely have a valid claim.”
Mary smiled wryly. “Nothing is ever simple, is it?”
“When you first said that caller mentioned the name Van Horn, I ran it through the system,” Henry said. “Nothing turned up. So if he was involved in something shady, it apparently wasn't serious enough to attract the attention of the law.”
“Or else he was very clever and simply never got caught,” Abby suggested.
“Possibly. In any case, I didn't until now connect the Van Horn name with the hang gliding accident.”
“Was there an investigation into the accident?” Abby asked.
“Very minimal. There was a witness, who must have been the husband of this woman you’ve been talking to. I can look up details in our files on Monday, but as I recall it was quite clearly a tragic accident.”
“Caused by overconfidence on Van Horn's part?” Mary asked.
“Overconfidence, misjudgment, maybe pure foolishness.”
“Did you notify next of kin?” Abby asked.
Henry tilted his head and looked off into space as he searched his own mental files. “No, I’m sure we didn’t. The witness identified the man as Nelson Van Horn but, as I recall, that was about all he knew about him. I certainly don't remember anything about a Claudia. Van Horn probably had a wallet and identification on him at the time of the crash, but I never saw it. He was in very bad shape and the medics immediately airlifted him to Seattle. He died either on the way to the hospital or shortly after arrival, and the hospital must have taken care of the next-of-kin notification.”
“What became of the pickup?”
“You know, I just don't remember. Although the information may be in our files.”
“Would it be possible to get the name and address of next of kin from the hospital?” Abby asked.
“Possibly. I’ll check it out. But there are so many privacy regulations these days that it could take time. Or maybe even a court order. But I may be able to find out something through the Department of Motor Vehicles. Van Horn must have had a driver's license.”
“What about a hang glider's license?” Mary asked.
Abby could answer that question. She’d run across the information when she looked into hang gliding for the new exhibit. “No license is needed to hang glide.”
“Maybe there should be,” Henry suggested dryly.
ON MONDAY AFTERNOON, Abby had an unexpected visitor. Ida led him into her office. As usual, Gordon Siebert looked debonair and suave in a well-cut dark suit, today with a blue and silver striped tie. In his hand was an attractive leather briefcase, his initials GDS in gold on it.
Abby was surprised to see him. “Mr. Siebert! What brings you here?”
“I guess I haven't said it before, but do call me Gordon.”
“And almost everyone calls me Abby.”
He looked around her office with interest, apparently having been too disturbed the other time he was in it to notice details. “This really is a beautiful old desk. My wife is quite fond of antiques.” He turned briskly, as if that was enough chitchat. “I’ve been in contact with Dr. Kingston. He's quite excited about the possibility that the Blue Moon is right here on Sparrow Island.”
“Does he know anything that can be used specifically to identify the stone?”
“No interior photo. The gem dropped out of sight before that technology came into use. But he does have a hand-drawn diagram of what are supposed to be the two small flaws in the Blue Moon. He faxed me a copy of it.” With a dramatic flourish Gordon opened the briefcase and drew out a sheet of paper. He handed it to Abby. “This is why I came out rather than calling. I wanted to show you this.”
She studied the diagrams, considerably larger than life-size, showing a complicated web of fine lines, rather feathery in appearance. “I surely wouldn't be able to identify anything from this.”
“I think I can,” Gordon said with modest confidence. “At least, if the flaws in our stone are much different than these diagrams, I can fairly easily determine that the gem isn’t the Blue Moon.”
Abby smiled to herself at his reference to “our stone.” Gordon was apparently taking a rather proprietary attitude toward the gem since it was here on the island.
“This will be big news in the gem world if this really is the Blue Moon,” he added.
And a bit of prestige for the suave jeweler's connection with the find, Abby knew. Which was fine; he deserved recognition if he could bring off an actual identification.
“Of course, this does create a problem,” he went on. “I’ll have to see the necklace again to compare the stone with the diagram, and I need to do it in my store, where I can have all my equipment available. Do you think Sergeant Cobb will allow that?”
“Why don't we find out right now?” Abby suggested. She reached for the phone on her desk. “I’ll call and ask him.”
She dialed the substation and repeated to Henry what Gordon had said about needing to do the comparison at the store. “Could that be arranged?”
“It sounds like a workable idea to me, but I’ll have to get authorization from Sheriff Dutton. He's taking a very protective attitude toward something worth three million dollars. Is there any particular day or time Gordon Siebert wants to do it?”
“Here, I’ll let you talk to him.”
Abby handed the phone to Gordon. He gave it back a few moments later.
“We’ve tentatively set it for Wednesday morning, if the sheriff approves. Sergeant Cobb will let me know as soon as he hears from the sheriff. Will you be there?”
Abby hadn't thought about that until this moment, but the prospect came with a surge of anticipation. “I will be if Henry says I can.” S
he had to admit it; she wanted to be among the first to know if the gem really was the Blue Moon.
“Good. I’ll ask Dr. Kingston to overnight me a better copy of the drawing for exact comparison.” Gordon slid the sheet back into his briefcase. Sounding a little embarrassed he added, “I’m really quite excited about this.”
Gordon Siebert, Abby was almost certain, didn't get excited easily. But a bit of excitement definitely showed now in the animated sparkle of his eyes. It was rather nice to see a break in his usual suave reserve. “I am too,” she said.
Gordon closed the briefcase and fastened it securely. “I think I’ll just look around a bit while I’m here. There's more to the place than I realized.”
“Stay as long as you like.”
WORD CAME FROM HENRY the next morning when he called to say that Sheriff Dutton had okayed taking the necklace to Siebert's Jewelry for identification.
“With qualifications, of course. It isn't to be left there overnight. I’m not even to let it out of my sight, in fact. Have to babysit it every minute.”
“And you’re going to do this tomorrow morning?”
“Right. I’ve already talked to Gordon Siebert again. As soon as the bank opens, I’ll go in and pick up the necklace. Gordon's going to close the store temporarily while he compares the blue diamond with the drawing this expert in Chicago sent in the overnight mail.”
“Do you think there's any danger? Is that why the store will be closed?”
“No, it's just so Gordon can devote his full attention to this without having curious customers crowding around watching. Although Sheriff Dutton wants a second deputy around, just to be on the safe side, so Deputy Niven will be along.”
“I’d really like to be there too.” Abby searched her mind for some way she could be helpful in this plan. “Perhaps I could identify the necklace as definitely the one I found in my desk?”
Henry chuckled as if he recognized that as a rather flimsy argument, but he said, “Hmmm. You found the necklace, you did your good-citizen duty in turning it over to the authorities rather than keeping it for yourself, as some people might have done, and you located the expert whose information may make identification of the stone possible. I’d say you’ve earned the right to be there at the official identification. Meet us there at the bank right after it opens at nine o’clock. We’ll all go over to the jewelry store together in the cruiser, where we’ll then wait breathlessly for Gordon Siebert to make the great announcement.”
Henry's teasing tone suggested he was being a bit facetious about the breathlessness, but all Abby said was, “Thank you, Henry.”
“Oh, one more thing. I checked back through the records of Van Horn's accident. We don't have any record of next of kin. There is a note that the pickup was claimed by his daughter, but a name isn't specified. There doesn't seem to be anything on ownership of the pickup or a driver's license, which may mean Van Horn lived out of state, or at least maintained a legal residence elsewhere.”
“A rather mysterious man,” Abby murmured.
“Yes,” Henry agreed. “Mysterious indeed.”
WEDNESDAY MORNING, Abby was at the bank almost on the dot of nine o’clock, the third customer of the day through the doors. She didn't want to be late for this. She went immediately to the counter in front of the safe deposit vault. A clerk came over, but Abby waved her off. “Thanks, but I have to wait for someone.”
The flowers in the brass vase that always stood on the counter looked fresh. Elegant irises and glads, tall enough to balance the size of the heavy vase. Abby moved down the counter to admire the bouquet, reminding herself to be sure to tell Mary how nice the flowers looked. Mary had taught her manager Candace almost everything she knew about flower arranging, and she took pride in Candace's accomplishments. Interesting vase, Abby also thought as she touched the elaborate engraving lightly. A wide base for stability, then a narrow section that swelled into a graceful sphere.
Her hand was still on the counter when something touched her back. She started to step aside, thinking it was another customer who wanted to get by her. Muttered words in her ear stopped her short.
“Don't move, don't say a word. Act natural. I have a gun.”
He moved in closer and a hard object pressed deeper into her side. Abby had never felt a gun in her ribs before, but she had no doubt he was telling the truth.
“Wh—what do you want?”
“Don't ask questions. Just do what I tell you. We’re going into the vault together. We’ll get the safe deposit box and take it to one of those little rooms where you can look at your box in private.”
“But—”
“Be quiet. In the room, you hand over the necklace. Then we walk out of the room and out of the bank together. Very calm and nice. Just two old friends handling a little business deal. You don't give me any trouble and no one gets hurt.”
Was this Gamino? She tried to inch her head around to look at his face, but all she could see was a cap with a visor pulled low on the man's forehead. A jab in the ribs stopped further inspection.
“Smile,” he said. “Pretend you know me. Here comes the shaved-head guy.”
Now Abby had to wonder how he knew she’d be at the bank this morning. This surely couldn't be some impulsive action, thought up on the spur of the moment. Was it possible she hadn't been imagining things that time she’d felt as if someone was watching her?
Whoever he was, he seemed to have his plan carefully choreographed. Except for one crucial fact he apparently didn't know.
“I can't get in the safe deposit box.” Abby kept her voice to a whisper. “Sergeant Cobb rented it. It's in the name of the sheriff's department, not mine.”
She felt his body tense. “You’re lying.”
“Wait and see. They won't let me in it.”
Steven Jarvis was almost to the counter now, smile as broad as if he were greeting a million-dollar customer. Abby felt panic rising in the man holding the gun on her. This wasn't going as he’d planned. But if she thought this new information was going to make him back down, she was mistaken.
“Ms. Stanton and I need to get something out of a safe deposit box,” he said to Steven, his voice sounding surprisingly calm and normal. “You’re going to open it for us.”
Steven Jarvis looked more puzzled than alarmed. “The box you and your sister have?” he asked Abby. “Did you bring your key? We’ll need it to open—”
“The box with the necklace in it,” the man growled. “Forget about keys. Just open it. Now. I have a gun.”
Comprehension dawned in Steve's saddle-brown eyes. His jaw dropped open.
Abby swallowed and confirmed the man's statement. “He has a gun.”
“But I can’t—”
“You can or something very bad will happen. We all go into the vault together. You open the safe deposit box.”
He was improvising now, Abby knew, grabbing at straws to rescue his scheme. Her mind raced frantically and a fight-or-flight surge of adrenalin slammed through her body.
Steven lifted his hands, palms outward, as if trying to soothe the man. “Okay, okay, don't get nervous. We can do that. No problem.”
Steven reached for the buzzer that released the small gate in the counter. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw the man turn his head slightly to watch the gate. Her hand was still on the counter.
It was now or never.
She didn't inch her hand toward the vase. She simply reached and grabbed and swung with all her strength.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
FLOWERS FLEW. WATER splashed. Someone screamed. The vase collided with something solid, hard enough to send a lightning bolt of pain up Abby's arm. The vase shot out of her hand. Then there was a crack of noise as it hit the floor and spun across the polished tile like a maniacal top.
Abby spun, too, her body following through on her swing at her assailant. Spinning. Tipping. Falling. The floor rushed up to meet her. She put out an arm to break her fall. It crumpled beneath
her.
The crash sent a universe of stars careening and colliding in her head.
She stared upward trying to get some perspective on a world that seemed to have spun off its axis, not quite certain how she’d gotten into this strange position with her back against a hard floor. Odd, too, how she’d never noticed the interesting pattern of recessed lights in the bank's ceiling before…
A man with a gun stood over her. She pressed her body back against the floor, momentarily fearful.
But then she realized that this was not a strange, threatening man with a gun.
She blinked. “Henry?” She peered at the star on his uniform. “When did you get here? What happened?”
“I was just going to ask you that. We were supposed to meet here, but not like this.”
Abby raised herself to a sitting position, pausing along the way as her head momentarily whirled dizzily and a faint nausea churned in her stomach. She looked around uncertainly. An unfamiliar man lay sprawled on the floor a few feet away, eyes closed. Jeans covered his long legs. A bulky jacket wrapped his torso. With his toes turned toward the ceiling, she had an interesting view of the complicated pattern on the soles of his beat-up sneakers.
The vase had landed against a potted rubber plant. Incongruously, the straps of her purse were still neatly draped over her shoulder, just as if she were all ready for a shopping excursion. Everyone, from customers to clerks to bank manager Steven Jarvis, Henry and Deputy Niven was staring down at her as if they were all part of some frozen display.
The display broke into action.
Henry knelt beside Abby. Steven roared through the gate. Deputy Niven grabbed the gun off the floor. Excited chatter sounded like surf in the background.
“Abby, are you all right? What happened?” Henry asked.
Abby eyed the prone man again. He still hadn't moved. “Did you shoot him?”
Henry looked at the gun in his hand. “No. Deputy Niven and I were just outside the door and I heard a sharp noise. I thought it was a shot . . .” He looked around and spotted the vase. “Maybe it was the vase hitting the floor.”
The Blue Moon Page 16
