The Blue Moon

by Lorena McCourtney

  “Can we believe him?” Mary asked.

  In spite of her worries about Finnegan, Mary hadn't fallen into a depression, as Abby had briefly feared she might. This was a harsh blow, but Mary was a fighter. Plus, they’d spent much time in prayer for the precious service dog's safe return, as had other members of Little Flock, and Mary's faith that he’d be back with her soon was sustaining her.

  Abby considered Mary's question about trusting Gamino. “In this case, I think so. He isn't going to let any harm come to Finnegan. He figures Finnegan is his ticket to getting the necklace.”

  “But he isn’t, is he?” Mary said, and Abby could hear fear creeping into her voice. “We don't have the necklace to give him. And he warned us not to tell the ‘cops’ anything.”

  “But we have to tell Henry,” Abby said gently.

  Mary hesitated only momentarily. “You’re right, of course. We have to tell Henry.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll call his cell phone right now.”

  Blossom twined around Abby's legs as Mary made the call. Abby scooped up the cat and sat on the sofa with her. With her playmate Finnegan gone, the lonely cat wanted more attention than ever.

  “He was already on the ferry on his way home,” Mary reported when she hung up. “He wants to know the minute you hear a location where Gamino wants to meet you. He says they’ll be ready and even on short notice they can move in and nail the man and rescue Finnegan. The way it sounds, once Gamino calls, you won't actually be involved.”

  “I’m not sure it's going to work if I’m not involved,” Abby said slowly. “Gamino was quite specific that I had to show up to make the trade.”

  “Henry pointed out, and it's true, of course, that the situation could turn dangerous if you actually meet Gamino and don't have the necklace to make the trade. And Henry can't authorize such a trade, of course.” Mary swallowed uneasily.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Abby said. Actually, she’d been thinking about it ever since Gamino first called about making the trade. “Maybe there's a way. Remember that brooch Mom had when we were kids? It had a kind of blue-green stone? Well, glass, I suppose it was, not really a stone.”

  Unexpectedly, in spite of the tension built into the situation, Mary laughed. “Oh, I remember. It was a huge thing, with big, heavy, goldcolored curlicues around the centerpiece. And a pin on back big enough to poke holes in shoe leather. I always thought that blue-green glass looked like some fossilized bird dropping that had washed up on the beach.”

  “A bird dropping!” Abby repeated indignantly. “I gave that brooch to Mom for Mother's Day one year!”

  Mary put her fingertips to her mouth. “Oh. I’d forgotten.”

  “But you’re right. It was big and ugly. As I recall, I thought it would show up nice on a white dress Mom had. But I guess taste in accessories has never been one of my strong points, has it?”

  “You were probably only seven or eight years old. And your taste is fine now.”

  “Thanks. I wonder if Mom still has it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she does. She seldom gets rid of anything.”

  “So what are you thinking?” Mary asked.

  “Didn't you once have a rhinestone necklace?”

  “Rhinestones pretty much went out of style years ago, but yes, I’m sure I still have it tucked away somewhere.” She lifted her eyebrows as if puzzled by this odd train of thought.

  “Okay, what I’m thinking is this: we could remove that piece of blue-green glass or whatever it is from Mom's brooch. You could take some stones out of that old rhinestone necklace. I’m not much good with crafts, but you are, and you could fasten the rhinestones around the center piece some way, add a chain and make it all look pretty good.”

  “And try to fool Gamino with it, so he’d make a trade for Finnegan?” Mary asked doubtfully.

  “Yes. That way Finnegan would be safe with us before Henry went after him. Gamino doesn't know what the necklace actually looks like now. Apparently that information has never leaked out.”

  “He knows the stone is blue. A blue diamond. This one would be that peculiar blue-greenish color. And no way is it going to look like three million dollars worth of necklace.”

  “He’ll be in a hurry and, hopefully, won't stop to examine it closely. It’ll be dark, which will also help.”

  Mary stroked Blossom, who had jumped into her lap now. She was frowning but also nodding slowly. “It might work.” The nod became more emphatic. “It's crazy, but it just might work! But I still don't think Henry is going to want you there.”

  “Then we’ll just have to persuade him. And afterward, of course, we’ll put the brooch back together and return it to Mom.”

  MARY CALLED THEIR MOTHER immediately and asked if they could borrow the brooch for a project. Ellen was going to a meeting, but she said she’d set the brooch out so they could pick it up. Abby made a quick trip over to the farm, just as glad Ellen wasn't there so she didn't have to give details about their project.

  Mary was in her craft room when Abby returned. Mary had located the old rhinestone necklace while Abby was gone and was now in the process of removing the square-shaped rhinestones from it. Abby set the brooch on the table.

  Abby set about trying to take the brooch apart while Mary worked on the rhinestone necklace. Using the small, sharpnosed pliers Mary used in her crafts work, Abby pried at the prongs holding the center stone in place. When they were loose, she tapped the brooch against the table, gently, then harder. “Whatever the brooch lacks in beauty, it apparently makes up in sturdiness.”

  “That was my thought too,” Mary said with a sideways glance at the piece of jewelry. “The thing looks as if it could survive being run over by an eighteen-wheeler.”

  “Which would probably have been an appropriate fate for it.”

  Abby couldn't help it. In general, she wasn't much of a giggler, but now, thinking of the brooch popping up unscathed after an encounter with an eighteen-wheeler, she started laughing. A moment later Mary joined in.

  “A mother really has to love her child to actually wear something like this,” Abby said.

  When Abby finally got the stone out of its setting she put the blue-green oval on the table, and Mary arranged the rhinestones around it in rough imitation of the real necklace.

  “With bad eyesight, a dark night and no idea what good jewelry looks like, it may work,” Mary said. She sounded skeptical but hopeful.

  “How can we make the rhinestones stay in place? Glue?”

  “I think what we need is something to hold the center piece so I can fasten the rhinestones to that rather than gluing them right onto the stone. And then we need an eyelet at the top to run a chain through.”

  Abby thought a moment, then dashed to the kitchen, rummaged in a drawer and came back with a small metal object with a handle.

  Mary looked at it. “A tea infuser ?”

  The tea infuser was designed in the shape of a hinged spoon, punctured with tiny holes to let the water flow through tea leaves inside.

  “Well, why not?” Mary added philosophically. She picked up the stone from the brooch and slipped it into one side of the spoon. It fit neatly, with just enough room for the rhinestones to encircle it.

  “Looks pretty good!” Abby said.

  They took a break for dinner, a ham casserole that Mary had cooking in the oven. Afterwards, Mary went to work dismantling the tea infuser. Struggling to get a good grip, she dropped the tiny pliers. When they clattered on the floor, both sisters stopped short. Abby knew they were thinking the same thing. In the past, Finnegan would have quickly retrieved the tool for Mary.

  Mary swallowed hard but said nothing. Abby silently leaned over and picked up the pliers for her.

  Abby went upstairs and removed an inexpensive, goldcolored chain from an old necklace. Working together, they first cemented the large stone into the spoon-shaped tea infuser, then glued the rhinestones around it. The two sisters also talked, talked more than they had in
a long time. Talked about past, present and future, laughed some more and drank numerous cups of tea.

  As a finishing touch, Mary gave the blue-green centerpiece a thin gloss of blue fingernail polish. The result was unexpectedly good.

  Abby contributed a fancy purple and silver striped box that had held the parting gift from her associates at Cornell, a silver medal honoring her work there. With sudden inspiration Mary used glass cutters to cut a section out of a piece of mirror from her supply of crafts materials and lined the box with it.

  “It's what interior designers do sometimes, use a mirror to give a room the illusion of more space. Now if Gamino shines a flashlight in there to look at the necklace, he’ll get enough dazzle to blind him.”

  They finished the presentation with a silver ribbon that would slip off easily. They didn't want Gamino frustrated with complicated knots.

  Finally Mary held up the completed project, necklace nestled in mirror-lined box with a border of blue velvet to hold it in place. “Voilˆ!” she cried.

  “Eureka!” Abby agreed.

  They grinned at each other, one of the closest moments Abby had ever felt with her sister.

  Sobering, Mary added the most important point. “Now if Gamino just falls for it.”

  HENRY SHOWED UP AT THE HOUSE right after breakfast on Saturday morning. He said he’d already eaten, but when Mary offered coffee and a slice of toasted, home-baked cinnamon raisin bread, he readily accepted.

  As they all sat drinking coffee, Henry reported that through state records he’d located a registration number for a boat belonging to Gamino. Deputies all over the San Juans, as well as the marinas, had been notified to watch for the boat and Finnegan.

  “But I don't have high hopes that's going to work,” he added somberly. “The guy seems pretty crafty about keeping out of sight. So the basic plan is this. The sheriff's department boat will be ready to go Sunday afternoon. Deputy Niven and I will be on it. As soon as you hear from Gamino with a location, you call me by cell phone. Then we’ll close in on him.” He gave Abby a sharp look. “And if you’re having any thoughts about actually meeting this guy yourself, forget it.”

  “There's a possibility Gamino could get away when he realizes you’re trying to capture him. He’ll surely make a run for it, in which case we won't get Finnegan back. And Gamino made it plain that this would be our only chance. But if I could get Finnegan before you go after Gamino . . .”

  Abby let her voice trail off and Henry hesitated, as if reluctantly seeing the value in her argument. But that didn't keep him from saying, “No. Too dangerous. When he realizes you don't have the necklace, you and Finnegan could both be in danger.”

  Mary and Abby exchanged glances. “Not necessarily,” Abby said.

  Mary wheeled toward the craft room. A moment later she returned with the necklace dangling from her fingers.

  It didn't look like the real necklace, Abby had to admit. Far from it. But the rhinestone-ringed piece of stone hanging from the imitation gold chain did, if you didn't look too closely, look glittery and lovely and even valuable.

  Henry's jaw dropped open. “Where did you get that?”

  “We made it,” Mary said. “And Abby's trading this to Gamino for Finnegan is the only way we can be sure we’ll get him back.”

  Henry rocked back in his chair. “I don't like it,” he muttered.

  “None of us likes it,” Abby agreed. “But it's the only way. Unless I actually have Finnegan in my possession before you move in, too many things can go wrong.”

  “Things can go wrong anyway. What if this creep takes a look at your necklace and immediately realizes it's a phony? You don't know what he might do.”

  A possibility, Abby had to admit. But for Finnegan she was willing to risk it. She managed to say calmly, “I have full confidence in your and Deputy Niven's abilities to handle the situation after the trade is made.”

  Henry didn't suddenly embrace the idea of Abby's meeting Gamino, but he did say with grudging reluctance, “I suppose we could discuss some ideas on how we can make this work. A lot depends on where Gamino wants you to meet him.”

  And then they settled down with more coffee to work out a plan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AFTER HENRY LEFT, ABBY felt restless. She asked her sister if she’d like to take a drive up Mount Ortiz, but Mary said she wanted to work a bit at Island Blooms. Abby started to make the drive alone but on impulse stopped by the McDonalds’ house and asked Bobby if he’d like to come along. He jumped at the chance, of course. He looked at his mother, who had come to the door with him. Sandy tilted her head, smiled and nodded.

  “Should I bring the ornithopter?” he asked Abby. “It's all put together. I could show you how it works.”

  “It works?”

  “Oh yeah. Dad and I tried it on the beach. It's kind of weird, flopping its wings like a big bug. It's a good thing people figured out a better way to fly than that!”

  “Then I think you should keep it in good shape for the exhibit. As I recall, the wind can be quite strong on the mountain and something might happen to it up there.”

  Something had happened to Nelson Van Horn's hang glider up there, which was what today's trip was really all about.

  “How about bringing your camera?” she suggested. “Maybe we’ll see some birds.”

  “Yeah!”

  Bobby dashed off to his bedroom to get the camera and Abby chatted for a few moments with Sandy. Her father seemed to be adjusting to the new room at the nursing home, she said, and there had been no more emergency calls.

  The road wound up the side of Mount Ortiz, widening to accommodate spectacular viewing spots in several places. It wasn't a high mountain, only 1,155 feet—nothing like snowclad Mount Rainier and Mount Baker over on the mainland, but the views of islands and water were magnificent.

  When they reached the parking area and Abby turned the engine off, Bobby jumped out of the car, camera in hand. Abby moved more slowly, having to reach her right arm across her body to open the door. Dr. Randolph had said the cast had to remain on for six weeks.

  She walked to the guardrail on the edge of the parking area. From there the island lay below them like a green jewel surrounded by water that was incredibly blue today. Like a blue diamond turned to liquid, with the green of other islands like emeralds floating on its shimmering surface. The graceful shape of Cedar Grove Lake lay to the south and Oyster Inlet, like the blade of a knife, slashed deep into the northern end of the island. Wayfarer Point Lighthouse stood as a lonely sentinel off to the northwest. And somewhere out there, Nelson Van Horn's hang glider had crashed.

  What location had he used as a jumping-off point for his hang glider? This wasn't the actual peak of the mountain; you had to climb higher on a trail to reach that. Abby didn't know how bulky or heavy hang gliding equipment was, but she suspected it was too much for Van Horn to carry up there. So he must have taken off right here. But he had to have space to run to get started.

  There was some space between the guardrail and the steep drop-off, but a sign on the guard rail read DANGER DO NOT VENTURE BEYOND THIS POINT. A sign that Van Horn probably ignored, Abby realized. He must have climbed outside the rail and run alongside it to make his takeoff with the hang glider.

  After becoming airborne Van Horn would have had to do some maneuvering to reach a suitable spot on Wayfarer Point Road, but Abby knew from her research that a hang glider pilot could change course to some degree by shifting his weight on the control bar.

  But it all seemed such foolish recklessness, just running and jumping off into space.

  Yet at the same time, Abby could almost see why Van Horn had done it, why he was so eager to take off from here. At this moment, everything was so quiet and serene and peaceful, almost as if you wouldn't even need a hang glider to float off into the sky.

  Even as she thought about the appealing serenity, a sudden gust of wind whipped Bobby's Seattle Mariners baseball cap from his head. He raced a
fter it, laughing as it bounced along the paved parking area as if deliberately teasing him.

  “Hey, look, there's an eagle!” Bobby yelled when he captured his cap. He stopped short. “No, it isn’t. It's a vulture! Two vultures!”

  He lifted his camera and got off three quick shots. Vultures, of course, were scorned by many people as ugly creatures with a disgusting appetite for dead and rotting flesh, but Abby saw them differently, beautiful in their own way. They were the designated cleanup crew, diligently performing a vital duty. And, just now, they were floating on an updraft and circling lazily, incredibly majestic and graceful. One didn't need to be an eagle to soar with regal grace, she thought with fresh appreciation for the wonderful demonstration of the Lord's creativity.

  Yet even as she watched, something happened. A cloud appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and drifted across the sun. So swift the change! The blue waters changed to steely gray, and a raw wind suddenly whipped the tops of trees below and made Abby pull her jacket tighter around her.

  The invisible updraft on which the vultures floated changed too, seeming to spill one of the graceful birds on its side, like some great carnival ride carelessly tossing off a rider. The bird tumbled only a short distance before those powerful wings took hold and righted it.

  But, Abby thought, if that had happened to a hang glider, without flapping wings to come to the rescue, the results would be disastrous.

  “Did you get that?” Abby asked.

  “I think so. But I’m not sure. It happened so fast! I’m going to save up my money and buy a video camera.”

  The vultures were gone now, the sky empty, clouds thickening like murky gray gravy congealing in the sky. A few drops of windblown rain spattered Abby's face.

  “I guess it's a good thing I didn't bring the ornithopter,” Bobby said. “I would’ve crashed it for sure.”

  Much like the hang glider of Nelson Van Horn.