Gem of a Ghost: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  When she and Grant were first married, they would often come down to the farmers’ market early on a Sunday morning. They would grab a cup of coffee at one booth and a fresh pastry at another and sit at the small clusters of tables among other early morning Angelinos to pore over the Los Angeles Times. Before they went home, they’d pick up fresh produce and bread. Those had been good times, before Grant’s career took off and changed him into an egomaniacal serial skirt chaser.

  The first jewelry store she checked out had the usual basic inventory, nothing special. When she inquired at the second shop about estate pieces, she was directed farther up the block to another shop called Sachman & Sons.

  The storefront of Sachman & Sons was the least imposing of the three. Its front windows, set on either side of the door, displayed the usual necklaces and rings. A small placard was posted in the right window announcing that they specialized in the purchase and sale of estate jewelry. To back up their claim, the right window had a small display of some lovely vintage pieces, including some exquisite cameos. Another small sign announced that the store bought gold.

  Through the window, Emma saw a man working behind a counter. The door to the shop was locked. Another small sign posted on the glass front of the door invited customers to ring the doorbell on the right side for entry. About a foot and a half above the bell was affixed an ornate mezuzah, a case containing scripture found on many Jewish doorposts.

  Emma poked the center of the doorbell and heard a buzzer sound within the store. The man looked up from his work and studied Emma. A second later, she heard another buzz, and when she tried the door, it was unlatched.

  The store was small but bright and cheerful. A U-shaped glass display case filled with various items of jewelry, coins, and fine accessories lined three sides. Behind them were glass wall cases spotlighting other objects.

  “Good morning,” the middle-aged man greeted her as she entered. He was tall and slight and wore a dark suit with a white shirt and dark tie. His angular face, with its long, straight nose, sported glasses with thick black frames and a close-cropped beard and moustache of gunmetal gray. Perched toward the back of his thinning hair was a simple black yarmulke.

  “Good morning,” Emma replied back with a smile. She approached the counter. “I have some questions regarding estate jewelry. Are you Mr. Sachman?”

  “I am Joseph Sachman, one of the sons. Did you have something to sell, or are you looking to purchase?”

  “Neither, though you do have some lovely cameos in the window. You don’t see them much anymore.”

  The man smiled and nodded. “They are a particular favorite of my mother’s, though women don’t wear them as they used to.”

  “My mother also loves them.” Emma glanced back at the window display but could not see the items facing the street.

  As if reading her mind, the proprietor said, “Mother’s Day is coming up.”

  Emma gave a soft laugh. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” She turned back to the business at hand. “But today I’m actually looking for information on a piece you may have sold several years ago, maybe five or six years back. Do you keep information on your better estate pieces?”

  “For insurance purposes we keep a detailed inventory on everything. If an estate or antique piece is of particular interest, we might also keep some side notes. Are you sure it was purchased here?”

  “Pretty sure. It was a very large diamond set flush in a man’s band.” Emma pulled a small pouch out of her purse and emptied it onto one of the velvet pads sitting on the counter. Lainey’s engagement ring tumbled out. “The stone in this ring was set into a man’s band that you sold to a friend of mine, Joanna Reid.” She paused to correct herself. “Her name was Joanna Naiman then. She bought it as a gift for her husband Max.”

  “Max Naiman, the movie star?”

  “Yes. He died shortly after. Recently the stone was removed from his band and reset for his daughter’s engagement ring.” Emma indicated the ring on the pad. “This is that ring.”

  Mr. Sachman pointed to the ring. “May I?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The jeweler put on his glasses, then picked up the ring and examined it. “Lovely stone.” He took off his glasses, brought out a jeweler’s loop, and brought it to his eye to check the stone further. When he was finished, he put his glasses back on. “What is your connection to this ring?”

  “In speaking with Mrs. Reid and her daughter, we’ve come to believe this stone may have a fascinating history connected to it. They are interested in looking into it, and I’m assisting them.” Emma pulled out one of her business cards and gave it to Mr. Sachman. He examined it.

  “I remember when Mr. Naiman passed. Very tragic. I did not personally sell his wife the original ring, but I believe I do remember it. It’s not often we have such large diamonds set in men’s rings. Let me see what we have in the way of records.”

  He put the ring back down on the velvet pad and walked to the other side of the store to a computer. Emma picked up the ring and followed him on her side of the counter.

  After a few hunt-and-pecks at the keyboard, during which Mr. Sachman offered up a few hems and haws, he turned his attention back to Emma. “We did sell Mrs. Naiman a man’s ring with a stone of this size. In fact, it seems we sold that ring twice.”

  “Twice?”

  “This shop is patronized by entire families, generation after generation. That gentlemen’s ring was purchased here many years ago, then resold to us when the owner died, along with other estate items.”

  “Who owned it before the Naimans?”

  Returning to the keyboard, he continued his search. “Interesting.” The comment was made to the computer screen but still caused Emma’s ears to perk up. “Would you excuse me a moment?”

  Before Emma could say anything, Mr. Sachman ducked through a door marked Employees Only.

  While she waited, Emma’s eyes wandered over the items in the display case. Sachman & Sons really had some exquisite antique pieces. She found a few more cameos and studied them through the glass, thinking one really would make a lovely gift for her mother.

  “Wow, look at all this stuff.”

  Without turning, Emma said to Granny in a whisper, “Do you think Mother would like one of these cameos?”

  The ghost materialized and peered at the brooches Emma indicated. “Sure do. They’re beautiful. I used to have one. Jacob gave it to me when our son was born. Not as fine as these, but I did love it.”

  “Which one do you think she’d like the most?”

  “I like this one—it looks sort of like the one I had.” Granny pointed to a fine carving of a woman with a crown of flowers.

  “That is lovely. Maybe when we’re done here, we’ll have a look at it.”

  The ghost looked around. “If you’re not buying something, why are you here?”

  “I’m hoping they can tell me about the stone in Lainey’s ring. This is where Joanna bought it.”

  Emma heard the office door open. “Now shhh.”

  The ghost crossed her arms. “Humpf. It’s not like he can hear me.”

  Mr. Sachman remained by the office door. “Would you please follow me, Mrs. Whitecastle.” When she hesitated, he added, “My father would like to speak with you, but it is difficult for him to come to the front of the store.”

  Going between a break in the large counter, Emma went behind the display and followed Joseph Sachman through the door. Granny followed them.

  The back of the store was smaller than the front and was divided into two sections. The larger portion contained a compact kitchen with mini fridge and microwave and a small round table with two chairs. Industrial shelving held boxes of supplies such as bags and boxes, large rolls of gift wrap in plain silvery blue, and rolls of white ribbon. Straight back was the back door to the shop, and to the side another door that was slightly ajar. Through that door Emma spied the corner of a sink and guessed it to be the bathroom. Everything was n
eat as a pin.

  The other part of the room was sectioned into a private office. Its door was open, and it was through there Mr. Sachman directed Emma.

  The inner office contained a large safe and an L-shaped desk that also doubled as a work table. A black gooseneck magnifying lamp hovered over bits and pieces of a watch in mid-repair. Behind the desk sat a fragile old man with a white beard and silky white hair. Like his son, he wore a dark suit and a yarmulke, though his was ringed with embroidered images of the Star of David. In his delicate hands was Emma’s business card.

  “Mrs. Whitecastle, this is my father, Isaac Sachman. He may have the information you’re seeking.”

  “Mrs. Whitecastle, please,” said the old man. He indicated a seat across from him on the other side of the desk. “You’ll have to forgive me for not standing, but my legs are rather withered from arthritis. Fortunately, it has spared my hands, which in my line of work is a blessing.”

  Emma sat in the chair.

  “Would you like some tea?” he asked. “Joseph can make us some.” His voice was edged with a European accent and had the wobble of age.

  Emma smiled at both gentlemen. “No, but thank you.”

  Joseph gave her courteous nod. “I must return to the front. I leave you in the best of hands, Mrs. Whitecastle.”

  From across the table Isaac Sachman studied her, squinting his aged eyes to slits. “Why do you really want to know about that particular stone, Mrs. Whitecastle?”

  Emma fidgeted like a schoolgirl who didn’t know the correct answer when called upon. She tried not to look at Granny, who was standing at the edge of the table watching Sachman. “As I told your son, I’m looking into the history of the ring purchased for Max Naiman.”

  “Joseph tells me you have the ring.”

  “No, just the stone from it. It was reset into an engagement ring for Max’s daughter, Elaine.”

  “May I see it?”

  Emma opened the hand in which she clutched the ring. It had grown warm, but Emma didn’t know if it was because of the heat of her body or that Addy was active. She held the ring out to the jeweler, who took it and examined it closely.

  “This certainly does look like the stone from the other ring.” He held it under the magnified lamp. “Yes, same distinct fire as I remember.”

  “Mr. Sachman, do you know the history behind this stone, such as where it came from? Your son said something about your store selling it twice.”

  The old gentleman gave her a small knowing smile. “One of the reasons I got into the specialty of estate and antique jewelry was my fascination with the people who owned such beautiful things. My family and I came to this country when I was very young. We were quite poor. My father was a watchmaker, and I learned that trade from him at a very early age. When I was older, I apprenticed to a jeweler in a fancy store in New York and learned all about fine gems and metals. Many rich people came into the store, spending with extravagance when they were happy and flush, then selling when their fortunes waned. All quite fascinating to a young man who was taught to be frugal and sensible whether your pockets be empty or full.”

  Grasping the lower end of Lainey’s ring, Mr. Sachman held it up between them. The large diamond sat high and proud on its prongs.

  “A fine piece of jewelry isn’t discarded like worn clothing or an old, battered sofa. It endures long past the life of its original owner, most often passing from generation to generation, like a family name, but sometimes sold in a time of desperation or apathy.”

  “And this stone?”

  “Tell me, my dear, what is your suspicion about this particular stone?”

  Emma looked the old man dead-on. “I believe it has a very tragic past.”

  “Which includes your friend Mr. Naiman?”

  “Yes, including him.”

  Still holding the ring, the old man tapped Emma’s business card, which now sat on the desk to his left, with his other hand. “I know your television show, Mrs. Whitecastle. I have seen it a few times. Very interesting. Given the topic of your show, it is even more interesting that it is you who is inquiring about this stone.”

  “As I mentioned, the Naimans were friends of mine. Their daughter is still a close friend of my daughter’s.”

  “And the fact that you are a known investigator into strange occurrences has nothing to do with your curiosity about this particular piece?”

  Granny leaned in close. “He’s playing with you, Emma. I think he knows the ring is haunted.”

  “I think you’re right.” Emma was looking at Mr. Sachman, but her words were meant for Granny.

  “Are you speaking to me,” he asked, “or to the spirit hovering just to your right?”

  Emma’s mouth dropped open before she could stop it. She collected herself just as fast. “That spirit is my great-great-great-grandmother, Ish Reynolds. She just told me she thinks you know the stone is haunted.”

  Isaac Sachman put Lainey’s ring down on the table and rubbed his hands together lightly. “And she would be partially correct. I didn’t know for sure it was haunted, but I’ve had my suspicions something wasn’t quite right about it.” Mr. Sachman gave a gracious head bow in the direction of Granny. “Welcome to my humble establishment, Mrs. Reynolds.”

  “You can see her?” Emma asked.

  “Not clearly. All I ever see are small, sparkly clouds, like diamond dust floating on the air. And, unfortunately, I cannot hear them as you obviously can. I’ve had this ability since I was a child but didn’t realize what it was until I was a young man working with that fancy jeweler. Maybe it’s another reason I enjoy following the history of other people’s finery—it’s almost like knowing them. And gems are living things; they are born of the earth, just as we are.”

  Emma liked Isaac Sachman and his thoughts on gems and their owners. “Besides Max Naiman, how did the previous owners of this stone die? Do you know that?”

  “My memory isn’t always the best, so let me consult my notes.”

  He turned toward a computer that sat on the outstretched arm of the desk, but instead of pecking on the keyboard, Mr. Sachman opened a small lower drawer. From it he retrieved a ragged leather-bound journal. It bulged with scraps of paper and newspaper clippings and was held together with a thick rubber band. Removing the band, he placed it on the table between them and began flipping through the yellowed pages, all of which were filled with a small, tight scrawl.

  “Here we go.” From the spot he chose, he pulled a small photograph, an aging Polaroid, and handed it across the desk to Emma. “This is what the ring looked like when it was a man’s ring.”

  The photo was of a man’s wide band with the stone set flush in a dome at the middle. There was interesting scrollwork on either side of the stone, running halfway down both sides of the band. Seeing the photo brought memories back to Emma of Max wearing the ring.

  “Yes, that is Max’s wedding ring. Joanna gave it to him when they restated their vows.”

  While Emma studied the photo, Mr. Sachman read his notes on it. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Emma turned the photo toward Granny for her to see. He smiled and went back to his reading.

  “Because of the unique nature of this stone, it seems I’ve done quite a bit of research on it.” He flipped a page over and gave it a quick scan. “I have many notes, though I’m not surprised, considering its questionable nature.” He pulled out a small newspaper clipping about Max’s accident and showed it to Emma.

  She leaned forward, eager to know what else was in the journal. “Besides Max Naiman, do you know how many of the previous owners died?”

  “They all died, Mrs. Whitecastle, but I’m sure you meant died suspiciously.”

  “I did.” It was clear to Emma that while the old man’s legs were weak, his mind was as sharp and as clear as the diamonds he sold.

  “Let’s see.” Sachman ran a bony finger down the pages. While he did so, Emma pulled a pen and small pad of paper from her handbag to take notes.
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  “Prior to Mrs. Naiman buying it, the man’s ring was owned by a famous attorney in Beverly Hills. He shot himself while his wife was out of town. According to this, he’d purchased the ring himself less than a year before that happened. We bought it back from his widow about four years after his death. We had it here in the store another three years before it was purchased by your friend.”

  He turned another page and scanned it before finding the new information he sought. “According to my notes, before that it was owned by a banker. He bought it from a colleague of mine, but not as a man’s ring—it was an engagement ring. He bought it for his fiancée, a young woman almost half his age.”

  Emma looked up from her notes. “I almost hate to ask what happened to him.”

  Mr. Sachman flipped a few pages forward. “It wasn’t until Mr. Naiman’s death that I started going back in time to track the ring. My notes on the earlier history are actually more recent.”

  He found the page he was looking for and spread the journal wide, smoothing the pages down. “Here we go. The banker bought the engagement ring many years ago, sometime in the late sixties. Shortly after, his fiancée died of an overdose of sleeping pills.”

  He tapped the book. “That poor family suffered.”

  “I’m sure any death is traumatic.”

  “More so this. The banker eventually did marry, and many years after his first fiancée’s death, he came to me to extract the stone and reset it into a ring for his only son. That was the first time I ever saw it. I remember him telling me that he had kept it in a safe-deposit box all those years.”