by Vicki Delany
“Oh dear,” I said.
“You think she did it?” Crystal asked.
“No,” I said firmly. “I do not.”
“Then where is she?”
I let out a sigh. Where indeed.
The bells over the door chimed, and a group of laughing women poured into the shop, putting an end to that conversation. I shoved the paper behind the counter.
• • •
“Can you stay for a while after closing?” I asked Crystal when we again had a lull.
“Sure. Why?”
I explained about the magazine photo shoot. “Some of your jewelry might be of interest to them, and you should be here to talk to them if it is.”
“That’d be great.”
I wanted to introduce Crystal to Willow and Amber. Max had said no to featuring another jeweler, but Willow might have other ideas. Crystal was so multitalented, I wanted her to get the exposure if it were possible. Not only was she a straight-A student and class valedictorian, she worked part-time at my shop, ran her own small jewelry-making business, and took singing lessons from my mom.
Promptly at six o’clock I flipped the sign on the door to “Closed” while Crystal rang up the purchases of the last customers of the day, two youthful-looking grandmothers loading themselves down with toys for holiday gifts and festive dishes and linens for themselves.
I opened the door for the ladies, and said I hoped they’d be able to bring their families back to Rudolph at Christmastime. I was still holding the door when the team from Jennifer’s Lifestyle arrived.
Willow came first, then Jason, wrapped in a plethora of camera paraphernalia, followed by Amber, carrying more equipment. I introduced Crystal to Willow and Amber, while Jason began setting up. Amber said she’d love to talk later about what sort of work Crystal did.
I told Willow and Amber they could arrange things any way they wanted and stepped out of the way. As I watched them working, placing everything just so; stepping back to check; rearranging; seeking the exact match of color, shape, and texture; conferring with Jason about angles and lighting, I felt a stirring of regret. I’d loved the magazine world and being immersed in leading-edge design and style. I’d been good at it—everyone said so.
The light on the camera flashed repeatedly, and the steady click of the shutter opening and closing rang through the shop as Jason took some test shots while Willow began arranging items on the jewelry tree. “Most of those pieces,” I said, “were made by Crystal. She’s going to the School of Visual Arts in the fall to study jewelry and small-metal design. She’s got a very bright future.”
Crystal blushed furiously.
“Some of these pieces are great,” Willow said. “I’m thinking a feature on up-and-coming artists. We’ll focus on people under twenty who are already starting to make a splash. The future of American design, if you will. Be sure and give me your number when we’re done here.”
I gave Crystal a thumbs-up behind Willow’s back.
“When you’re in New York,” Amber said, “maybe we can have a coffee or something. I can tell you what not to do in your career.”
Willow moved on to study the table-setting display. “The green and red is a mite garish, don’t you think, Merry?”
“Red and green means Christmas to a lot of people. These aren’t meant to be everyday dishes.”
“Still don’t like them. But that children’s set is charming. Hey! I’ve had a great idea. What are your favorite pieces, Merry? We can do a sidebar on decorating for the holidays with Merry Wilkinson.” She stepped back and studied my knee-length white skirt and blue and white striped blouse. “You look like an Upstate shop clerk, not a doyenne of home decor.”
“I am an Upstate shop clerk.”
“You’ll have to change.”
“I’m not set up for photographing people,” Jason said.
“Tomorrow, then,” Willow said.
She had not asked me what I thought of the idea. Jason growled at me to get out of the way as he had lights to put up. I stepped back.
“Thoroughly unlikable person,” Amber was saying to Crystal. “You do not want to find your career in the clutches of someone like that.”
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
“No one,” Amber said quickly. At that moment our attention was distracted by a loud hammering on the door. All the blood rushed out of Amber’s face, and it was easy to guess who’d been on her mind.
Erica Johnstone was peering into my shop. I threw a quick glance around the room. Willow looked furious, Jason pleased, Amber terrified, Crystal awestruck. I hurried to unlock the door.
Erica fell into the shop, followed, of course, by Muriel and her ever-present giant tote bag and scarf. Lightbulbs popped as the paparazzi jostled each other trying to see inside.
“It’s gone!” Erica cried as I slammed the door behind her.
“What’s gone?” we chorused.
“My necklace. Call the police.” Erica’s legs wobbled and she began to sway. Muriel said, “Oh dear.” Jason rushed across the room and put his arm around the fainting woman. He led her to the wingback chair. “Water!” he shouted. Crystal dashed for the back rooms.
Once Erica had downed the entire glass of water and Muriel was ineffectively patting her hand, Jason said, “Slowly and calmly tell us what’s happened.”
Erica took a shuddering breath. “The necklace, the one my darling Max bought me. It’s gone. It’s been stolen. You”—she pointed to Crystal—“call the police.”
Crystal dashed for the shop phone and made the call.
“Are you sure you didn’t misplace it?” I said.
Erica glared at me. “Of course I’m sure. Do you think me a fool?”
Behind her back, Willow mouthed “yes.” Then she rounded the chair to face Erica. “That’s too bad, but we’re kinda busy here, Erica. You know how tight our schedule is and we’re already behind.”
“Right now I truly do not care about your schedule.”
“Why have you come here?” I asked. “If you mean the necklace Max bought on Friday, I saw you leave with it myself. Muriel had it. It wasn’t taken from here.”
“This is where it came from. I thought the police would want to see something similar.”
More chance of drama, I thought but didn’t say, with a bigger audience than just the hapless Muriel.
Another rap on the shop door, and Crystal opened it to admit Detective Simmonds. She came in, shouting, “No comment,” over her shoulder. “What’s this about a theft?”
“That was quick,” I said.
“I happened to be passing. Because of what happened here the other day, the dispatcher put the call through to me.”
“My necklace has been stolen,” Erica said.
“When did you see it last?” Simmonds asked.
“Yesterday. I think.”
“Yesterday. Where?”
“In my jewelry case in my hotel room. Max gave it to me. It was his final gift to me,” she sobbed. “I was looking at it yesterday.”
“Your hotel? What are you doing here, then?”
“It was bought here. I thought you could identify it more easily, seeing the source.”
Simmonds looked as though she was thinking the same thing I was. “Ms. Johnstone, I took this call because I believed it had something to do with the scene of Mr. Folger’s death. If not, you need to come to the station and make a statement.”
“Oh no,” Muriel gasped.
“Come to the police station!” Erica said. “I don’t think so!”
Jason stepped forward. “Now, see here. You don’t seem to realize to whom you are speaking. Ms. Johnstone has just suffered a traumatic loss.”
Erica nodded. “It was a pretty necklace.”
“In the murder of her fiancé,” Jason continu
ed. “Which you people don’t seem to be doing anything about.”
“I assure you, Mr. Kerr,” Simmonds said, “we are doing a great deal. Which is why I’m not impressed at being called down here on a minor matter that’s taking me away from that investigation. I don’t see Mr. Claymore. Did he not come with you?”
“He was in his room making calls. I didn’t want to disturb him,” Erica said.
“You think a crime has been committed but you didn’t want to disturb your lawyer?”
“He’s very busy,” Erica said.
I suspected Erica had snuck out without telling James Claymore what was going on, knowing he wouldn’t want her running through town, pursued by the howling mob of the ladies and gentlemen of the press.
“As I am here now,” Simmonds said, “what was the value of the item, Ms. Johnstone?”
“Priceless.”
“An estimate, please,” Simmonds said dryly.
“One hundred and ten dollars,” I said.
“One hundred and ten dollars?”
“Plus tax.”
“Mustn’t forget the tax.”
“Mr. Folger bought it for Ms. Johnstone,” I said. “The day before he died. She’s referring to the sentimental value.”
Erica nodded.
“Do you have a picture of the item?” Simmonds asked.
Erica shook her head.
“We might,” I said. “Crystal, you photograph everything you bring here for sale, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. It’ll be at home.”
“E-mail me a copy of the picture, please.” Simmonds handed her card to Crystal. “Ms. Johnstone, I can declare your hotel room a crime scene, meaning no one can go in or out until we have finished our investigation. Is that what you want?”
“I can get another room,” Erica said.
“Which also means nothing can be removed from the scene until I say so. And some items, such as your jewelry box, might be required as evidence when the case comes to court.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Up to you.”
“Maybe that’s not such a good idea,” Erica said slowly. “But you will come and fingerprint everything, won’t you?”
“Ms. Johnstone, we’re talking about a hotel room. Staff are in and out all the time, guests, their visitors. If we are to dust for fingerprints, you’ll have to come with me to the station right now so I can take your prints for elimination purposes.”
Erica clutched her hands together. “I will not be fingerprinted like some common criminal.”
“There you have it,” Simmonds said. “Did you report this alleged theft to the hotel management?”
“No,” Muriel said. “Erica wanted to come right here.”
“I suggest you do so. They’ll instruct their staff to be on the lookout for it, in case it was misplaced.”
“I’m sure,” Jason said, “Ms. Johnstone didn’t misplace this item which is so important to her.”
“We searched for it,” Erica said, “Didn’t we, Muriel?”
“Everywhere,” Muriel agreed.
Simmonds glanced toward the window. “One more thing, Ms. Johnstone. I’m advising you not to speak to any members of the press about this alleged theft. Doing so might seriously compromise my investigation, as well as exposing you to a lawsuit if you make unsubstantiated accusations. Do you understand?”
Erica nodded.
“Now that that’s settled,” Willow said, “we have work to do here, people. Muriel, take Erica back to the hotel. She needs to rest. Jason, I’m thinking subdued lighting over the jewelry case. I’d like a mood of . . .”
“I’ll stay to help,” Erica said.
“Heaven help us,” Amber mumbled.
Chapter 9
Erica quickly got bored with the minutiae of arranging a photo shoot, and Willow convinced her to go back to the hotel. Erica said she was considering suing the town of Rudolph and its police department for incompetence, while Muriel fussed over her like a neurotic mother hen. Jason offered to walk them to their car, implying that the streets weren’t safe at night. Erica clutched his arm gratefully. At my suggestion, they left through the back door, although most of the paparazzi had taken off in pursuit of Detective Simmonds, shouting questions at her.
“That’s going to go over well,” I said to Willow. “Let’s run a major feature on how great this town is at the same time as we sue them.”
“Don’t mind her,” Willow said. “She’s not happy if she’s not planning to sue someone. She forgets about it an hour later.”
“What do you think happened to the necklace? The Yuletide has a spotless reputation; they’re not going to be happy if she starts saying things disappeared from her room.”
“She loses stuff all the time,” Amber said. “We did a big shoot at her house a couple of months ago for her bridal shower. Worst freakin’ week of my life. A pair of earrings went missing and then a ring. The ring was valuable, too, a good-sized emerald. A maid later found it when she was cleaning one of the guest bathrooms. Erica had forgotten she’d nipped in there to wash her hands.”
“What about the earrings?”
“When the party and the shoot were over, I left, and never heard anything more about it.”
Jason returned and the group went back to work.
It was after ten when they wrapped up and Mattie and I headed home. The streets were dark and quiet, the moon covered by thick clouds. There was no wind, and the air was warm and dense with humidity. I pulled out my phone to place a call while we walked. Helen Pickering and I had been good friends when I lived in Manhattan. She still worked for the magazine, in the accounting department.
“Hey, Merry,” she said. “Nice to hear from you. I got the news about Max. We all did, of course. I wanted to call you, but didn’t want to look as if I was digging for gossip. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I seemed to be saying that a lot lately. “I’m sorry about his death, but we were finished a long time ago.”
“Speaking of which, I hear Erica’s there. How’s she doing?”
“Hard to tell what’s genuine and what’s playing the prima donna.”
“Tell me about it,” Helen said.
“Do you know Willow Rasmon and a props assistant named Amber? I don’t remember her last name.”
“Sure. Why?”
“Tell me about them. How things are going at work, I mean.”
“Have you got a couple of hours? Amber’s doing good. She’s a rising star. She has an amazing eye for finding exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. I’ve heard she’s rising so fast, she’s going to be able to write her own ticket soon.” That confirmed what Willow had told me. “Different story for Willow. She’s done nothing the past year but clash with Max and Erica. We expect you creative types to have your differences, and I know good ideas come out of a back-and-forth, but if Max said he wanted a chair painted white, Willow would tell props to make it black.”
“They worked together without a lot of trouble before. Why the change, do you think?”
“Max is the boss now. Sorry, I mean he was the boss. He thought that meant he didn’t have to take anyone’s advice. Frankly, Merry, it was a case of power corrupting. It didn’t help that Erica backed up every decision he made. In most cases, it would have been better if the chair had been black, but everyone soon learned not to argue with Max. I’m glad I’m an accountant. No one can pick a fight with me or tell me to make a three look more like a five. A lot of people have left over the last year.”
“Why didn’t Willow?”
“She’s managed to get herself a reputation for being difficult. You know how tight that world is, Merry. A bad reputation isn’t easy to shake off. Erica isn’t popular, but there are one or two folks here who think she should be cut some slack and given a chance.
Willow’s constant backbiting doesn’t endear her to people who are trying to keep their spirits up. The last couple of days have been quite peaceful with Max and Willow both out of town, not to mention Erica. I suppose the project’s been canceled because of what happened.”
“They’ve just finished a shoot in my shop. Tomorrow they want me to dress nicely and look like the ultimate source for holiday decorating.”
“Seems somewhat tacky, don’t you think?”
“I did at first, but I see their point. They’re under police orders not to leave town. They have to do something, and work’s probably best. I’ve heard talk of a Max Folger commemorative issue.”
Helen snorted. “Spare me.”
“Will you keep me posted if you hear anything more?”
“Sure. The office is going to be a hive of rumors tomorrow. I’ll try to sort the wheat from the chaff.”
“Thanks.”
“You take care,” she said.
On our way home, rather than go out again to give Mattie a proper walk, I (feeling like a very bad dog owner indeed) took a quick detour into the park so he could tend to his business. We were back on the sidewalk, heading to our house, when a man crossed the street ahead of me, walking rapidly. He was wrapped in shadows, but as he passed under a streetlight I quickened my pace. I’d recognize that slouch and lopsided gait anywhere.
“Kyle,” I shouted.
He stopped.
Mattie and I hurried across the street. Mattie sniffed at his pant legs. Kyle gave him a hearty pat.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Jackie?” I asked.
