The Wedding Necklace

by Adrianne Lee

  Lyssa gave into the fortifying powers of the hot food, letting Craig’s soothing voice, and his reassuring presence erase the final chill from her body. Draining her coffee cup, she extended it to be refilled, surprised to find herself smiling. How long it seemed since she’d smiled. “You’re not a bad cook.”

  “Coffee, soup, and baloney sandwiches.” Craig grinned mockingly, noting how her face seemed lighted from the inside when she smiled, and poured more coffee into his own cup as well. “Specialties of the house, Ms. Carlyle.”

  “We’ve shared too much to be so formal, Craig.” She eased back in her chair and crossed her tired legs at the ankles. “Please, call me Lyssa.”

  “All right,” he answered, thinking she appeared relaxed. Open. He’d suppressed his impatience to the bursting point. Craig hoped she was as ready to explain as he was to listen. “Now that we’re on a first name basis I wonder if you’d satisfy my curiosity?”

  “I’ll try.” Lyssa’s guard shot up, pulling her straighter in her chair.

  The reflex wasn’t lost on Craig. He’d wanted to trust her, but he didn’t know this woman, and no matter how much they might have bonded, that bond didn’t ensure her honesty. He shifted in his chair and leaned his arms onto the table. “What were you doing in my house last night and again today?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lyssa felt the heat drain from her face. The moment she told him who she was, he would hustle her out of here so fast her head would spin. “I, ah, I left something here.”

  Craig frowned. “When, last night?”

  “Last…Monday night.”

  His frown deepened into a scowl that upscaled the ache at his temples. “Last--?”

  “That’s right.” She cut him off, talking as fast as a high-pressure salesperson. “When I returned home, I discovered I’d left something of value here. Don’t you remember me telling the police that I came to get it?”

  Craig tapped a finger against his coffee cup, an angry drumming, and spoke so deliberately the muscles in his throat strained. “I remember you telling the police several things, like my uncle giving you a key to this house.”

  At least he remembered that. Lyssa felt the pressure on her chest ease a modicum. “He did.”

  “I didn’t believe that last night, and I don’t believe it now.”

  “Huh. Well, I can prove it.” She popped up and hurried from the room. A moment later she was back, digging a key ring from a filthy purse. She tugged a key loose and handed it to Craig.

  He eyed it suspiciously, unimpressed.

  She knew he was thinking she’d taken it from outdoors, but the hidden key outside fit the front door. “It opens the kitchen door.”

  Craig jerked his head towards her. His jaw clamped. Disquiet stirred deep in his achy skull. Damn. It did look like the key he’d given Wayne, but his uncle wouldn’t have let a complete stranger stay at Windance. Would he? Craig drank more coffee, thinking it tasted as weak as his confidence in his uncle. Grimly, he rose and tried the key.

  The quiet click told him he hadn’t known his uncle as well as he’d thought.

  He returned to the table, angry--at Wayne for not living up to his image of him, and at this woman for causing the disillusionment. “I think you’d better tell mme how my uncle came to give you this. And just how the hell you came to be leaving anything in my house.”

  Lyssa blanched, hearing Wayne’s warning in her head as clearly as if he were standing beside her shouting it, “Craig will be furious if he finds out about the Purity.”

  And he certainly did look furious. There was little doubt he’d blow a gasket when he knew who she was. For a minute, she considered appealing to his sentimental side. Maybe family was as important to him as it was to her. Maybe he would understand how much she loved her grandmother. How much the wedding necklace meant to a dying woman whose family hadn’t seen one lasting marriage since the day the necklace was sold to the Rivals. Her palms were damp. Maybe he didn’t have a sentimental side. Maybe he’d laugh at her.

  Resolve hardened inside Lyssa. Grandy was counting on having the Purity in her possession again, on holding it again, and while there was still a breath of a chance to find the copy she’d made, she couldn’t afford to be hustled off the premises. Even if it meant lying. “Wayne told me he owned Windance. I came here as his guest.”

  “Guest?”

  “Yes.” Maybe guest was stretching it, but guest was what she’d claimed and now she was stuck with it. She took a bracing swallow of coffee, then blurted out a hastily devised lie. “I, ah, met Wayne at a jeweler’s convention in Seattle, oh about six months ago. We just…you know, hit it off. One thing led to another and we-we started seeing one another. Spending weekends here.”

  Craig’s brown eyes looked all black. “Without exception, Uncle Wayne liked his women red-headed, creamy-skinned, and top heavy. You want to try the truth this time?”

  An inhaled breath lodged like a lump of sand in her throat. His expression was as cold as his voice, and Lyssa suspected he already knew the truth. Or a part of it. But which part? Her connection to the DeHavilands? Could the police have unearthed that information since last night? Maybe not, but it was only a matter of time. She licked her dry lips with an equally dry tongue. “I’m sorry I lied. It isn’t something I usually do.”

  Certain he’d never believe that now, she stammered, “Wayne told me you would not approve of what went on between us and I--” Great. This sounded worse. She blushed again, hating the unfamiliar heat that kept attacking her with ever increasing regularity. She wasn’t a blusher by nature. But her emotions were too raw, too easily triggered, she realized, struggling to rouse some of her usual poise. “There was nothing personal about our relationship. I contacted Wayne and put a proposition to him which he agreed to.”

  “What kind of proposition?”

  Nose to nose with the moment of truth, Lyssa decided to lay it all on the line. Her hands were trembling. “My maiden name is DeHaviland.”

  Craig’s eyes widened.

  “Before you ask, yes, I am related to Harland DeHaviland, the designer and original owner of the Purity, and yes, my proposition had to do with the necklace.”

  With the necklace. Singular. Not "The Collection." Craig felt not an ounce of relief. “What proposition?”

  Lyssa ignored his intimidating glare and plunged on, “I make antique replicas--”

  “The proposition?” he repeated.

  Lyssa squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Since you wouldn’t allow my family to buy the Purity, I decided the next best thing would be to make a copy of it.”

  “And you expect me to believe that Wayne allowed that?”

  Lyssa could see he did believe it. He just didn't like it. “Wayne said you'd object.”

  “Damn right I do!”

  “Why?”

  “Because the value of any unique item is diminished when it’s copied.”

  “Phooey! There is a whole group of consumers out there who like antique jewelry, but can't afford the 'unique' prices your pieces bring.”

  Lyssa noticed his face had turned an unattractive red. Given his recent concussion, she'd bet his head was throbbing. “Look, do you want some aspirin or something?”

  “No. I'd like you to continue.”

  God, this was one stubborn man. “I didn't make an exact copy. I used zircons.” She shrugged. “What else do you want to know?”

  He lowered his eyelids and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. Maybe he should have accepted her offer of aspirin. His head felt close to imploding.

  Lyssa sipped her coffee, wondering if she was going to have to call the doctor again. He didn’t look at all well.

  Ten seconds passed. Craig shook his head and assessed her with an intense gaze. “I want to know why. Why didn’t you make an exact copy of the Purity? Why a faux worth a quarter or less of the real thing?”

  “I told you…that’s not what I do.”

  “But you said you
wanted the Purity back in your family, so I’m assuming you have no intention of making it available to that whole group of consumers you mentioned. Why the faux?”

  Lyssa realized she’d counted on his headache to chase this little detail from his mind. No such luck. She admitted grudgingly, “All right. You’re right. I don’t want a faux Purity for my family.” Her great great grandfather had that necklace made for her great great grandmother, Purity Arness. The necklace was her wedding gift from her groom and was named after her. Nothing less than the real thing would suit Lyssa. “But I’m hoping it will suit Grandy.”

  “Grandy?”

  “Idella DeHaviland, my maternal grandmother. The necklace was supposed to be hers on her wedding day. Instead it went to your grandmother. Grandy has never gotten over it. She thinks not having the wedding necklace was responsible for the failure of her marriage, my parents’ marriage and my own marriage.”

  His eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

  “I didn’t say I believed it. But Grandy does. As far back as I can remember she’s had this obsession. I suppose she’s never forgiven her father for the foolish investments he made that forced the sale of their estate and everything in it, including her necklace. Grandy is eighty-three. Since the first of the year, her health has been failing rapidly. I made the faux in hopes of giving her some peace of mind.”

  “Surely, she’ll know the difference.”

  “I don’t think so. My copy is excellent,” she said without modesty. “Besides, given her condition, her diminished eyesight, and the fact that she hasn’t seen the Purity since she was eighteen, I felt the risk was worth taking.”

  Craig tipped his head back on his neck and stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then he leveled his unnerving gaze at her. “If Wayne let you make your copy, why are you here?”

  “Your uncle insisted on secrecy and only agreed to my proposition if I would do the work here. I finished the faux Monday afternoon and flew to Mesa with it. But somehow Wayne relieved me of it as he was helping me load my things into the car. So I came back to confront him. I need that faux. But I can’t find either of the necklaces.”

  “Necklaces?”

  “Of course. I had to have the real Purity here to make the copy.”

  The thought of the Purity being in this unsecured place alarmed Craig. He warned himself not to dwell on it, not to get sidetracked again. “Are you saying that Wayne stole your faux and hid it at Windance?”

  Lyssa sighed, and sat straighter in the chair. “Yes. As near as I can figure, Wayne suffered that heart attack within half an hour of my departure for the airport. He wouldn't have had time to remove the necklaces. They have to be here somewhere.”

  Craig closed his eyes against the pain in his head, and the new accusations. It was unbelievable. First Wayne allowed the copy, then he stole it? Why? Would Wayne really strike such a deal with a DeHaviland? After he'd made Wayne a full partner? He opened his eyes and stared at Lyssa. She flinched as if he'd touched her with more than his gaze. He reminded himself she only looked childlike, and that was due to her lack of makeup and that free flowing golden hair that a man could bury his hands and face in.

  But was she as innocent as she looked? God, maybe she was lying again--as she had about Wayne and her being lovers. Maybe before he condemned his uncle, he needed more proof than a kitchen key. “So, you came back for your faux Purity, but you can’t find it?”

  “No. I haven’t looked everywhere, yet, but--” Something in his expression stopped her.

  Craig felt a kernel of justification. “How do I know there is a faux Purity? For that matter, how do I know you even have a grandmother?”

  Lyssa stiffened. Indignant as hell. “You can call Saguaro County General.”

  “I’ll just do that.” Craig rose, ignoring the wave of dizziness that immediately swept him, went to the telephone on the counter and called long distance information. He scribbled the number on a tablet, then dialed. “What did you say her name was?”

  Lyssa carried the dirty dishes to the sink. “Idella DeHaviland. You'll want the Cancer Center,” Lyssa answered, speaking the word cancer in a low voice as if saying it louder would somehow lend the disease more power against her grandmother.

  Craig's heart went out to her. His mother, also, had had cancer, and he knew the devastation of watching a loved one slowly wither and die. He shook away the brutal memories. “What kind of cancer?”

  It was none of his damned business, and yet he couldn't stop himself from asking. It was as if their bond kept winding tighter around them.

  “Breast cancer. But it’s spread.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, looking as if she’d choke on any reply. Craig set the receiver in the cradle, then lifted it again and dialed a local number. He spoke, listened, then spoke again. “Officer Dunn. Craig Rival calling. Yes, I see. I’m sorry he hasn't been caught, but I have good news for you. Ms. Carlyle turned up here. Safe and sound. No, no charges. Certainly. Here.” He handed the phone to Lyssa. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Craig left her alone to give her statement.

  Ten minutes later, he returned wearing a white dress shirt and crisp jeans that she recognized from the collection of clothing she’d seen in the master bedroom closet. He smelled of Eternity cologne. His blue-black hair was damp, swept off his forehead. Despite the purplish bruise, he looked as achingly handsome in this casual wear as he had in the rumpled Armani suit. More so. And just as comfortable. Another thing he had in common with Kevin. It probably explained her attraction to him. For she couldn't deny, she was attracted to him, in spite of her promise to herself about gorgeous men--and this one a Rival of all things. Mom would have a fit.

  Suddenly self-conscious about her own appearance, she realized her hair hadn’t seen a brush in two days, and without her usual touch of mascara and lipstick she probably looked as faded as her jeans, if not as ill-treated. She scrounged in her purse and came up with a tube of Chapstick, but no lipstick.

  Craig asked, “You satisfy Dunn’s curiosity?”

  “Yes, he wants me to come to the station, sign a statement, and collect the stuff they retrieved from my banged-up rental car.”

  “My lawyer is picking me up at four. We’ll drop you off.”

  “Good. I’ve arranged for another car with an agency in town.”

  He nodded, then hesitated a moment seeming to search for words that didn’t come easily. “I’ve been thinking. If you can find your faux Purity before David arrives, you can have it. I’ll even help you search.”

  Lyssa couldn’t believe his generosity. Especially since, she could see he wasn’t wholly convinced there was a faux. Perhaps he needed to see it to believe it. In any case, he’d be justified in insisting she call a taxi and get out of his life, and given Wayne’s description of him, and her mother and Grandy’s depiction of the Rival’s in general, that was exactly what she’d expected. But Craig Rival was proving a surprise on all counts.

  For the next two hours, they covered the house thoroughly, but as it became clear the search would yield nothing, she could feel her credibility slipping away. Craig likely thought she was a liar or a thief or both, and arguing the point without proof to the contrary would only waste breath. The silence between them was as grim as the day by the time David Lundeen arrived.

  On the drive to Belmont, Lyssa sat jammed in the tiny back seat that was more of a shelf in the flashy Porsche, listening to the two men converse in low tones about people she didn’t know. Her Purity was gone. All that hard work for nothing. Grandy would be heartbroken. She was heartsick. But there wasn’t a blessed thing she could do about it.

  The car came to a sudden stop, eclipsing her thoughts. They were parked outside the Belmont Police Station. Craig hustled from the car and helped her out, as if he couldn't get rid of her soon enough.

  But when he took her hand, unwanted sensations tingled deep within her, and although he might not think much of her as a person, his ey
es told her he clearly felt something for her as a woman. Lyssa cringed inside, helpless to change the situation, or the circumstances that had brought them together and that held them apart. “Thank you for…everything. I’ll expect a bill for the vase.”

  “Not necessary.” He looked as though the thought of further contact with her was disconcerting.

  “Yes, it is,” Lyssa insisted, a sudden gush of optimism spurting through her. He hadn’t heard the last of her. What if Grandy went into another remission? She had done so once already. It could happen again. There might be time to make another faux. If she could overcome the obstacle of Craig Rival. “The hospital bill, too.”

  “Just be safe,” he said with a serious tenderness that seemed to surprise him.

  She gazed into his eyes, wondering which of them she was trying to reassure, and said, “Believe me, staying safe is my top priority.”

  Would she be safe? Craig wondered as she quickly stepped back and hurried away. The fact that he cared jarred him. Lyssa Carlyle nee DeHaviland was no longer his responsibility. Hell, she’d never been his responsibility. Only unfortunate circumstance had brought them together. He wouldn’t be seeing her again. He felt an odd twinge of disappointment at the realization.

  But he knew he was better off. He didn’t like mysteries. He liked facts--solid, hold-in-his-hands, see-with-his-own-eyes facts. She was all trust-me-I’m-telling-you-the-truth. His hand slid through his hair, mussing it. But what was the truth? He watched her disappear into the building, and wished his brain was generating on all cylinders.

  David honked the horn impatiently. Craig hurried to the Porsche. Worry niggled him, but try as he might, he couldn't conjure any source for it.

  An hour and a half later the Seattle skyline came into view; the city seemed larger, taller, more cosmopolitan than Craig remembered, but maybe it had always been this way and he just hadn't notice. He felt an anxious tug in his chest as David maneuvered the Porsche off of Interstate 5 and onto the Madison Avenue exit and turned left, driving down the sloping hillside toward Elliot Bay.