Twillyweed

by Mary Anne Kelly

  I regarded Wendell, who was dancing tiny parts of Lincoln logs into small structures.

  “Those wee bits are the people. The buildings are stores and those are the customers.”

  “I see.” I nodded.

  “Auntie Claire,” Wendell said, holding a log in the air, “where’s Jake the doggie?”

  “I left him home in case it rains.” I smiled. “He likes it there in his bed.”

  He stuck one finger in his nostril and wobbled a booger. “What about the kitten?”

  Distractedly, Jenny Rose handed over a tissue. “Take it out or leave it in, Wendell. Try not to play with it in company. And put your glasses on.”

  “The kitten’s doing fine,” I informed him. “She sleeps on top of Jake’s head, between his ears, so I think all will be well. She hasn’t got a name, yet, though. That will be your job, remember.”

  Satisfied, he returned to his play, putting himself into a new pair of red-framed glasses. Jenny Rose said, “Wendell, do me a favor and run up to my studio and find us a chocolate bar.” He jumped to attention and was already trotting out the door. “It’s next to my bed,” she called after him, “or in the drawer. You’ll find it. There’s a good lad.” In the distance, thunder rumbled. She turned to me, “Okay, you’re not going to like this, but here goes.”

  My heart sank.

  She twisted a short lock of hair with a paint-stained finger. “I think I might be up the spout.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Preggers. I think I might be pregnant.”

  “You?”

  “No, the bloody queen. Who do you think?”

  “But, but, you were the one yelling at me for not using protec—”

  “I know, I know!”

  “Oh, Jenny Rose, you idiot! Are you sure?”

  “No. I’m only a couple of days late. Well. Five days—”

  “Well, then, it’s too soon to be sure! You’ve changed continents. Very likely—”

  She shook her head then held it. “I been chucking up since three days. Every morning. Then I’m fine.”

  “Oh.”

  “I really am, I’m really fine.” She looked at me with those hazel eyes of hers and gave me a lopsided grin. “Like, terrific.” She shrugged. She did indeed look fine. More than fine.

  “But … you’re so young!” I lowered my voice. “Does he know?”

  “Nope.”

  “Aye-aye-aye-aye-aye.”

  Out jutted that stubborn chin. “But”—she shrugged—“it doesn’t matter, like.”

  “Of course it matters.”

  “No, the thing is, I’ll have this baby, either way.”

  “Still. You’ve got to tell him.”

  She reached her arms up. “My mother never told.”

  I froze. “Oh, Jenny Rose. Your mother was fifteen! You’re not going to bring a whole new life into the world as a repeat performance! You’ve got to have a better reason.”

  “This is the one thing that doesn’t speak of reason. A miracle it is.”

  Wendell trotted back in, tripped, and came over. He clapped two big Cadbury raisin and nut chocolate bars on the table in front of her. She stared at him. “I said one, not two. Whatever are you wearing? Where did you find the red glasses? Those aren’t yours. Go put on your own spectacles!”

  “They’re mine. I found them.”

  I looked at him. Where had I recently heard of red-framed glasses?

  “Well, put them back where you found them. You’ll ruin your eyes wearing someone else’s specs. You’ll be tripping over your own two feet!”

  Obediently, he marched across the kitchen and stood before the grandmother clock with his little back to us and stuck his pointer finger into the keyhole. It occurred to me with not a small amount of malevolence that my sister Carmela would have to face not only motherhood now, but grandmotherhood, all in one fell swoop. The low cabinet door swung open with ease and a hoard of glinting things was revealed. Wendell took the glasses off and placed them on the ledge, then foraged around in the pile of sparkling things to find his own. He placed them on his nose and looped the wire ends neatly over his ears, turned, and gave us an obliging smile.

  Jenny Rose and I were still, our mouths dropped. On the ledge sat a box of glimmering jewels—its open lid an incandescent lunar volvelle.

  At the Tre Sorelle, a cozy place in town where we knew we might talk uninterrupted, Jenny Rose and I sat across from each other. We’d dropped Wendell off at school and now we sat together in the window. The rain came pouring down. I remember hoping Jenny Rose was simply late and not really pregnant. But she looked longingly at the menu and couldn’t make up her mind if she would have the Calamari Sicilliano or Tartufo or both, so it didn’t look good. It was still early and the place was empty but for us. The waiter slipped behind us and we jumped like thieves.

  “Just bring us a cheese plate to share and two cups of soup, please,” I said.

  “What soup would you—”

  “Any fucking soup!” Jenny Rose barked and he hurried off.

  We both chewed our nails. I said, “So Patsy Mooney was up to no good.”

  “Looks like it,” Jenny Rose agreed. “Or Mr. Piet. He’s always skulking about.”

  “They could have been in it together.”

  “You’re right. Meanwhile here’s Oliver going mad looking for the bloody little red key so he could open the clock and wind it, then furious because the police have it as evidence so he still can’t open the clock, and all the while it’s open!”

  “Yeah. Unless he knew it all along.”

  We sat there in silence. She said, “I don’t think so. He’s too stupid.”

  We both had a laugh. Then I said, “Why is the key red anyway?”

  “Patsy Mooney painted it with her nail polish so it wouldn’t get mixed up with the others. When I met her, she was wearing it around her neck. Now I know why.”

  I had the heavy bag of valuables under the table at my feet. We’d placed everything in a backpack of Wendell’s and lugged it with us. The waiter arrived with two plates of heavenly Tortellini in Brodo and a board of fragrant cheeses. I held my temples. “Let’s think this through. Obviously they’re the family jewels. They must be. Paige talked about emeralds. But the box is from the rectory in Broad Channel. And where does Annabel fit in? Did she steal them and someone took them from her? Or maybe this proves she didn’t take the jewels at all.”

  “Or maybe she was murdered for them?” Jenny Rose said.

  “But if she was murdered, where’s the body?”

  “I think she’s dead, Auntie Claire. She wouldn’t leave Wendell to fend on his own. I just can’t fathom it!”

  I said, “So who was the thief? Patsy Mooney? The thing is, it didn’t have to be her. It could have been anyone and Patsy could have come across it and was blackmailing him—or her.

  Jenny Rose nodded. “You’re right. That scenario seems more likely. I can’t see Patsy lumbering through a church and banging a priest on the head, but I can make her out acting cute and turning events to her advantage. She might have thought she could get in on a shady deal and make some cash.”

  “And it cost her her life. She might well have come across the loot and stashed it in the clock for safekeeping. No wonder she wore the key around her neck. The thief might have played along with her attempt at blackmail while he planned to kill her, then called the old boyfriend up to get him to come around. He keeps the jewels and the boyfriend goes to jail for the murder.”

  “Not a bad plan,” she said. “It just might be what happened. Except she never gave up where she hid it. So our thief is still around. And we’ve got the treasure. It is a treasure, isn’t it?

  “I think so,” I agreed. “All of it feels enormously valuable, especially the box.”

  “And those emeralds!”
She gave a low whistle and we both moved our feet protectively around the knapsack. “But who?”

  “Yes, who? Everyone certainly had access. Think back.”

  Jenny Rose leaned in toward me. “I have to tell you, that Teddy is a piece of work. He’s my number one suspect. Do you know he tried to run over a cat? He’s not all charming and respectable like he makes out!”

  But she would point to anyone before Glinty. I had to say it. “Jenny Rose, it’s possible it was Glinty. That is, after all, his business. Jewels.”

  She reared up in anger. “It could just as well have been Morgan. He’s the one who’s crazy for all those antique gizmos! Look at the box, that, that—what’s it called?—the moon clock thingy.”

  I dropped my head in my hands. “You’re right. A moon dial would be his heart’s desire. He even said so. Collectors are known for their unreasonable greed. They could be in cahoots, too. But let’s not count out Oliver. He certainly could use a windfall.”

  “And I wouldn’t put it past him,” she agreed, “what with his gambling debts.”

  “And Paige. And what about Daniel? Any one of them could have. But Daniel couldn’t have found his way to Broad Channel, could he have? Does he even drive?”

  “He’s not supposed to, but he’s been known to snatch Paige’s car and go over to Diane’s Bakery in Roslyn. He has a terrible sweet tooth. He lies in wait when Paige takes a nap and he snatches her keys and drives off. He might be nuts, but he’s sly. Just when you think he’s got bats in the belfry, he’ll prove you wrong.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Like, he’ll out of the blue tell you what you’re thinking.”

  “I hate to say it, but Darlene Lassiter seems to run in and out of the picture, too.”

  “No more than your Mrs. Dellaverna. She’s tricky enough to do anything. You know what it is? We’re back to Go. We haven’t a clue. It’s almost like someone’s playing with us.”

  “Hmm. You just gave me an idea. Suppose we set some sort of trap?”

  “But we can’t take a chance with this stuff. It’s not ours to risk.” Jenny Rose paused. “On the other hand, we’ll never know what happened unless we try something. What we need is a lure. We could start a rumor. Suppose we pretended to have found some valuable jewels from Noola?”

  “That wouldn’t work; Morgan would know it was a guise. Noola didn’t collect jewels.”

  “What about using these?”

  “And if the thief grabs them and runs off with them? We’ll go to jail.”

  “All right. What about pretending some different antique jewels popped up in Patsy Mooney’s possessions? I could have discovered them, say, in her old room … in the turret.

  I nodded my head. “The thief would think Patsy had been holding out on him. That this wasn’t the first time she’d got her hands on something valuable. We could let him have a glimpse, something to stir up his or her interest. Couldn’t we make something up?”

  “Very funny. What looks like jewels and isn’t?”

  Our eyes locked as it came to both of us at once. “The buttons!” Her bright eyes gleamed.

  I said, “We’d have to gussie them up.”

  Jenny Rose folded her legs up under her skirt and snuggled forward. “That’s where I come in. I’m an artist, remember? A little smoke and mirrors …”

  “We’d have to get everyone together at once. Radiance. Mrs. Dellaverna …”

  “How about day after tomorrow, the night before the race? The thief will know the jewels are in the house. We could pretend we’ve decided to take the jewels to the police right after the race.”

  I hesitated. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right. Why would we wait? Whoever it is would smell a trap.”

  We thought while the rain battered down. The waiter took away our plates. Jenny Rose said, “I have a better idea. Suppose we made it known we had some expert coming to value them? You know, an Antiques Road Show kind of guy.”

  “What, like from Sotheby’s?”

  “Why not? We could pretend we had someone coming the night before the race. Let everyone catch a glimpse of the ‘jewels’ in the half-light.”

  “We’d have to set everyone up in the dining room then, so the treasure could be paraded past them in the distance and then up the great staircase.”

  “Say! I’ve got an antique music box just the right size,” Jenny Rose cried. “The only one who ever saw it was Patsy Mooney. It was Mrs. Whitetree’s back in Ireland so I never bring it out. But it’s brilliant. It would make an alluring holdall. From a distance one might even think it’s the volvelle. Or one like it. What do you say?”

  “We might have a dinner party. It’s the only way to get everyone together. Suppose we invited the appraiser to stay for the race and then go back to the city. That would give the thief time to come and snatch the stuff and still go back and join the race and think no one would miss him. He or she wouldn’t be able to resist! He’d have to fall for it!”

  “It might just work. How would we catch him?”

  “I suppose we’d better let the police in on our little plan.”

  “You think they’ll go along with it?”

  “We’ve got to take this to them now, anyway. We’ve got no choice.”

  “But who can we get to play the appraiser? No detective would fool a jewel thief.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Don’t you know someone we could pass off as an appraiser?”

  “Not likely.”

  We sat there.

  “Wait a minute!” It came to me. “Jupiter Dodd!”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My old boss.”

  “Is he good and posh?”

  “As it gets. If anyone can play the part, he can. And I’ll bet he’d love to do it.” I opened my cell phone and plunked in Jupiter’s number. “I hope he’s still around! He might have left for the Hamptons! … Oh! Jupiter? Hi, it’s Claire. Listen, I’ve changed my mind about you coming out here on your way out east. And I even have a grand house for you to stay in. Yeah. There’s just one catch. You’ve got to pretend to be an appraiser from Sotheby’s. That’s right. You would?” I winked at Jenny Rose. “Of course you would! You’re an angel! All right, now here’s the plan …”

  Chapter Eight

  Claire and Jenny Rose

  Jupiter Dodd arrived at sunset in a Bentley convertible, top down. I’d never seen anything so scrumptious: powder blue with cream leather interior. He wore a navy linen jacket, a Troy Donahue yellow ascot under a crisp white starched Irish linen shirt, and he carried a butter-soft attaché case. I trotted down the drive and could have kissed him. Holding his nose up, he ascended from his perch, giving a curt, deliberate bow. “Watch the fingerprints on the car,” he said. “It belongs to a Saudi princess. If she finds out I borrowed it, they’ll chop off one of my hands!” He twiddled fingernails in the air. “And I’ve just had them done. Oh, and let’s pretend my name is Phillip Montrose. I clipped it from the personnel roster at Sotheby’s. He sounded rather high up.”

  I escorted Jupiter into the library where I introduced Paige and Oliver, praying they wouldn’t smell a rat. I needn’t have worried. Having worked as an editor in both fine arts and fashion magazines, Jupiter can outsnob the best of them. Oliver had sent Radiance off to the dry cleaner’s to pick up his light green Polo sports jacket and then made sure Mr. Piet had his velvet Cole Hahn slip-ons well brushed. Paige, I noticed, had gotten her hair done. They stood there ready as rabbits. I almost felt sorry for them. Paige, perfumed and looking lovely in a fitted luminous oyster sheath and pearls, took Jupiter upstairs to the blue room, once their parents’ bedroom and still the best room, quite a tribute in itself, and we now had the lot of them all assembled in the library where they sat around chatting excitedly. Mr. Piet had poached a huge salmon wi
th garlic butter and dill on a cedar plank and the aromas floating from the kitchen were mouthwatering. He’d talked Radiance into helping him serve and she’d outfitted herself in his butler’s garb, pinched at the waistline with a thick patent leather belt. It was an odd crew, with Mrs. Dellaverna avoiding everyone and everyone avoiding her. She sat in the window seat with her embroidery, still not sure why she’d been invited. Glinty lounged in and out of the shadows. Darlene Lassiter especially kept her distance. Because Darlene worked at the rectory, she had first dibs on whatever clothes contributions came in from the great North Shore houses and she looked, from her secondhand designer suit to the jeweled pin on her lapel, all the world like a gold coast dragoness.

  There was Daniel, his long platinum hair in a stringy ponytail. Paige had put him in one of Oliver’s old tweed jackets and it hung pitifully loose. He refused to wear any shoes but flip-flops, and his horny toenails were atrocious, but he was wearing his teeth, a plus. And, of course, Teddy. Teddy always looked appropriate. And sweet. Everyone gossiped about the next morning’s race, except Daniel, who was so captivated by Mr. Piet’s aspic canapés that he gobbled them all up before anyone else could get a taste.

  Jenny Rose and I had it all precisely planned. When everyone was seated at the dinner table and the room was drenched in candlelight, she was to carry her music box filled with the buttons—the lid underneath like a Persian serving plate—through the crowded room and up the stairs to the privacy of the blue room for Jupiter Dodd’s after-dinner inspection, from which he would emerge in delight over what he would deign a precious find.

  We hadn’t reckoned on the daylight taking so long to disappear, however, and had to keep urging Mr. Piet to delay each course. At last the crash of yellow sunset oozed into the sea, and the air became soft and lavender. The gloaming, Morgan called it, sitting there on a velvet chair looking like a prince from the highlands. Conversation had grown a little thin. Jupiter said, “That’s a lovely grandmother clock you have in your kitchen, Ms. Cupsand.”