Angelina's Oak

by Jesse Reiss

Chapter 3

  Paula hardly slept that night. After an hour listening and acknowledging her daughter pouring her heart out, Paula went to her room and cried. Fears and unanswerable questions swarmed through her head.

  The story Angelina was telling brought distant feelings and memories back to her. Paula had always thought there was something mysterious about the tree and her husband’s attachment to it. She had never mentioned it or discouraged Jeremy or Angelina from visiting the place, as it seemed to bring them such comfort and peace.

  Now her beautiful straight-A student, her stable source of joy had in one evening appeared to crack, revealing a nightmare of craziness and who knows what else. Her daughter had been distraught and cried many a time before over things from the loss of a friend or favorite pet and, of course, her father. Each time Paula had been there for her and knew she would rebound. And what of this gold coin? How does something so strange show up in her daughter’s backpack whether her daughter knew about it or not?

  The next morning she called Immaculate Heart, the private Catholic all-girls school her daughter attended. She told them a story about her daughter feeling ill and would be staying home for the day.

  Angelina seemed normal, even relieved, now that she had gotten off to her mother the pictures that were swimming in her head. She was content to stay home and relax around the house. When Paula felt that Angelina was going to be okay by herself, she went into work, taking the gold coin with her.

  Her jewelry business, Paula’s Precious, was one of several hundred over Los Angeles. The storefront property shared a window front on the first floor of a corporate building with a travel agency and an upper-scale condominium realtor’s office. Rather than resell generic retail jewelry, Paula mostly designed and manufactured her own and was good at it — such that she had many designs worn by celebrities in various fashion magazines and maintained a strong word of mouth that brought in good business.

  She dressed the part as well, wearing high-end clothing; she liked fashionable hats and had shoes to cover each day of the year. She entered through the back door and walked into her large office, tossing her oversized designer bag on her desk with a thud. There were a few notes from her three employees, mostly about their schedules and routine things for her to sign. Her office was primarily a design workshop with draft tables, large flat screen computers and endless tiny drawers with samples and incomplete projects. The walls were plastered with framed and signed fashion magazine photos with endearing notes from gorgeous people wearing her handicraft. The place was elegantly arranged with various elegant comforts so she could invite in and deal with high-end customers in private and give them a sense of how serious she was about providing them with jewelry that made them look their best.

  The door opened and James Hickey poked his head in. Before he could open his mouth Paula interjected, “Always knock before entering James. You may be new here, but I think I’ve told you that before.”

  “Right. Sorry.” He wasn’t, but that was fine. She wouldn’t let him get away with it next time. “You have an email from Emily Ballaster. She wants something to go with her blue Armani dress for her movie premiere next week. She’s emailed you a photo of the dress and wants your input on it. She already called twice this morning.”

  Paula nodded, thinking. “I’ll take care of it if you do something for me.”

  “Sure.”


  She reached into her purse and pulled out a small drawstring jewelry bag and handed it to him. “This is a gold coin that I want you to take down to Beverly Hills Coins and Precious Metals and bring to someone named Samuel there. I called and he knows it’s coming.” She handed him a slip of paper. “Here’s the address. Do not leave the coin there with him and do not let it out of your sight. He’s going to look at it and evaluate it and give you a written report to bring back with the coin. Got it?”

  “Sure. No problem,” James replied with exaggerated assurance and exited the office. Paula noticed how different he looked from when he first applied for employment, now dressed in the required suit and tie. She thought she would give him a few weeks and if he didn’t show promise, fire him.

  James loved an excuse to get away from the store, hoping he ran into some pretty girl he could flirt with. So far he had mostly been employed as an errand boy and quasi-receptionist and he was looking for some more responsibility to give him stature over the other three employees.

  Paula settled into her chair and called Angelina’s cell phone, confirming her daughter was curled up on the couch with a Nicholas Sparks novel and a cup of tea. This set her mind at ease and she went to her computer to tackle the emails.

  Lunch was brought to her in styrofoam — take-out from the nearby Tai food joint. She worked through the meal with her other two employees, choosing designs, answering emails from clients and organizing raw metals to be purchased for the summer collection she was designing. Only two customers entered the small store and they poked around, clearly with no interest to buy. This was okay with Paula. Most sales occurred on-line or over a coffee table in the lounge or around the pool at some celebrities’ Malibu mansion.

  Five o’clock rolled around when Paula realized she hadn’t heard back from James. She had been so engrossed in her work she had lost track of time. She had the sudden hindsight that it had been stupid to trust this new cocky employee with something as valuable as a rare coin. What if it was real and he fled off with it? She picked up her office phone and dialed his cell.

  “Sorry I haven’t called you,” James said immediately, seeing the number on his cell. “Been nuts over here.”

  “What do you mean, ‘been nuts’”?

  “The whole shop is in a tizzy over this coin. Soon after I entered they closed the store and about six people have been hovering over it nonstop. It has been nearly impossible to keep it within my eyesight. Now they won’t let me leave the place and some other guys have shown up and are talking in a back room behind closed doors. But don’t worry, the coin is with me and I ain’t letting anyone have it.”

  “They won’t let you leave?”

  “No. Said I have to stay here and they locked the front door.”

  “Huh? Have they given you any estimate or report on it?”

  “Nope. They have asked me all sorts of questions about when it was gotten, where it was found, etc., which I haven’t a clue about, of course. I’ve offered to put them on the phone with you several times, but they decline each time. Weird. I don’t know what to make of it.”

  “Whoa”, Paula said, slouching back in her chair, trying to make sense of what James had said. Obviously the place was taking this seriously, which means they either believe it is real or such a skilled forgery only a professional criminal outfit could be behind it. She felt nervous and wished she had been more careful. “James, you need to get back here right now and bring me the coin. If they refuse to let you go, threaten to call the cops. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

  Paula was alone in the office and the store was closed. She waited by the phone, playing scenarios over in her head, trying to think ahead about what she would say if she was questioned about the coin. She needed to have a more in-depth talk with her daughter — that was certain.

  A couple minutes later her phone rang, startling her. It was James again. “We’re on our way to see you — me and two guys who say they are detectives. They are following me in their car back to the office.”


  Paula hung up the phone and stared at the wall. Her heart was beating faster and her palms were sweating. She was innocent. She knew that and had nothing to hide in her business or personal life that could get her in trouble. She couldn’t get over the idea that her daughter was somehow involved in something that could bring trouble to either of them. This was what scared her. And she was the one bringing on the trouble, not her daughter. She had found the coin in her daughter’s backpack and had stupidly sent it over to be looked at without researching the place first. She would protect her daughte
r as much as she could, but if there were something unlawful going on, she would have to let the law take its path. The thought terrified her.

  The two men entered the office with James right behind them. James handed Paula an empty jewelry bag and a clear plastic protective case that the coin was now in. He stepped out, closing the door behind him. “James, can you hang around?” Paula asked, wanting to not be left locked in the store with two strangers.

  “Sure,” he said and closed the door fully.

  She motioned for the two men to sit down and did so herself. One was clean cut, shaven and presentable, dressed in slacks and a blazer. The other was scruffy with greasy curly hair protruding under a hat, which he didn’t remove. He was wearing a green polo shirt and torn jeans and seemed to have a general “bored-with-all-this” attitude about him.

  The man in the blazer, doing his best to seem official and authoritative, spoke first. “Paula Russell? I’m Detective Anderson and this is my partner, Detective Crunder. We’d like to speak to you about this coin which you sent in to be evaluated.”

  Paula decided to not let them bully her. “No badges or credentials?”

  They gave their best “let’s-not-play-this-game” look and pulled out their IDs. They were private detectives, not city cops.

  “I sent the coin down to be evaluated and certified, not to have myself be investigated.”

  “We aren’t investigating you…at least not yet. We are merely looking into the sudden appearance of the coin. Standard protocol,” he said with a calm shrug. “The coin has been evaluated and from initial reports, it looks authentic, which is why we were called. We specialize in artifacts, collectibles, artwork and such and it was the correct thing for us to be called in a case like this. There was supposition that the coin has been forged as it is so rare. But it isn’t clear how this was done, considering it must be a professional job.”

  “So the coin is authentic?”

  Detective Crunder spoke, looking at Paula derisively from under his hairy eyebrows “That’s what we said or at least that’s what it appears to be.”

  Paula ignored the man’s attitude and turned to Detective Anderson, “Thank you gentlemen. I think if we are going to continue this conversation, it should be in the presence of my lawyer.”

  They rolled their eyes. Detective Anderson spoke, “Hang on Miss Russell, a forgery like this is taken very seriously. If this turns out to be a fake, then you should cooperate with us fully. If you are uncooperative, then I can only assume you are hiding something. This case would be of some interest to the Secret Service who we will get involved if we have to, I assure you. There is no need for a lawyer yet. We aren’t accusing you of anything.”

  The only thing she was protecting was her daughter. Paula felt stuck and in way over her head. How could she lie about something she didn’t even know the truth about? “So what is it that you want to know?” she asked.

  Detective Anderson launched into a briefing: “Well for starters, you should know that for about the past hundred years only a dozen of these coins were thought to exist. They are worth millions. You see, until 1834 most gold coins produced by the US Mint were only briefly in circulation before they were melted down and traded for silver with European countries where they were worth far more. Any gold coins from approximately 1795 to 1834 are very rare; in some cases, like this one, less than a dozen are known to exist. Now you show up with one and you aren’t a collector, to our knowledge, and probably have no idea how hard it would be to sell something like this without much publicity. So you can see the amazement when one randomly shows up at a coin shop.”

  “Yes, I’ve learned some of this on-line,” Paula said, relaxing a bit. “The coin was found by my daughter the other day in a park and I wanted to have it checked out as I, being a jeweler, can tell it is real gold but can’t obviously authenticate it.”

  “Did you daughter tell you exactly where she found it?”

  “No,” Paula lied.

  “Then we will need to talk to her and question her about this.”

  Paula’s worst-case scenario. She looked at the two men and the image of her daughter — not even sure of her own bizarre story — being subjected to a torturous examination by these two made her shiver inside.

  “I’ll see if we can arrange something,” she said nervously.

  Detective Crunder looked at her puzzled. “I’m not getting something here. This is possibly a counterfeit operation of extreme professionalism we’re talking about — not some two-bit outfit — and you seem unsure whether you want to help or not?”

  “I assure you I have no involvement with any illegal activities and neither does my daughter. We have had a rough last couple days and are still getting over the loss of my husband, so bear with us, okay?”

  “All right. Just help us out with this,” he implored with a softer tone.

  Detective Anderson took back control of the conversation. “Have you told anyone else about this coin being found?”

  “No. No one.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way for now, okay?”

  “Fine,” Paula said, uninterested in talking about it further with anyone.

  As she drove her Lexus up Highland Avenue on her way home, she wondered how she was to explain to her daughter that she was going to be interrogated by detectives about something she couldn’t even believe, something that sounded like it was out of Alice in Wonderland. She desperately needed help and someone to tell her what to do. This was where she missed Jeremy the most. He would know what to do. He always had an answer for things. The day’s stress and the memories brought back her grief. She pulled over to the curbside and let some tears flow, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

  It had been ten months since she received the phone call that he’d been involved in an accident while navigating the winding 110 Pasadena freeway — the oldest freeway in Los Angeles. A truck had jackknifed in the rain while trying to maneuver the short on-off ramps that were designed over sixty years ago for cars that traveled no faster than forty miles an hour. The truck smashed Jeremy’s car into the concrete barrier, and, according to rescue personnel, he died instantly. Her life had been turned upside down since then and without the help of close friends and family she wouldn’t have made it. And when things appeared they had found a new normal — now this.

  When a parking enforcement vehicle pulled up behind her, she pulled herself together, wiping her cheeks and pulled back into the heavy traffic, heading north to her home in the Hills.