Since I had the loupe out anyway, I checked the earrings. Again I found the same marking but no .925 stamped into the piece. Given the overall quality, my guess was that the silver had a rhodium finish, which explained the luster and replicated the look of platinum.
Turning my attention back to the stones, I examined them closely. Thanks in part to my job in trusts and estates, I’d gotten fairly good at defining CZ. Like natural diamonds, cubic zirconia was graded according to four criteria: carat weight, clarity, color, and cut. These were top-of-the-line stones and better quality than the typical quality preferred by jewelers. I’d still want a jeweler to appraise them, but I was guessing I was seeing at least five carats of brilliant cut C AAAAA.
“Weird,” I mumbled.
I repeated the process on the rest of the brooches. All but one shared the characteristics of the first. The fourth one immediately had my full attention.
It was three inches in diameter and sorta resembled the jewels at the midpoint of Elizabeth II’s official crown. Sad that I knew my crowns, since it revealed my childhood fantasy of becoming a princess. “Mom would have loved that,” I commented sarcastically. She’d value a title above all else. No more taunts about being an underachiever by choice, no more talk of law school, reinstated access to my trust fund. And just possibly a reason to like me. And vice versa. My mother and I were stuck in that place where on some level we loved each other, but on every other level we just irritated each other.
I sighed deeply and went back to the task at hand. This brooch was diamond-encrusted platinum. At least I thought so. Mentally, I added it to my list of items to have the jeweler appraise.
The doorbell startled me, and I called out, “Just a minute!” For the sake of safety, I scooped up the jewelry—again getting pricked in the process—and my loupe and put them in the junk drawer.
The instant I opened the door, I smelled moo shu, and my stomach gurgled.
“Hey there,” Jane greeted.
There was some tension around her mouth and eyes. Or maybe it was guilt.
Or maybe I was just funneling everything through my residual annoyance. Which was childish. And silly. And above all else, wrong.
Jane placed the box of food on the counter, then asked to use the powder room. In the few minutes she was gone, I set the counter up with place mats, chopsticks, napkins, and another wineglass. I retrieved my glass from the coffee table, and my nose pinched at the scent of cedar competing with the Chinese food.
Jane reemerged a different person. Gone were the form-fitting red dress, stunning silver pumps, and assorted silver accessories. Instead, she’d put on her clinging yoga clothing. I wondered if she was ever going to get saddlebags or cellulite.
Probably not.
“What’s that smell?” she asked as she took the glass of wine I offered.
“Cedar. Give me a sec.”
“And what did you do to your head?”
“Nothing major,” I assured her as I carried the bags out to the lanai and closed the sliding glass door. “Better?”
“Much. Please tell me you didn’t go on a five-bag spending binge.” She frowned.
I made a cross over my heart while saying, “Nope. That’s all Ellen’s crap. I’m taking it to the thrift store in the morning.”
“Ellen the lesbian?”
“She’s not gay,” I said. “I think she’s just asexual.”
“Does the asexual manual state that you have to work hard on looking like a thin version of Cass Elliott? And by the way, did you know there’s an official Web site for her fans?”
“Can you have fans when you’ve been dead since 1974?” I began opening the cartons to inspect the contents. “You were obviously hungry when you went into Mi Lang’s. What’d you do, get one of everything on the menu?”
“So you’ll have a bunch of leftovers.”
“No, you should take it home; you paid for it.”
“You forget, I know every dime you have to your name. I know it barely makes a dent in what you spent on the babysitting outfit, so every penny counts.”
My guess was now wasn’t a good time to mention that I’d already shopped the Vero Beach outlets and purchased another little black dress. It wasn’t like I could wear the ultra-expensive one since both Liam and Tony had seen me in it.
We each pulled up a bar stool, leaving one between us for better-shared access to the food. I topped off our wineglasses. “Want me to open another bottle?”
“No, I’m driving.”
So why didn’t you have that epiphany when you were at the Blue Martini? Then Liam wouldn’t have ended up in your apartment. Stripping you nearly naked and God only knows what else.
I took a dumpling out of the container, dipped it in the accompanying sauce, then bit off half of it. “Yum,” I said, holding my hand over my mouth so I could compliment with my mouth full. I tried the beef with snow peas first. Another winner. On my next trip down the buffet line, I took a small portion of Hunan shrimp. “Spicy. But in a good way,” I told Jane. Passing on both the fried and sticky white rice, I went right for the moo shu pork. Taking a flour pancake, I began to build my entrée. Pork, egg, mushrooms, all in a ginger/sesame sauce. Folding it like a pro—which I am, since I moo shu at least once a week—I brought it to my mouth. As always, it was stellar.
“There’s an elephant in the room, and his name is Liam,” Jane said as she downed what was left in her wineglass.
Placing my chopsticks on my plate, I swiveled in my seat and looked at her. “There shouldn’t be. We’ve been friends for years, and the first rule of girlfriends is that men come and go, but we women stick together.”
“Nice sentiment,” she said, her eyes sad. “But I know I hurt you, and I’m truly sorry.”
I waved my hand. “Let’s just forget it. The truth is, Liam and I have no future. Meaning I have no right to care what he does and with whom.”
Jane sucked in a breath, then exhaled as if she was doing a yoga warm-up. Maybe it was the outfit. That’s why I don’t own any workout clothes.
“He didn’t do anything with me except keep me from making yet another mistake,” Jane insisted.
“Paolo was more than just a mistake,” I reminded her.
I watched as Jane shivered. “Tell me about it. I bought an entire new bedroom suite. I couldn’t sleep on furniture where I’d found a dead guy. Isn’t that why you had the closets redone here?”
“Partly. But mostly because I wanted a walk-in with lots and lots of storage space.”
Jane smiled. “That’s because you never throw anything out or donate stuff to charity. That is a great tax deduction. You should consider it.”
“I get to deduct what I paid. Yeah.”
“Up to five hundred dollars.”
I frowned. “That’s like one pair of shoes and maybe a purse.”
“As long as no single item is valued at more than five hundred, you can get the tax relief.”
“I wonder if that’s why Ellen decided to donate stuff out of the blue.”
“The cedar-stinky bags?” Jane asked.
“Yep. Most of the stuff covers from the Whitney years to Paula Abdul. There are a few things in there that might be donation-worthy, but not a lot.” I thought about the jewelry and for some reason decided to keep that tidbit to myself. No point in bringing it up until after I got it appraised.
“How come you got that job? Aren’t there assistants or other people lower on the food chain for this kind of thing?”
“Of course. Ellen just has this passive-aggressive need to give me jobs that she wouldn’t give a fellow attorney.”
Jane nodded her head. “I get it. Can we get back to the Liam thing?”
“Not really anything to get back to.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “I think it’s time you faced facts. You’re hot for the guy.”
Couldn’t deny that. “Could he be any more wrong for me? And let us not forget that he’s a liar and still boffs his ex.”
/> “First,” Jane began as she ticked off her fingers, “how is he a liar? And second, what makes you think he’s still got benefits with Ashley?”
“He knew about Patrick, but he didn’t say anything to me. In my book, that’s a lie of omission.”
Jane tilted her head to one side. “Maybe he thought you knew. Maybe he felt like it wasn’t his place to say anything. There could be a dozen reasonable explanations why he didn’t say anything.”
I suddenly came to the realization that I might be wrong. Still, I continued to argue my case. “Once he found out, he could have at least apologized for being complicit.”
Jane massaged the back of her neck. “As for the Ashley thing, I just don’t get that vibe.”
“Then why are they always out together? Or in. I called Liam once, and she answered the phone.”
“Maybe they both like the same bars. Maybe she was at his house returning something she’d borrowed or that he was awarded in the divorce. Again, dozens of reasons.”
Oh yeah, I was wrong. “None of that matters. He’s never asked me out on a proper date. It’s like he’s just stringing me along. Only I don’t know where the string ends.”
“So take him to the wedding.”
I grimaced. “Izzy is looking to forward to it.”
“So? She’s a kid. She’ll get over it.”
“And you don’t see a problem with uninviting my boss?”
“Nope. Actually, you don’t even have to uninvite him. Technically speaking, your mother invited him and his kid. He’s nothing more than an invited guest.”
“But my mother will expect to see me dangling off his arm for photographs and the reception and the rehearsal dinner and—”
“Liam isn’t exactly an eyesore,” Jane said.
“Neither is Tony. Oh God! I’ve got to log in to eBay to see if Izzy is still the top bidder on the sweater.”
I opened my Vostro 3000 and powered it up. It took me a matter of seconds to reach my target. Izzy was still the top bidder with an hour left to go. I prayed she remembered my instructions about how to swoop in at ten seconds remaining to outbid anyone hiding in the wings. If there was competition, hopefully she’d up the bid enough to knock out his or her highest bid.
“Aren’t we supposed to be studying?” Jane asked. “I mean, you’ve been attending these classes for four hours a week for the last six weeks. You don’t want to blow it now.”
“Give me a second.” I went to my own pending auctions, only to find I’d been outbid on the first of four extra links. I entered a higher bid, but the minute I did, I was outbid again. “Shit.”
“You’re on eBay, aren’t you?” Jane asked. Technically, it was an accusation.
“Don’t worry, I’m not winning anything.”
“You need an intervention.”
“No, I need a huge infusion of cash.”
“Speaking of cash. If Dane-Lieberman was actually paying you overtime to attend the classes, how much would they have to pay you?”
“I’m not eligible for overtime. A little something Vain Dane decided after I came back.”
“How much?”
“They bill my time at one-seventy-five an hour, so that would be—”
“Four thousand two hundred.”
“Geez.” I remembered that Ellen had me come in early, and that wasn’t the first time. I did a few calculations in my head. “Add another six hundred or so.”
“Did they at least kiss you before they screwed you?”
I closed my laptop, forcing it into sleep mode. “Not even a brush on the cheek. Let’s study.”
Jane stood very still. “Are we okay?”
I nodded. “Yes. And you were right about Liam. Maybe if we have wild sex, I can get him out of my system.”
“Sounds like a plan. Where’s your stuff?”
I handed her the study guide.
Jane thumbed through it, obviously planning on giving me random questions. She kept her pinky on the last section; that way she could quickly check my answers. “Okay. Are the police required to give the Miranda warning to everyone?”
“No, only if the person is in custody and they want to question the person and use their answers at trial.”
Jane flipped to the back of the guide. “That’s right. Seriously? Then why do they do it that way on TV?”
“Because it’s TV. Next question?”
“How long can the police hold an inmate without charging him?”
“Seventy-two hours.”
“Right again.”
We went on like that for forty-five minutes. My confidence was boosted. I didn’t miss a single question. Jane and I both got up to stretch when my cell phone rang. I went over to the counter and looked at the display. Blocked caller. Intrigued, I answered in the same way I answered all anonymous callers. “Albright Messaging, how may we assist you?”
“I’m sorry. I dialed wrong.”
“Izzy?”
“Finley?”
“Yes.”
“Albright whatever? What was that like all about?”
“Never mind. What do you need?”
“Will you hang on with me so I don’t screw up the auction?”
“Give me a second.” I glanced over at Jane, who looked tired enough to call it a day. Covering the microphone, I asked, “Are you as tired as you look?”
She nodded. “And I still need to hit the gym.”
I shook my head. “Can’t you just skip tonight?”
“Bikram yoga tonight. Wanna come?”
“Thanks, but I’d rather stick a pencil in my eye. Doing yoga is bad enough, but doing it in a steam room is just crazy.”
“Finley? Are you still there?”
“I’m here. Hang on.”
Jane gave me a hug. “Glad we talked. I’ll see you soon.”
“Thanks for all the food.”
“My pleasure.”
After she collected her gym bag I walked her to the door. “Thanks again.”
“Last chance to get in on Bikram.”
I closed the door while she was still chuckling.
“Sorry about that, Izzy. I had a friend over.”
“Like a guy?”
“Like no,” I teased.
“There’s less than a minute until the auction ends. So far I’m the top bid—Oh crap, someone just outbid me!”
“Calm down and put in what you’re really willing to pay. Use one-click bidding.”
“I’m going up to three fifty.”
“You go, girl,” I said as I went over and started closing up the containers so I could place the generous leftovers in my fridge.
“I won!” she squealed so loudly that I had to hold the phone away from my ear.
I heard a man’s voice in the distance—Tony, but I couldn’t quite make out the words.
“Gotta go. I’m not allowed to be on my cell this late.”
I was smiling as I filled my near-empty fridge. I had enough food to last for a week. I was still on a high from my Q&A with Jane, so I went to my computer and started to surf eBay for Rolex parts. I found a couple of new listings, but I didn’t place a bid. I was going to employ a new strategy. I wouldn’t bid until the last minute of the auction. Maybe I could fool my competition into thinking they had a lock on the item.
Remembering the brooches, I typed “L.S. & Co.” into my search engine and discovered that the “L.S.” stood for Lucy Shaw. According to the home page, she designed jewelry from the early 1950s until the early 1990s. She died in ’92 at the age of sixty-three. Her Detroit store was, and is, a highly regarded landmark.
I clicked over to the “items” page, only to discover that Lucy was most famous for designing one-of-a-kind pins for several first ladies, as well as celebrities, the military, and several beauty pageants. So how did Ellen come to have several custom pieces of Lucy Shaw jewelry? Inheritance? Gift? Theft?
I switched to my e-mail program and logged in to the Dane-Lieberman system. Remembering how the
firm had shafted me with the course work and all of the early meetings, my fingertips hovered over the keyboard. I wasn’t going to lie, but I didn’t mind being vague.
Addressing the e-mail to Ellen, I typed:
Found what I think is costume jewelry in pocket of one coat. Do you want it back?
A few seconds later my in-box pinged. Ellen replied:
No. I’m not big on jewelry. You’re into accessories, you keep it.
I replied:
Don’t you want to see it first?
Ellen’s reply:
No. You keep them.
My reply:
Thanks. I’ve made a detailed list of items for your taxes.
Ellen’s reply:
Not necessary. Just make the donation. See you tomorrow.
My reply:
Yes. I have a lot to tell you about the Egghardt estate.
Tuesday was a warm September day. West Palm was not yet bursting with extra residents. Season, as it’s called when we get the influx of snowbirds, lasts from October to April. Personally, I think there should be an extra tax on snowbirds. An inconvenience tax. In another month I’d have to add extra time to my commute just because a bunch of gray heads could no longer stand the winters in New York or Ontario.
My first-thing-in-the-morning meeting with Ellen had been strange. No digs about law school. No new mundane chores. In fact, I felt as if I didn’t have her complete attention. Her eyes kept darting to an envelope clipped to her keyboard. Reading upside down I caught only part of the return address … “N … a Dept. of Corrections.” At the end of the meeting, my guilt made me say, “I’ve got the jewelry from your coat in my purse downstairs. Would you like me to get it for you so you can make sure you don’t want it?”
“I’m sure I don’t,” Ellen said as she stood. “Good work on the Egghardt thing. Research the laws relative to conversion of real property versus tenancy. I want to make sure we either throw them off the land or come up with some sort of quitclaim.”
4 Slightly Irregular Page 9
