Just then, she noticed a neatly lettered sign announcing the Sunny Acres Retirement Home. White-painted gates framed a steep private road that wound up a lushly landscaped hill which must have a gorgeous view over the river. The name of the place sounded familiar. Hadn't one of the men she had watched playing chess at the senior center—Hugo, was it, or Walter?—mentioned that Esther had spent her last days at a retirement home? This must have been the one. As of its own volition, the VW turned and started up the long driveway.
Chapter Ten
As they left the main road, Ian sent her a questioning look. "Why the detour? Do you know someone up here?"
"No, but Esther must have," Paisley answered, steering up the twisting road that led to the retirement home. "Didn't she spend her last days here? She might have told someone something that could help us. It's a long shot, but it can't hurt."
Ian settled back in his seat. "Why not? I've got nothing better to do."
She pointedly did not mention the thesis he was supposed to be working on. Instead, she pulled into a parking space at the top of the hill. She was curious to see the place where Esther had spent her last days.
Paisley was pleased to find the retirement center was spotlessly clean, with stucco walls, a Mediterranean-style tile roof, and window boxes overflowing with geraniums. It was surrounded by gardens and provided a lovely view over the valley. In the distance, she could see the river winding past the town.
Several inhabitants sat outside the low building enjoying the setting sun. They smiled and nodded as Ian and she passed.
Hugo and Walter, the chess-players at the senior center, had said Esther had lived at Sunny Acres for only a few months. Even so, and as pleasant as the facility appeared, Paisley thought it must have pained the old woman to leave her home, her familiar surroundings, to come here and live among strangers. On the other hand, she thought, smiling a little, Esther had probably organized a book group and shuffleboard competitions during her stay.
Ian was escorting Paisley toward the information desk when she saw a dark-haired teenager wheeling an old woman across the lobby. He saw them at the same time and stopped in his tracks.
"Kevin! What are you doing here?" Paisley exclaimed.
His eyes fell and he shuffled his feet, as if wishing he could disappear. "H-hi, Mrs. Perleman."
"Call me Paisley," she said automatically. "Do you volunteer here?"
He hesitated before answering, while the white-haired woman in the wheelchair tapped the armrest impatiently. "I come up here every weekend and help out," he said at last. "Sunny Acres is low on staff. There's always something to do."
He said good-bye and pushed the wheelchair away, while the old woman glared at Paisley from under bushy gray eyebrows. The woman in the wheelchair looked like a child's image of a witch, with a thin, turned-down mouth, knobby fingers, and whiskers sprouting from her chin. Someone had written on the sticky-backed paper nametag on her blouse, "Hello, I'm Maude Avery." Some activity had ended for the residents in the recreation room, who were filtering out of the glass double-doors in dabs and dribbles.
Paisley was ashamed of her reaction to the woman in the wheelchair. The old woman couldn't help her appearance, and as for her hostile look, it was natural to resent a stranger who was preventing her from getting to the next activity, a bingo game, perhaps, or a TV broadcasting The People's Court.
"Go ahead, Kevin," Paisley said. "But please see me when you're finished. There's something I'd like to ask you."
Kevin glanced down at the old woman as if for her reaction. "Okay," he said unenthusiastically. As he pushed the wheelchair away, he bent and spoke into the old woman's ear with the same concern he had shown when Paisley had scraped her knee. A nice kid, she thought, in spite of his reserve. So what had caused the shutters to bang down, just when she thought they were becoming friends?
The last thought caused another pang of guilt for what she was about to ask him to do. It was clear Kevin was busy: working for his step-father, helping at the senior home ... and now she was going to try to talk him into taking on yet another time-consuming project. Maybe there was a good reason he hadn't returned her calls.
While she waited in the lobby, Ian wandered off. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him to talking to the receptionist, a young blond.
She tapped her fingers against her knee until Kevin returned, and she looked up at him with relief. "Let's go outside, where there's more privacy."
As she led the teenager toward the door, she glanced at his feet. He was wearing Vans. Even if the tag on the side hadn't said so, the distinct pattern the soles left in the dirt pathway was crisp and familiar. It was what she had expected.
Roses were in full bloom near a sycamore tree, and they drenched the air with perfume. As they sat under the tree, on a bench overlooking the valley, Kevin twisted his hands and fidgeted. Did he suspect she knew he had burglarized her house? Or was his conscience bothering him? Either way, now was the perfect time to confront him.
No. Something inside held her back. Kevin was no criminal, she was sure of it. The fact that he had done such an amateurish job proved it. And nothing had been missing. She had left her purse and her iPhone in plain sight, and neither had been touched. Perhaps if she gained his trust, she thought, she could find what his motive was. In any case, she needed a Pirate King. That trumped everything.
She began, her voice crisp and professional. "I heard you perform at an open-mic night recently. Your voice is perfect for a part in a musical production I'm working on."
The tension seemed to drain out of him, as if he had been expecting a blow which had not materialized. "You mean The Pirates of Penzance?"
"You know about it?"
He didn't exactly roll his eyes, but he gave her a look that has at one time or another crossed every teenager's face. Of course he knew about it. Virtually every kid in town was involved in the production, either backstage or in the cast. Besides, there were those impossible-to-miss Jolly Roger banners plastered all over town: the big one hanging over the main street, and the posters in the windows of all the shops.
Before he could refuse, she rushed on. "We've lost one of our stars, and we don't have enough actors to replace him. We … that's Shirley Zacarias and me...." She stopped. "Um, you know Shirley, don't you?"
"Yeah." He looked up from under his long black bangs. "She's the lady who owns that bookshop on Main Street, isn't she? They have a great Manga collection."
Paisley remembered that Shirley had mentioned he was interested in Japanese comics, like so many kids his age. "That's right. Shirley has asked me to be in charge of the music, and the truth is, we're short on talent. Someone told me you can sing, so I went and checked you out. They were right."
His face turned beet red, and he looked down at his Vans. "Who told you I sing?"
"One of the girls in the cast. Blond hair, stands about this tall." Paisley held a hand a couple of inches above her own head. "She's the one who told me you'd be performing at the open-mic night."
"Was it Chloe?"
She kept her smile to herself. That had been no random guess. "Yes, that's right. Chloe."
His face broke into the contagious smile she remembered. She determined at that moment, she would get him onstage if she had to wrestle him there herself. Underneath the adolescent awkwardness, he had charisma that could melt klieg lights.
Once again, she wondered why he had burglarized her house. She was no psychologist, but nothing about him indicated a predilection for criminal behavior. He was just a sweet, shy kid with stunning good looks and great talent.
She turned on her own charm full wattage, doing everything but bat her eyelashes. "Please, Kevin. I'll tell you what: why don't you come to rehearsal tomorrow afternoon? If you decide you don't want to participate, you don't have to. I won't try to change your mind. Scout's honor." She crossed her fingers behind her back. "I have a feeling you'll have a lot of fun. It's a friendly group of kids. A lot of them were at S
tarbucks the other night; you probably know a lot of them already."
She sensed he wanted to say "yes." But he glanced back at the white adobe walls and red-tile roof of the retirement center, as if searching for direction. Then he turned back and met her eyes straight-on. " One rehearsal. But I won't promise anything beyond that."
"Good enough for me." She held out her hand, and after a hesitation he took it. He had a nice firm grasp. He had nice eyes, too, she thought dispassionately, warm brown under those dark eyebrows and that shock of black hair. God, the girls would love him. "See you tomorrow at five o'clock."
"Yeah, sure. Tomorrow at five o'clock." He glanced back at the windows of the retirement home.
She found Ian still chatting to the receptionist. The young woman was giggling, fluttering her eyelashes, and twirling a lock of bleached hair around her French-manicured finger. It looked as if Ian had been practicing his own brand of charm. For a moment Paisley felt another pang of something that certainly could not be jealousy. Why should she be jealous? Ian could flirt with anyone he wanted. Good luck to him.
Ian turned toward Paisley as she approached, and his grin widened, revealing long twin creases down his cheeks. Even if he didn't have Steven's good looks, it was clear why the receptionist was batting her eyelashes at him.
"Paisley, meet Francesca. She says Mrs. Georgiana Rivers is awake and would love to have visitors." There was a meaningful emphasis to his words.
"Georgiana Rivers? Oh, Georgiana!" The name clicked into place. "The friend Esther wrote about in her diary!" The little girl who had given Esther a kitten for her birthday. She had grown up and now was a resident of the same retirement home where Esther had ended her days, Paisley realized, with a sense of shock. Well, why not? As the Disney song went, it all was part of the circle of life. And, as W.C. Fields had pointed out somewhat more acerbically, growing old certainly beat the alternative.
Ian looked as pleased as the archaeologist Howard Carter after discovering King Tut's tomb. "Georgiana and Esther shared a room here. Best friends reunited after decades apart."
Paisley couldn't hide her excitement. Although she had hoped to run across someone who had known Esther, she hadn't expected to hit the jackpot.
"I'll buzz her room and let her know you're coming, Mr. McMurtry," Francesca said to Ian, tossing flowing blond locks over her shoulder. "Room 3-A on the right." She shot Paisley a hostile glance.
Ian winked at the receptionist, put his hand on Paisley's waist, and guided her down the hallway, whistling under his breath. The door opened off the corridor into an airy room with a stunning view over the valley. The furniture consisted of a pair of twin-sized beds, a dresser, and a TV. A walker stood in the corner, and a slight whiff of Listerine mixed with the scent of roses. Brightly colored birthday cards and a large vase of flowers covered the dresser; a bouquet of balloons bobbed in a corner.
Almost hidden in the large bed, a petite woman sat propped up by pillows, her lower half covered by a hand-knitted afghan. She was the spitting image of Mrs. Claus, pink cheeks, fluffy white hair, and all. A satin quilted housecoat was draped over her shoulders, and she was petting a fluffy object on her lap that looked like a muff, but which turned out to be a white shih-tzu dog. It yapped at them as they entered.
"Now, now, Fuzzykins," the woman scolded.
The dog settled down, watching them suspiciously from under wisps of white hair and a pink bow.
The woman proved that opposites attracted, even in friendships, Paisley thought, bemused, as she remembered Esther's unsentimental nature. Fuzzykins? Even Ian looked nonplussed.
Georgiana Rivers turned toward them, and her cheeks plumped up like a pair of Pink Lady apples. "Guests! How wonderful!" She reached out a delicate hand. Paisley took the soft fingers that smelled like rose-scented cologne. They closed around hers with unexpected strength, steel under marshmallow fluff. Paisley was briefly reminded of Kevin's grandmother, but the thought vanished almost immediately. "You must be Esther's grand-niece! What a wonderful birthday present, to have you visit me!"
"I'm only her great niece by marriage," Paisley corrected her. "We were not blood related."
"Even better." Georgiana's unexpected frankness didn't match her "just-took-sugar-cookies-out-of-the-oven" appearance or the sweet curve of her pink-lipstick-coated mouth. "Esther couldn't abide most of her blood relatives. Can't blame her, either. Please, sit down, sit down, both of you!"
She waved them to a pair of chairs by the window and focused her curious blue eyes on Paisley. "So you're Jonathan's widow! Esther followed your career avidly, you know. She even kept a little scrapbook with clippings of Jonathan's and your performances. I believe it's in that bookcase over there."
She waved her hand, and Ian, correctly interpreting the gesture, trotted over obediently to fetch it.
"I hardly know why she bothered," Paisley said as Ian handed the scrapbook to her and she opened the pages. The large binder opened to the Time magazine cover featuring Jonathan; glued to the opposite page was a tiny, yellowed newspaper clipping that announced her first performance in a supporting role at the Met. A fitting demonstration of the difference between her career and her husband's, she thought wryly.
The scrapbook's other pages held programs and ticket stubs from concerts Paisley and Jonathan had appeared in, individually or together. Paisley was touched in spite of herself. "Esther scarcely knew me," she exclaimed, looking up. "Why on earth would she keep all this memorabilia?"
"You're wrong. Esther considered herself a good judge of character. After returning from your wedding, she told me she had felt a strong connection with you, as if she had known you for a long time. She said it was unusual for a young bride to show such interest in an old woman, a stranger. I believe the words she used were that 'something just clicked between you.'"
Paisley bit back a gasp. She had felt the same. She remembered the birthday cards and Christmas cards she had sent and felt regret she hadn't done more. But then, she had hardly stayed in touch with her own family these past few years, when everything had been so rushed, and her career had seemed paramount.
Georgiana hadn't finished. "She felt sorry for you, too, my dear. She felt ... shall I say ... protective. Marrying into the Perleman family is not for the faint-hearted. Nor could Esther understand how a nice girl like you could put up with Jonathan's ego, even if you were both in the music business."
Paisley was conscious of Ian's eyes on her. She coughed and struggled to keep her face composed. Georgiana made it sound as if Paisley had married Jonathan to advance her career. Well, perhaps there was a modicum of truth to it, she admitted to herself. Was that how it appeared to others? If so, Jonathan had benefited almost as much as she had. There had been a flurry of publicity after he married her, and many of the articles had focused on the attractive young couple. Several articles had used the term "Svengali," and Jonathan's recently flagging career had experienced an upsurge.
Georgiana, seemingly unconscious of the effect her words had on Paisley, turned to her other listener, and a girlish expression appeared on the rosy features. "And Ian, how nice to see you again! My, you've grown even taller than your handsome grandfather. I knew him well, you know. We graduated from high school the same year. In fact ...."
While the other two chatted about people and events Paisley didn't know, she wondered how to bring up the subject of Esther's past without appearing like one of the relatives she so transparently despised. The existence or nonexistence of rubies and diamonds suddenly seemed unimportant compared to the sea of reminiscences, yet that was the question that had brought them here.
It was as if Georgiana read her mind. "So why did you two come?" she said suddenly, transferring her attention back to Paisley, her eyes bright and curious. "Surely it wasn't just to visit little old me!"
Paisley cleared her throat. "I'd like to learn more about Esther's past. Especially her childhood. I thought we might find someone here who knew her long ago, and we were lucky eno
ugh to find you."
"Oh? Are you a family history buff?"
Paisley looked at Ian for guidance. He blandly returned her gaze and she forged on alone. "Not until recently. But since I moved into the house I've been thinking a lot about her. I found an old diary of hers, with your name in it."
"A diary!" Georgiana leaned forward. "Tell me, is it green leather with gold letters stamped on the cover?"
"Yes, it is. "
"That must be the one I gave Esther for her ninth birthday." Her eyes misted over reminiscently. "I'll never forget the day I met her. She was new at our school, and so shy. She was thin, with those big, black eyes, and only spoke a few words of English, but she had such a vibrant personality, even then. After school I invited her home, and after that we were inseparable. No one could have been happier than I was when, many years later, she moved back to River Bend and we were able to resume our friendship."
"In the diary, she mentions you often," Paisley said. "I wonder if she ever ... if the subject ever came up ...." For some reason, she could not get the words out. What business, really, was this of hers?
Ian leaned forward, and his hand covered hers comfortingly. "Paisley wants to know if Esther ever talked about her life before she came to the United States," he said.
A tiny frown knit Georgiana's brows. "You mean, her life in Poland? Hardly at all. The subject must have been painful for her. Think of it! Parted from her family at such a young age, knowing she might never see them again.... Although all the horrible things that happened during the war didn't come out until years later—somehow—I'm sure she knew, even then." Georgiana's blue eyes filled with tears, her mouth trembling a little. She reached for a tissue.
Paisley looked down at her hands. She wished she hadn't brought up the past. The jewels' importance paled in the light of human tragedies, of human relationships.
The Jewelry Case Page 17