"I thought so too." A sudden feeling of joy pumped through her, but she tried to keep her feelings rational. Singing a snatch of a song didn't mean her voice was back permanently. In fact, for all she knew, she might have damaged it by using it too soon. Also, she was very aware of Ian's hand on her upper arm, of how close he was standing.
"I probably shouldn't have sung like that just now," she admitted, lowering her gaze to his chest. He was wearing one of his plaid shirts, but this one was less rumpled than usual. "The doctor warned me to take it easy; I'd hate to damage my voice again." She pulled her hand free and touched her throat, unable to hold back a smile. "It does seems to be coming back, though, doesn't it? I'll call my oto-laryngologist and ask if it's safe to start singing again. He may want me to fly back to New York so he can check it."
"I'd say the prognosis is encouraging." He was looking down at her, still gripping her arms. "I listened to Carmen last night, by the way. Just now, you sounded like the recording, only better. Much better. I didn't understand what she was saying, though. The opera is in French, isn't it? That's strange, considering it's set in Spain."
She nodded. "Bizet was French. Naturally he would write the opera in his own language. As for the song, it's simple: Carmen is saying love is like a gypsy child, wild and untamed. She warns that if ever she falls in love with a man, he'd better beware."
"That Carmen must have been one dangerous chick." He was smiling down at her, but there was a new expression in his light-gray eyes. She did nothing to stop the increasing pressure of his hands on her back, or the slow descent of his head, or ....
Love was like a gypsy child, wild, passionate, joyous, and untamed. When Ian raised his head, they were both breathless, and her heart was beating like a tambourine in a tarantella dance. She tried to remember the question she had asked, which he had not answered. It took a few seconds for her head to clear. "Uh. . .so, why are you here, Ian?"
"Haven't you noticed? I'm here every morning."
His arms were still wrapped around her waist, and she had no desire to move. She liked the secure way she felt when he held her like that. It took a few moments for his words to sink in.
"Of course you're here every morning! But I don't hear any construction going on. Where's your crew?"
"I came to let you know that the work on the house is complete," he murmured against the side of her neck, causing a tickle. "We're done. Finished. Caputo. I'd have announced it yesterday, but we both got carried away speculating about the jewelry case, and I forgot."
"Finished? Already?" With effort she pulled away from his embrace and looked around the parlor. With all the distractions of late, she hadn't noticed how all the gradual improvements had added up. The construction equipment had vanished. Dust and broken wall plaster had been swept up. The walnut floors shone under a fresh, smooth layer of polyurethane, and the repaired window sparkled in its freshly painted frame. Except for the worn furniture, the house looked like a page from an interior design magazine, with its view into the front garden and buttercup-yellow paint that replaced the torn wallpaper. How could she not have noticed?
"It looks very nice," she acknowledged, surprised to feel a hint of regret.
"How about a celebration?" Ian suggested, looking pleased at her positive reaction. "We could drive to San Francisco, or Old Town Sacramento, or up to the petrified forest, or maybe go visit the lavender fields. There's a lot to see around here, and we only scratched the surface the other day." He reached for her again, smiling down at her. "You haven't seen any of the tourist stuff."
"I'd love to." Her regret was real as she wriggled out of his arms. "But I've got a couple of students coming over later for singing lessons, and tomorrow is the beginning of hell week. I'll be too busy."
"Hell week?"
She laughed at his startled expression. "That's what theater people call the last week before opening night," she explained. "We'll be practicing all day, every day. No breaks, no distractions, and catered food only. Sometimes we won't get home until after midnight."
Reluctantly, Ian dropped his arms. "It's just as well," he said grudgingly. "I’ve got to work on that thesis. Been putting it off all summer." He sounded as glum as a boy who had just unwrapped a Christmas gift and found a pair of gym socks instead of a new Ipod.
"Another time," she said, feeling the same regret. She already missed the feel of his face against hers, the slightly scratchy feel of his jaw despite the fact that he had recently shaved, and the bony ridges of his nose and cheekbones. At the same time, something inside her felt fearful. Things were moving too fast. In spite of the new, raw feelings mixed up inside her, she was not yet ready to promise Ian anything. The painful past was too recent, her future too uncertain.
"Another time? Okay. I'll hold you to that." He looked down at her and an odd expression crossed his face. "Paisley, we have a lot to talk about. Maybe it's too soon, but ...."
Her eyes dropped.
As if sensing her confusion, he kissed her soundly once more and was gone. As she heard the rusty pickup pull away, she realized she had forgotten to tell him of her discovery last night that Kevin had been the burglar. Maybe it was for the best, she thought, walking into the kitchen to make breakfast, which she sat down and ate without appetite. The fewer people who knew of Kevin's lapse the better. She suspected Ian might be understanding, but the fact was, the burglary really wasn't his business. This was between Kevin and her.
#
Chloe arrived promptly for her singing lesson. After, the girl was walking down the walkway toward her mother's waiting car when Kevin arrived for his own session. Through the sheer curtains in the front room, Paisley watched the two adolescents stop in the center of the path. She could only see Chloe's back, but the girl must have said something as she tossed her long, silver-blond hair, because Kevin's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he said something back. As Chloe stepped past him, he turned to watched her get into the car, as if mesmerized.
Paisley felt a short pang of jealousy. She tried to remember if Jonathan had ever looked at her that way. If so, she hadn't been aware of it.
The car pulled away and moments later Kevin bounded up the steps, all teenage angst gone. In spite of his black T-shirt and silver lip-ring, he looked as sunny as a young actor in a Disney Channel TV show. "Hi there, Mrs. Perleman!"
"It's Paisley," she said automatically, stepping back to let him in while trying not to show her surprise. Where was the tormented boy she had talked to over the kitchen table yesterday? "Have you been practicing the music I gave you?"
His head bobbed as he followed her toward to the gleaming Yamaha piano. As he performed his Pirate King solo, she was again impressed by the power and range of Kevin's voice. When he sang, he appeared far more self-confident than in real life. In Paisley's experience, despite the importance of training, either you had it or you didn't. Kevin definitely had it.
Funny, she thought, to find so much talent in this rural town in Northern California. Chloe was showing impressive raw skill as well, and even the rag-tag chorus of pirates and the Major General’s daughters shaping up.
As Kevin ran through his lines in Away, Away! My Heart’s on Fire, she couldn't help thinking about his future. Several regional singing competitions existed for kids his age. If he did well in those, there were the national ones, prestigious events that would get him noticed. That was how she'd started: teachers who had taken an interest in her, mentored her in her early years, leading to Nigel, the conservatory in Omaha, and ultimately Jonathan and the Met. She could do the same for Kevin, she thought: coach him, introduce him to the right people, steer him toward the events that could launch his career. The things Nigel had done for her.
She made a mental note to discuss her ideas with Steve. Kevin didn't seem to think his foster parent cared, but surely the boy was wrong. Once she'd explained everything, Steve would surely support the boy's activities. This might even be what was needed to bring the two males closer together.
And while she was at it, she'd remind Steve that the backdrop for the play still needed to be painted. Only a week remained before opening night.
When the lesson was over, she handed the sheet music to Kevin. "Good job, kiddo! Keep that up and you'll be the star of the show."
"Thanks, Mrs. P … Paisley." He was already beginning to withdraw again. His dark, spiky bangs hid his face as he flipped through the stack of music, but he did not move. She had the impression he was gathering his courage to tell her something. She waited patiently.
Finally he raised his head. His dark-brown eyes met hers. "Um. . .I was thinking about, you know, about what I did the other week. You know, coming into your house when you weren't home and going through your stuff. I want you to know it wasn't my idea." He spoke rapidly, as if trying to get the words out before changing his mind.
"Oh," she said, trying to keep her tone neutral, although his confession surprised her. If not his, then whose idea had it been? And why? If she asked, however, Paisley sensed he would clam up.
Her intuition to stay quiet proved correct. The silence lengthened, then suddenly broke. It was as if he couldn't keep back a torrent of words that had been held back too long. "I'm not saying I'm not to blame: I know it was wrong, and I'm sorry. But it was her idea. She's the one who told me that you.... That I ...." He stopped again, as abruptly as if he had run into a wall.
"Who, Kevin?" She kept her voice soft, as if talking to the skittish gray cat, who might run away and disappear into the bracken outside if startled. "Who hates me?"
"It's not hate. She didn't think you had a right to them, being an outsider."
"I felt that way at first myself." Paisley spoke soothingly, although she was dying with curiosity. Whom was he talking about? "Why does this ... this person think she has a claim to them?"
"Them" meaning the jewels, of course. What else could have been the object of his search?
"Not her. Me." He grimaced and rolled his eyes, like any embarrassed seventeen-year-old. "Since I'm the last blood descendent of the Perlemans, she said they were my rightful inheritance. Claimed Esther had no right to leave the family heritage to someone else." He snorted. "As if I wanted a bunch of dumb jewels. But she kept insisting, so I did it. And I told her you didn’t have them."
It took a moment for what he had said to sink in. Kevin? The last of the Perlemans? Staring at his features, she remembered the flashes of recognition, the unexpected familiarity of the handsome face with its heavy dark eyebrows. You!" she exclaimed. "You're one of Jonathan's relatives from back east!"
Chapter Thirteen
Facts began clicking into place. Jonathan had told Paisley that he had a cousin in New Jersey, and Georgiana had mentioned that Esther had a niece who had left California years ago: the east-coast relatives who had not come to the wedding! What was Jonathan's cousin’s name, the one who had lost touch with the rest of the family? She struggled to remember, and once again, a name popped into her head out of nowhere. Sarah. Sarah Perleman, Esther’s grand-niece. She must have been Kevin's mother.
Bemused, Paisley took in the boy's black hair, dark eyebrows. She was still processing the fact that her talented young neighbor was Jonathan's … just what was the word for their relationship, anyway? Jonathan's first cousin once removed?
On the heels of her astonishment came another disturbing thought. Steve Lopez had been married at one point to Kevin's mother, Sarah Perleman. That made him a distant relative of Jonathan's. Why had he never mentioned the connection?
On the other hand, she told herself, why should Steve have mentioned it? Maybe he wasn't the type who offered up personal information easily. Or, maybe Steve assumed she already knew. Certainly everyone else in town must be aware of his former relationship by marriage to the Perlemans. Even Shirley. Even Ian. Why hadn't they said anything? In the one instance that mattered most, the famous grapevine had broken down.
Kevin shifted uncomfortably, and she realized he had been waiting for her to speak.
"I still don't get it," Paisley said, wrinkling her forehead. "If your grandmother thought the jewels should have been your inheritance, why not come forward and state your claim? Why all this cloak and daggers stuff?"
"How would it help? No one knew where the jewels were. No one even really believed they existed."
"Your grandmother did. And she went to great lengths to find them, even up to burglary. Why?"
A shadow of pain darkened Kevin's eyes. "It was her last hope to provide for me, that’s all. Grandma was Dad’s—my real dad’s—mom. After he died and Mom and Steve got divorced, she took us in. Then, when Mom got sick ...." His voice faltered and he looked down for a moment, struggling to gather his emotions. Then he raised his jaw, and met Paisley's eyes straight-on. "Mom told Grandma about the jewels, and that they might be hidden on the property. Grandma thought that was Mom's way of trying to provide for us after she was gone. That's why she sold the New Jersey house and arranged for me to live with Steve."
"Why didn't you move out here together?"
"She was getting older, and was planning to go to a retirement home anyway. So she picked one out here. That was soon after that other old lady died," Kevin added. "The one who used to live in this house."
"So Esther had passed away before you moved to River Bend?"
He nodded. "It was easy to break in. I looked all over for the jewels, but I didn't find anything. We gave up. Then, when you showed up...." His voice trailed away.
"Your grandma thought I might know something she didn't?
Kevin ducked his head again. His fingers crumpled the edges of the sheet music. "I never felt right about it. Breaking into the house, I mean. But Nana said no one would be hurt. She told me, 'They should be yours anyway.'" His voice subtly took on the tone of an older female, and Paisley thought with admiration, Holy Moley! The boy really is a born actor.
"That explains the broken window," Paisley nodded. "But why didn't you just come forward, Kevin? You are the last blood descendent of the Perlemans."
He shrugged. "Nana said we had to find the jewels before you did, because if we had to fight you in court, the lawyers would end up with everything.
Except Paisley wouldn't have fought Kevin's claim; but there was no way they could have known that.
"Have a seat, Kevin," she said waving at the couch. "We have a lot to talk about."
She went into the kitchen to prepare some hot cocoa, throwing marshmallows on top and thinking wryly that she needed the sugar kick more than he did. When she returned with two thick ceramic mugs, he accepted one gratefully and sipped.
"Why did you go through the house again?" she asked, taking the chair across from him. "After all, you'd already been through it once."
He swirled the mug, watching the marshmallows melt. There was a smudge of chocolate on his upper lip. "When nothing turned up, I thought my grandmother was wrong. Or that the jewels were hidden some place we'd never find them, like buried in a field somewhere."
Paisley remembered Shirley's stories of neighborhood kids digging around the yard with spades until giving up and going home.
"But when you came to River Bend," Kevin went on, "Nana said that proved they must be here. After all, why else would a famous opera star like you…."
"I'm not famous," Paisley muttered under her breath. Despite that thrilling moment when her voice had come back while singing Carmen while descending the stairs, she knew she probably never would be.
"…Come to a small town like this? Nana figured you knew something we didn't, so I should keep an eye on you until you led us to it. I went through the house again to see if you might have left some clues. It was hard to get in, though; there were always workmen around, until I lucked out one day and found the house empty." He hunched his shoulders. "Back then, I didn't know you."
"Let me guess," Paisley said, remembering the hawk-faced woman in the wheelchair. "Your grandmother said I was a greedy stranger, and I'd come to steal your inheritan
ce."
He smiled faintly, hands still wrapped around the mug. "Something like that. Nana is kind of ... ah ... um...."
"Strong-willed?" suggested Paisley. "A bully?"
His smile curved crookedly, making him seem even younger. "The kind of person it's hard to say no to."
Paisley thought of the old woman in her wheelchair, glowering like Norman Bates' mummified mother. "Another Aunt Henka," she muttered under her breath. Strong-willed and manipulative, pulling everyone's strings behind the scenes. At least her motives had not been selfish.
Kevin looked down at his cocoa again, and his mouth twisted. "The day you asked me to be in the play, I told her I wouldn't help her anymore. We had a big fight. That's why I was late to rehearsal that afternoon." He looked up again, his features earnest. "Maybe you'll understand better if I explain that Nana is my only family. She and Mom were all I had."
Paisley felt a need to comfort him. "You're not entirely alone, Kevin. There's always Steve...." she began.
"Steve doesn't count." Kevin's voice turned harsh. "All he cares about is his stupid vineyard."
Paisley fell silent. She understood Kevin's divided loyalty. The old woman's idée-fixe was perhaps not entirely unreasonable; a protective grandmother might easily feel angry that her grandson had been unfairly passed over, and resolve not to allow the family heirlooms to pass to an outsider. Of course, Maude Avery had gone too far, stepping over a line most people would not have crossed. But luckily, Paisley thought, no one had been harmed. Much could be forgiven, considering the woman's advanced age and poor health, and the fact that Maude's actions had been on behalf of a beloved grandson.
Not to mention that Paisley had never felt she had much of a claim on the inheritance. After all, she had entirely forgotten about the house and its legendary contents until Jonathan had died. If Kevin's grandmother had written a letter explaining the situation, Paisley likely would have willingly signed the whole thing over to him, without thinking about it twice.
The Jewelry Case Page 21