Paisley was glad she was sitting down, because her legs suddenly felt weak. Shirley had just provided plenty of motive for murder. But that only made sense if one had the jewels, and she didn't. Unless, like a character in an old Alfred Hitchcock film, she knew something she didn't know she knew. If so, what could it be?
Shirley set down the book she was holding, her hazel eyes growing serious behind the glasses. Her words confirmed Paisley's thoughts. "I can't help wondering.... Do you think someone has targeted you? I mean, it seems odd that your house would suddenly go up in flames like that."
"That's overstating it. It was just a small kitchen fire."
"And you're understating it. I saw the arson team leave. It could have been a lot more serious, Paisley. Think about it. If it turns out that fire was set, who knows what will be next?"
Paisley shrugged, and tried to make her tone light. "Well, if that's the case, they're wasting their time trying to steal something I don't have. And why would they do anything that would potentially damage what they're searching for?"
"So nothing has turned up?" Shirley sounded disappointed. "No more information, no clues, nothing?"
"Nothing that anyone who's interested couldn't dig up for themselves. I don't even care about them anymore, Shirley. Not even after seeing how much they might have been worth. The treasure hunt was a silly idea, and I'm not going to knock myself out looking any more."
"The worst thing you can do is give up," Shirley said earnestly. "You can bet they're not going to, whoever ‘they’ are. And if they find it first, there won't be any quibbles about rights of ownership."
Paisley's hair stood up on her arms. She could almost hear Kevin's matter-of-fact young voice: "If you found them first, it would have been too late." What if someone else was trying to find the jewels before she did? It would be a lot easier with her out of the way. It was the first time the idea had crossed her mind that she might be a target.
When she fell silent, Shirley licked her spoon clean and sat with her back against the porch railing, still leafing slowly through the book. "What a tragedy if those gorgeous jewels were cut up or taken out of their settings," she commented.
"Do you really think anyone would do that?"
"I'm a bookseller, and I've read a lot about the subject." Shirley wiggled, making her ample bottom more comfortable. "The problem when stealing a well-known work of art is finding someone to buy it. If it would be recognized, like, say, the Mona Lisa … which was once stolen from the Louvre, you know … the police would come down on the seller like the immediately. The only way to make any money is to find a private buyer who would never display them. Apparently, that isn't as easy as it might sound."
"But we're not talking about a work of art. And Ruth's rubies are not well known."
Shirley shrugged. "The point is the same. We're talking about historically unknown jewels which, once found, would likely be extensively covered in the media. Just think of the news stories! A beautiful Jewish opera singer, a smitten Russian count, a small child fleeing the Nazis.... Then mix in your own personal tragedy. The press would pounce on the story like dogs thrown fresh meat. Photos of the jewels would be plastered everywhere. No thief could hope to fence them intact. His or her only hope would be to cut the gems down so no one would recognize them."
"You keep talking as if it is inevitable that Ruth's jewelry will be found." Paisley was bothered by Shirley's words. She stood up and paced the porch to release her tension, forgetting that Ian had done the same only a few hours earlier. "For three generations, people have been looking for them, and we have no more to go by than Aunt Henka did!"
Shirley watched her. "Have you gone to the police?"
"Twice." Paisley made a face, remembering her experiences. "Both times, they made me feel like an imaginative idiot. I'm still waiting to hear the arson team's results."
"Huh." Shirley's mouth drooped. "But it can't be a coincidence. I've lived in this town and the worst thing that's happened to me was a parking ticket for blocking Main Street on the Fourth of July, when I ran into Abe's Soda Shoppe for a bottle of water and held up the parade. Why didn't you call me after the fire? We're friends, right? Friends care about each other."
Ian had said something similar. Paisley hung her head. Shirley was right; she sucked as a friend. "I didn't want to worry you," she muttered. "Besides, the whole jewelry connection seemed so childlike. I've been chasing my tail over something that until recently I wasn't sure ever existed. It's like something out of Robert Louis Stevenson: the next thing you know, we'll have some pirates show up looking for treasure, and I don't mean soft-hearted pirates, like in the Pirates of Penzance. I mean ugly, murderous ones armed with real cutlasses."
"Well, you've known for a while now that Ruth's jewelry wasn't a fantasy," Shirley said matter-of-factly. "I'm the one who showed you that picture of her wearing the rubies, remember? And if someone thought you had them ... the wrong kind of person.... Well, if the fire turns out to be arson, you'll know someone else is willing to kill for them."
The dramatic words hung in the silence, reverberating like a drum. Ian had said the same thing. And she had come to that realization herself, moments ago. But Paisley still had trouble believing it.
Shirley's shrewd round eyes were serious behind the thick lenses of her glasses. "You know what I think? Your best bet is to find the jewels before the bad guys do, and let the press know about them, as soon as possible. Call the Sacramento Bee, the San Francisco Chronicle, the TV news stations. Get the jewelry photographed and be interviewed on the nightly news flashing them proudly. Then the jewelry won’t be any use to a thief. No one will fence them."
Paisley swallowed. "That's assuming the jewelry exists, and that I can find it. What happens if I can’t?”
"Be careful, that's all." Shirley leveraged herself to her feet, rubbing her ample hips. "My, your porch is hard. And your house smells like a thousand campfires put together. Maybe you should stay with me for a few days till things get cleaned up."
"That's funny. Steve invited me to stay at his house, and so did Ian. I'm popular all of a sudden."
Shirley chuckled. "On a lighter note, I went over to Ray's real estate office yesterday, to see if he'd considered your invitation to perform in the play."
Paisley was glad for the change of subject. Any topic was better than jewels, arson, or death. "What'd he say?"
"He said he'd been thinking about it. You could have knocked me over with a feather, as the saying goes. At least he didn't laugh at me, or chase me out the door beating me over the head with a stack of "for sale" signs. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd think he felt ... flattered."
"That's great!"
"You don't sound as surprised as I thought you'd be."
Paisley laughed. "Ray likes to be the center of attention. I bet he'll love having an audience."
"Well, I think you're magic. When this is over, I don't suppose I could talk you into living here permanently, could I?” Shirley said hopefully. “Become director of the community theater? It would be a volunteer job, but you could build up a nice clientele through word-of-mouth. This town sure could use a music teacher." Shirley cleared her throat and got to her feet, shouldering the bag. "Aw, who am I kidding? It's obvious your voice is coming back and soon you’ll be leaving us for Paris or Milan. Yes, I heard about that too. Ian's one of my bookstore's regulars. Well, maybe we'll get lucky and you'll come visit us in the sticks from time to time." She headed toward the steps. "See you at practice, Paisley."
Paisley stared after her, stunned by Shirley’s off-handed invitation. The thought of staying in River Bend permanently had never crossed her mind. It was ironic, she thought, absent-mindedly picking up the plastic trash bag: in one breath, Shirley warned her that her life was in danger here, and in the next she had asked her to stay.
Paisley stuffed some smoke-damaged cushions in the trash bag and dragged them to the curb, piling them with the rest. She wasn’t as sure as Shirley
that her voice was coming back to stay. If it didn’t, should she remain in River Bend? And would she in fact be risking her life to do so? Her future was as hazy as it had been when she had arrived.
#
The investigator’s report came back: there was no evidence of arson. The fire, it stated, had likely started with a range burner that had been left on. Torn between relief and embarrassment, Paisley mocked herself for her melodramatic theorizing. No one was targeting her; the danger had all been in her mind. Never mind that Ian and Shirley had been equally melodramatic. That's what happened when people got together and let their imaginations carry them away, she told herself.
At least, she was now free to turn her attention to pulling the play together, while Ian’s crew returned to fix up the kitchen and repaint the walls and ceiling. Hell Week was living up to its name: long days of grueling rehearsal, broken only by breaks during which the cast devoured stacks of greasy pizza and sandwiches. The production was finally taking form together, although there were plenty of glitches to keep her and Shirley busy. Would the red-headed policeman ever remember his lines? Would the costumes be finished on time? Could the carpenter fix the ship's listing mast? Were the backdrops ready?
The backdrops! As the cast sang “Pour, oh Pour the Pirate Sherry,” Paisley sat up straighter in her usual front-row seat, belatedly realizing that the snowy-white canvas backdrops remained unpainted. How could they have been overlooked? Paisley punched Steve’s number into her cell phone, thinking he must have forgotten his promise.
As it rang, she cursed herself for not following up sooner. True, the fire had been distracting, and her last brief conversation with Steve had focused on the additional repairs to the house and how much longer she planned to stay in River Bend. She'd told him the truth: she’d likely move on as soon as the play was over. An odd expression had crossed his face. Impossible to tell if he had been relieved or disappointed.
Steve picked up, and she got right to the point. "You forget about the backdrops!"
"What backdrops?" he said blankly.
"Don’t you remember? For the play! You promised you'd paint them."
"Oh. That's right. I did." He spoke slowly, stupidly, as if from a distance. For a moment, she wondered if Steve was a secret pot smoker. He didn't strike her as the type to get high, but if there was one thing she had learned since marrying Jonathan, it was that you never really knew about people.
"Opening night is coming up fast” she reminded him. “I'll paint them myself if I have to, but they'll turn out better if done by someone with your talent."
There was a pause. "Okay," he said at last. "I'll try to get over there tonight."
"Great. The building's open until ten. You’ll find the paint and brushes in the supply room behind the stage."
Paisley felt relief. Another task checked off her list. She put the cell phone back in her purse and looked around with satisfaction. The chaos had taken on a sense of purpose, and everyone knew what needed to be done. Nor was it a room full of strangers: she now knew the names of all the young actors and those of most of their parents. She knew which kids had crushes on whom, which formerly best friends were on the outs, and who had mended their relationships.
In the center of them all was Kevin. He had lost his initial reserve, and now he was lunging about in his loose-sleeved, open-throated pirate shirt with the red sash around his waist, plying his cutlass as if born to it. His unexpectedly rich baritone brought out the irony in the lyrics, and when he finished his solo, the other actors burst into spontaneous applause.
Grinning, he strode to the front of the stage and swept a theatrical bow. With the kerchief tied around his black locks and the beginning of a mustache darkening his upper lip, he looked suave and sexy. At least the girls in the cast seemed to think so.
"Go, Kevin!" one of them screamed. Someone else gave an ear-splitting whistle. As he bowed again, a cluster of actresses rushed toward him, including Chloe, who managed to maneuver so she was standing closest to him. Kevin looked down at the pretty blond and returned her broad smile They looked like a couple. Paisley wondered when it had happened.
Paisley smiled as she remembered a similar interplay of relationships between cast members backstage at the Met. Then her smile wavered. At this moment, someone else was performing Mimi at the Met, no doubt to thunderous applause, the part that was to launch Paisley's career. And here she was, working an amateur production in the middle of nowhere. La Bohème and the professional world of opera had moved on without her.
With an effort, she shoved aside her self-pity. There was no point denying that she had enjoyed this summer, far more than she had expected. It had been surprisingly satisfying to work with young actors, using her skills to give what could have been just another amateur production the polish of, well, perhaps not a Broadway show, but an off-off-Broadway show. All modesty aside, Paisley knew if the show was successful, as she had no doubt it would be, it would be largely due to her help.
And, the truth was, the experience had been good for her, too. It had been healing to feel the others' respect, to have them seek her advice and implement her suggestions. After the extreme competitiveness of the professional opera world, her self-confidence had gained a much-needed boost, especially after the devastating losses she had undergone.
But it was time to move on. Since that day when Ian had caught her singing, she’d suspected she could start practicing again without injuring her voice. Tomorrow, Paisley determined, she'd call her oto-laryngologist to schedule an appointment. If things went the way she hoped, she'd call Nigel immediately afterward and turn down that position at the conservatory. Then there would be other calls to make, professional relationships to renew, auditions to schedule. She may have missed out on the role of Mimi, but so what? There were always others. She wouldn't be totally forgotten by the opera world, not yet, and there would be other productions to try out for. Paisley's heart started beating faster as she directed her attention back to the stage.
#
Shirley's thick-rimmed glasses slipped down to the tip of her snub nose as she ran back and forth in the auditorium during rehearsal making sure everything was taken care of, but she took time to joke briefly with the members of the cast as she passed by. Finally she flopped into the seat next to Paisley.
"Okay, everyone! Break!" She took a bottle of Evian from her oversized patchwork handbag and took a long slug. "Best thing I ever did, bringing you aboard," she muttered to Paisley, pulling out a second bottle of water and passing it to her. "I never could have pulled this thing together without you. Have a drink. You must be thirsty."
Paisley gratefully unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. The refreshing beverage felt healing as it coursed down her throat. "You're doing fine," she told Shirley, recapping the bottle. "And I haven't done anything any decent vocal coach wouldn't do."
"Don't give me that false modesty, honey, you're fantastic with those kids. If you had told me that a month ago this group would sound that good, I wouldn't have believed it. Now all we need is to get those backdrops painted. Dress rehearsal is tomorrow, and they're still not finished."
Paisley hid a start of guilt. "I just called Steve. He said he'd come paint them tonight."
"You are a miracle worker!" Shirley turned to her, amazed. "How on earth did you get Steve Lopez to agree? He's a fabulous artist, but he’s always turned me down when I asked him before."
"You knew Steve painted?" Paisley's eyes opened wide in suprise.
"Well of course! After high school he went back east to try to become an artist. That's when he married Kevin's mother. They apparently met up again in New York or thereabouts, where she was living at the time. Both former neighbors from River Bend, it was natural that they would seek each other out. But the marriage only lasted a couple of years. When his art career didn’t take off, he came back home, and he's been trying to make a go of that vineyard ever since."
"Then you must have known about—" Paisley stopp
ed. She had never asked why Shirley hadn't mentioned that Steve’s wife was Jonathan's cousin, Sarah. But then, Shirley must have assumed Paisley already knew. It would have been natural for Jonathan to tell Paisley all about his family. But he hadn’t.
Shirley raised her voice, addressing the room in general, ""Five more minutes, then we'll do the graveyard scene!" She turned back to Paisley. "Have you given any thought to what I asked the other day?"
Paisley scanned her memory. "You mean…?"
Shirley nodded emphatically. "About your staying in River Bend. I was thinking about it some more, and I thought I gave up too easily last time. This community needs you, Paisley. And to be honest, I think you need us. We have a lot more to offer than you might think."
"Spoken like a true manager of the chamber of commerce," Paisley muttered under her breath, but she smiled.
Shirley leaned forward, her hazel eyes serious behind their frames. "No I mean it. Take your time and think about it, Paisley. Don't rush into a decision." Then she chuckled. "No pressure, of course."
Paisley hadn't planned to tell Shirley that she had already made up her mind to leave – and soon. She had found what she had come for. Not the jewelry, but healing and peace of mind. Of course, leaving River Bend wouldn't be easy. Ian's face popped into her mind, and she tried to thrust the image away. But it seemed fate had spoken, and it was time to go back to her old life.
Looking at Shirley's hopeful face, she found it hard to find the right words as she haltingly explained. "But don't tell anyone," she finished. "I don't want the kids to feel bad."
Shirley's expression reflected the disappointment Paisley had expected, but she nodded. "I understand. Of course. It's what we all expected. I just hoped...." Shirley sniffed and blinked twice. She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. Then she opened her mouth and bellowed, "All right, everyone! Break's over! Take your places!"
#
As opening night neared, however, Paisley found no time to think about her future, or to send messages to New York. Hell Week consumed every drop of time and energy.
The Jewelry Case Page 24