Family Jewels

by Rita Sable

  He’d killed two men to save her life.

  Cynthia burst into tears, shuddering under the falling snow with only the quaint, dark cabin as silent witness. It felt good to finally let go and spill out her grief. After a few moments of loud, uninhibited sobbing she realized that self-pity wouldn’t help her current situation. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks and blinked to clear her sight.

  “God,” she snuffled aloud, “Toughen up. The worst is behind you now.”

  Surely Trevor hated her. If only they’d met under better circumstances. Maybe then, they would have had a chance together? Now it was too late to mend the bridges she’d torched between them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Trevor parked directly in front of Cynthia’s apartment building. He didn’t want to go ‘round and take precautions this morning. After yesterday, if anyone were still scouting her place, he hoped they’d confront him. Then he’d have a valid reason to release the pent-up anger and frustration boiling inside him.

  At times like this, there was a lot to be said for a good physical fight.

  He turned off the ignition. As far as he could tell, traffic appeared normal for this time of day. School was in session, so there were no children outside playing games or riding bicycles. A young woman carrying a violin case came out of the building, braced herself against the stiff wind and moved briskly along the sidewalk. One of Cynthia’s neighbors, he recalled. She’d told him they were musicians.

  “Why do ya need to go to her place?” O’Rourke inquired before Trevor took off this morning. “Cynthia’s not going to be there. She’s smarter than that.”

  Yes, she was. But still, he felt he’d missed some small clue. He’d seen Cynthia’s apartment but hadn’t had the chance to really investigate the building or surroundings, except for the roof. That had come up empty, except for the burning memory of what she’d said about sunbathing up there. Just thinking about that made him hard. He shifted in his seat.

  Focus, man. Once inside her place, he hoped to find a hint to her current hiding place.

  The police had done a fine job of finding nothing. Besides the blood smears and a partial shoe print, they had no trace on the man who broke in and attacked her. None of the hospitals reported a man coming in to the ER for treatment of blunt-trauma head injuries—the likes of which could have been made by a frightened woman fighting for her life with a golf club.

  How Cynthia had been able to disappear amazed him still. What surprised Trevor even more was that he didn’t hate her for it. If he’d learned anything from his service with Interpol, it was that certain gems cast spells over some people, making them act out of character where sanity and good, common sense ordinarily ruled. Simply put, Cynthia had been bespelled by the lovely Russian white diamond.

  All things considered, she’d reacted in a most normal fashion. Her saving grace had been the return of her common sense after she saw how another person had already died trying to keep the jewel. She’d escaped at the most opportune moment and in plain sight.

  The numbers Cynthia left in his hotel room were legitimate. A member of the Steinbrunn family had called early this morning to thank Trevor personally for his work in recovering their family fortune. He should have felt elated. But reading Cynthia’s handwritten note left a hole in his heart. Clearly, their time together meant something special to her. He couldn’t rest until he found her again.

  His cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the caller’s ID. “St. James,” he answered.

  “This is Paul Lyons. Who is this? A man named O’Rourke left me a message to call your number immediately. Something about my sister, Cynthia. What happened to her? Is she in trouble?”

  Trevor smiled and gave thanks to O’Rourke’s tenacious fact-finding abilities. “Hello, Paul. Thank you for returning our call. My name is Trevor St. James. I’m a recovery agent for Interpol.”

  “Who? Interpol? What the hell does that have to do with my sister? Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know at this point, Paul. She’s missing. Your sister could be in a lot of trouble, I’m afraid. I’m hoping you can help me find out where she might be.”

  The line was quiet for an unnerving second. “How do I know you are who you say? What happened to Cynthia?”

  “Unfortunately I can’t show you my ID through the phone, so you’ll have to trust me. I want to help your sister, Paul. Do you know where she would go? Is she at your place in Chicago?”

  “No.” Paul’s breathing sounded scared on the phone. “She’s not there. And she’s not answering her phone either. Are you a police officer?”

  “I’m an Interpol agent. I recover lost or stolen gems.”

  “Goddammit! If you hurt her, I’ll break your fuckin’—”

  “Settle down, Paul. I’m looking for her to protect her, not harm her. I need to know where is. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Yeah, I know where she went. But I’m not telling you over the phone, not until I know who, or what you are. I’m calling the New York City police department first.”

  The line went dead. Quickly Trevor redialed the number. It was busy. He left a message, urging Paul to call him back, pleading with him not to call the police with any information on his sister’s whereabouts. Trevor feared giving the police a valuable lead. He had to move quickly.

  Trevor exited the car and approached the locked, steel door of Cynthia’s apartment building. A row of call buttons graced the panel beside it. He tapped on them one at a time, hoping someone would answer.

  “Hello,” a sleepy-sounding man’s voice said over the speaker.

  “U.P.S. delivery,” Trevor announced, using his best American accent. “I need your signature, sir.”

  Foolishly the man buzzed him inside. Did people really not learn anything from watching crime shows on TV?

  He took the stairs up to her apartment three at a time. From inside his leather jacket pocket he fished out a locksmith’s tool. He inserted the slender piece of metal, wiggled it a few times and unlocked her door.

  The door across the hall from Cynthia’s apartment clicked open at the same time. He tensed, reaching a hand inside his jacket for his gun. When no other sound came, he glanced over his shoulder.

  A gray-haired lady with a head full of pink plastic curlers stood there. She peered at him through half-rimmed, tortoiseshell eyeglasses. She wore a red velvet dressing gown, the kind with a zipper from neck to hem and white socks on her feet. Her smile warmed her sallow complexion.

  “Hello.”

  Trevor opened Cynthia’s door and tucked the locksmith’s tool back into his pocket. “Hello,” he answered.

  “I’m Ellie Perkins, Cynthia’s neighbor.” She opened her door a little wider. “I see you have a key to her apartment. You must be her new boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend…ah, yes.” How could he squash such a sweet, hopeful grin?

  “Hmm,” she murmured, pursing her thin lips together and making no pretense about looking him up and down. “You’re very handsome. I was wondering, is she okay? We haven’t seen her for a few days. Not since that horrible burglary a few days ago.”

  There was no use worrying the old woman. “Yes, Cynthia’s fine. She’s a little scared still and doesn’t want to come back here yet.”

  The lady frowned in sympathy. A white cat pushed a delicate nose at the space between the door and the woman’s legs and then darted through before she could react fast enough. “Oh, Moses! Come back here.”

  Like a streaking white ghost, the cat ran across the hall and slipped past Trevor, disappearing into Cynthia’s apartment. He pointed in the fleeing feline’s direction. “That’s Moses? Cynthia’s cat?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Perkins nodded. She took a step out of her apartment. “Let me just get him back.”

  Trevor held up his hand. “That’s okay, really. I’ll take care of him. Where’d you find him?”

  The lady glanced worriedly at Trevor and then shuffled back to her own apartment. “I found him hidi
ng in the stairwell after the police took Cynthia away. I couldn’t just leave him out on his own, you know? That would be cruel. So, I’ve been taking care of him for her. I know how much she loves him and he’s such a good kitty. I’ve really enjoyed his company.” She rubbed her hands together as if she were chilled.

  “Well, Cynthia will be glad to know that, Mrs. Perkins. She’s been very worried about Moses. That’s why I’m here anyway. I’ll tell her you were so kind and bring him to her now.”

  A sad smile creased her face. Her blue-gray eyes blinked behind her glasses. “Thank you. Maybe I’ll get a cat, too.” She brightened. “Anyway, I’m glad Cynthia’s okay. Such a sweet girl. But I’m sure you know that, hmm?”

  He scratched his chin. “Sweet. Yes, she is.” Tastes good too, he thought wickedly.

  “And she’s very quiet, always working. Oh, I hope she’s doing much better now. Would you tell her I said ‘hello’?”

  Trevor smiled back. “I sure will. I’d better find Moses and be on my way back to her. She’s going to be very happy to know he’s been so well cared for. Goodbye, Mrs. Perkins.”

  “Bye-bye,” she waved, giving a little sing-song to her voice before closing her door.

  He slid inside Cynthia’s apartment and gently closed the door behind him. The window in her living room had been replaced but shards of glass still glittered on the carpet. Obviously the landlord didn’t believe in cleaning up after himself either. Trevor pictured Cynthia’s pet walking through that glass and cutting a paw.

  “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” he called out and grimaced at how silly he felt saying it. He moved slowly through the living room. Where did the fickle puss go? He preferred dogs over cats. Dogs came when you called them.

  He eased through the living room, scanning the walls, the furniture, the tiny crevices where things could be hidden in plain sight. The police hadn’t been successful in finding her safe. Searching for her cat would be a good reason to sniff out any other secrets she might have left behind, the kind the NYPD had missed and might possibly give him a clue to her whereabouts.

  A collection of framed photographs lined one wall. He stepped closer. These were family photos. Her twin brother looked nothing like her. In fact, the twins took after the opposite sex parent. They seemed to be a very close family with lots of carefree hugging, happy enthusiasm and wide smiles captured on film. He envied her that.

  His cell phone rang inside his pocket. He didn’t bother to look at the ID this time. “St. James,” he answered.

  “Boyo, yar in luck,” O’Rourke chimed with excitement. “The two numbers from the hotel phone were calls she made yesterday, all righty. The first was to the humane society. I presume to find her pet cat?”

  Trevor stepped into Cynthia’s small, tidy kitchen. The cat in question bent over a ceramic bowl and delicately lapped water with a slim pink tongue. “Most likely. I’ve found him, by the way.”

  Moses meowed before sauntering over with a long, white tail held high in the air. The animal wrapped his lithe body around Trevor’s lower leg and rubbed against him in total adoration. No wonder women loved cats. He bent down to rub his finger over the silky fur between the cat’s pointy ears.

  “And the second call?”

  “Was made to a real estate company, Miller–Christensen,” O’Rourke continued methodically. “The lady I spoke with, Joyce Burnett, is one of their representatives. I had to do some fancy backtalk.”

  O’Rourke stretched out the word “backtalk”. Trevor bit back his automatic retort, knowing that the wily Scotsman was teasing him about knowing Cynthia’s whereabouts. “And what did the lady reveal to you?”

  “I found out that Cynthia’s parents have a small summer cottage for sale, or ‘cabin’ as she called it. The property is in upper New York, about three hours’ drive from the city on Little Saranac Lake.”

  “Interesting,” Trevor mused, still petting the cat. “I’m assuming since this cabin hasn’t been sold yet, that it’s vacant?”

  O’Rourke whistled a merry tune. “As a matter of fact, Ms. Burnett was kind enough to let me know that the owner’s daughter would be there for a few days. If we were interested, it’s available for viewing at any time. All she had to do was call the manager to let him know. Now, I think I should make the trip to check it out, seeing as how yar busy today. The cabin sounds like a nice, quiet little place in the country. After all the excitement ya caused, I could use some rest and relaxation, ya know?”

  “Ah, mon ami,” Trevor chuckled. “I’m the country lad, remember? You have allergies to things like grass and cows.”

  “Oy! In case ya haven’t noticed, it’s winter. The grass is finally dead, covered with snow. As fer the cows, well, I try not to get too close to the drooling beasties. Besides, the pretty lass ran from ya. She smiled at me. She likes me.”

  Their lighthearted banter served to lift Trevor’s grim mood. He scooped Cynthia’s cat up with one hand and stood. The feline purred and cuddled eagerly against his chest. Much like the woman herself. A satisfied grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. How pleased and grateful she’d be to see her pet again.

  “O’Rourke, I’m holding her lost cat on my arm. If nothing else, seeing him alive and well will make her smile more than your grimy mug, trust me.”

  “I’m sure of it, St. James.” O’Rourke’s dramatic sigh gusted through the phone. “Now, be careful. And be gentle with her. Do ya need anything else before ya go?”

  Trevor moved to the door. “No. You do excellent work, O’Rourke. It’s always a pleasure working with you. Just give me the address and I’ll be on my way.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Cynthia woke with renewed resolve to fix everything currently wrong with her life. A sound night of sleep inside the snug cabin and bright morning sky helped put things back into their proper perspective.

  No more running away. She had to face her problems and tackle them one at a time, or else she was no better off than a gerbil on a wheel—going nowhere, fast.

  Getting rid of that damned diamond and leaving New York City had been the first step in the right direction. The next step was to buy food and supplies for her stay in the cabin. The place was still furnished but not a crumb remained to satisfy her growling stomach. She ventured into town for breakfast at a local diner and then shopping.

  On her return several hours later, she silently thanked cranky Mr. Snyder for using his truck to plow a path through the resort. Not that he’d do such a task for her but it felt nice to think so. The wall of snow piled alongside the road reached up to the car’s windows. Bags of groceries and new clothes filled the backseat. From behind the protection of her new, sporty sunglasses she admired the pristine landscape surrounding the quiet, frozen lake. Tall pines drooped under the weight of snow on their bristly, green limbs. Blinding white late afternoon sunshine cast everything into stark relief. The clouds had cleared early and left the sky a spotless icy blue.

  The color reminded her of Trevor’s eyes. They’d become hard and cold when she’d made the decision not to go with him yesterday. An icicle had pierced her heart when he looked at her one last time.

  Cynthia dug her fingernails into the steering wheel and bit her bottom lip hard. A tight twist of guilt and regret hitched in her chest whenever she thought of him. It would go away. It would! She’d forget all about Trevor St. James, Interpol Agent. Soon. She just needed to stay busy, to focus on her ring design for the contest. Working would do that. How many times had she forgotten what day of the week it was when she was working? The sketchpads and art supplies she bought at the craft store in town would provide all the sustenance her aching heart needed.

  A carton of premium-quality ice cream and two bottles of Merlot tucked inside her groceries would soothe her mind for a few days, at least. She’d figure out what to do about the empty ache inside her body later.

  Cynthia parked in front of the cabin. She juggled her keys and two paper bags of groceries to the door. When she tried
to insert the key, the door pushed open.

  Hadn’t she locked the front door before she left this morning? Was she really becoming so absentminded she’d forget simple things like that?

  She glanced around and noticed for the first time the porch and footpath had been shoveled free of snow. The old, rusty snow shovel leaned against the wall. Despite her earlier desire to shovel the walkway, she hadn’t yet. Would Mr. Snyder do that? She scoffed. It was hardly his nature. She felt lucky when he’d plowed the road to the cabin.

  Stricken with indecision and a renewed sense of caution, Cynthia stood at the door for a moment longer. She jostled her grocery bags to get a better grip on them and looked around the front yard. No other cars, no sign of anyone else. She blew out a long breath into the frosty air. Her overactive imagination would relax once she got everything inside and locked the world out.

  Pushing the door all the way open, Cynthia stepped in and stamped her boots on the latch hook rug she’d made with her mom one summer. She pocketed her keys and set her grocery bags down on the floor. A crackling fire blazed in the fireplace. She removed her sunglasses and stared at the flames. There hadn’t been any firewood last night.

  “Mr. Snyder? Are you in here?”

  Meow-ow-ow.

  A white cat ran toward her, tail high.

  “Moses?” Cynthia blinked to be sure he wasn’t just an apparition. “Mo! Oh my God! Mo-Mo. Oh, my baby. You’re alive. You’re safe.”

  She dropped to her knees and held her arms open wide. Moses jumped into them. She hugged him, snuggled her face into his soft fur, planted kisses on his furry head and paws. “Thank you, God. Mo, how the hell did you get here? Oh, I don’t care, I don’t care. I’m just so glad to see you again.”

  Mo’s purr couldn’t get any louder. He dug his claws into her coat and clung to her with all his feline strength. Cynthia stood up slowly, deliriously happy to have her cat back safe and sound. Then, little by little, she realized how improbable it was for Moses to have walked here by himself. Someone must have brought him.