“Would you like to see the photo I got off the Internet?”
He hesitated, and she suspected he’d rather get back to those papers he’d stuffed in his desk drawer, but he finally said, “Yes, please. You’re doing a great job of gathering information here.”
She rifled through the computer printout on the desk until she found the paper she was looking for. Hugo studied it only briefly before handing it, along with Henry's receipt, back to her.
Hugo glanced up and saw Abby watching him with concern. “Abby, I’m sorry. I don't mean to disappoint you by being rather blasé about this. Finding an incredibly valuable necklace with an unknown owner here in the museum is exciting and intriguing. It's just that I have some things on my mind.”
Now he sounded more like the old familiar Hugo, a man always sensitive to the needs of people around him, a man whom she knew had helped more than one young Sparrow Islander to a college education, a man who’d given her the bluebird earrings she wore today.
“If it's anything you want to talk about, I’d be glad to listen,” Abby offered. “Or if I can do anything to help . . . ?”
He looked at her, head tilted, worry lines cut between his thick white eyebrows, and for a moment she again thought he was going to tell her something. That he wanted to confide in her. Then, although he didn't physically move, she sensed him backing off again.
“What else did this Web site have to say about our mysterious diamond?” he asked.
She, too, slipped back into the impersonal. “The Blue Moon comes with a superstition. A curse, actually,” she said lightly.
“What kind of curse?”
“The original owner in India was beheaded, reason unknown. An owner in France was believed murdered by a lady friend, although nothing was ever proved. A later owner, a wealthy woman whose family was a big name in the wine-making business, lost everything when some disease destroyed their vineyard.”
“Sounds as if an owner of the Blue Moon had better watch his back. And not let his insurance lapse.”
“It's kind of an all-purpose curse and may strike a whole area rather than an individual person. Most of a town in France where it was once kept burned to the ground. And a lodge in the Alps where a woman wore the diamond to a ball was buried in an avalanche a few weeks later, although, fortunately, no one was in the lodge at the time. Some disease hit another area where the stone was in residence. The Web site didn't say so, but if my knowledge of history is correct, the disease hit various other places as well.”
“Well, this does sound like one big, evil-tempered diamond. How was it supposed to have acquired this curse?”
“That wasn't explained. The beheading gave it a rather gruesome start, of course.”
“Does this mean this curse is now going to affect the museum because the diamond was here for a while? And we’re doomed to have, what? A flood, a fire, an earthquake?”
“An invasion of mice perhaps. I’ve spotted a couple in my office.”
Hugo laughed at Abby's frivolous possibility. “You don't take the curse seriously, I can see.”
“No, I don’t. God is in control, not some inanimate chunk of boron-contaminated carbon,” Abby said firmly.
Hugo lifted his white eyebrows at that inelegant description of the valuable blue diamond. “No jewelry company is going to hire you to write their ad copy,” he observed. “Not with that kind of attitude. You’re too truthful.”
“Diamonds are a form of carbon,” Abby elaborated. “Gordon Siebert said the color of a blue diamond comes from a tiny amount of boron mixed with the carbon. So when you get down to basics, that's all this valuable diamond is, a chunk of carbon contaminated with boron.”
“Put that way, it certainly sounds harmless. Not that I’d believe in something as foolish as a curse under any circumstances.”
“I do feel this really may be the Blue Moon. Not on a scientific basis, because what was on the Internet isn't true proof, of course. I just . . . feel it.” She also felt a faint flush rise to her cheeks because the feeling was so very unscientific, so very much just a feeling. Not how she usually approached a problem or situation.
Hugo lifted those expressive white eyebrows again. “Woman's intuition?”
Abby smiled. “I guess that's as good as anything to call it.”
“Good enough for me.”
Abby turned to go when a new thought occurred to her. She felt a fresh tingle of excitement. Why hadn't she thought of this before? “We have no idea how long the necklace had been hidden in the desk, and the desk is an antique. Maybe the necklace was put in there long before you brought the desk to the museum!”
“That's true. Actually, I think that makes more sense than the possibility someone hid the necklace in the desk during the time it's been in your office.”
“Where did the desk come from?”
He answered without hesitation. “I bought it right after you first agreed to become Associate Curator for the conservatory, and I was getting the new office ready for you. From Donna Morgan at Bayside Souvenirs.”
“Are you sure?” Abby asked. “I didn't know Bayside ever carried any furniture. I thought it was all knickknack type souvenirs, coffee mugs, kites, wind chimes, that kind of thing.”
“It was in the back room, not part of her regular stock. I’d been planning to go over to Seattle to look in office or antique stores for something appropriate, and then I heard Donna had this antique desk for sale so I stopped by to ask her about it. Actually, even though she had it for sale, she was rather ambivalent about letting it go, as I recall.”
“I’ll check with her and see what I can find out.”
“Okay. Only . . . be careful.”
“Be careful?” Abby repeated, surprised. “What's there to be careful about?”
“Nothing, I suppose. It's just that this situation with the necklace is very peculiar. With something this valuable, who knows who might be involved or what might happen?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ABBY DIDN’T EXPECT ANY activity at the museum on this drizzly day, but after her talk with Hugo a lively tour group from Scotland showed up and wanted a guided bird walk through the conservatory woods. It turned out, in spite of the drizzle and dripping trees, to be a surprisingly successful walk. An eagle perched regally atop the dead snag of an old cedar, almost as if posing so everyone could admire and take his photo. Blue jays were in noisy abundance, and she even spotted a colorful ring-necked pheasant on the ground. Several people in the tour wanted their photos taken with Abby.
The group trooped through the museum afterward and bought what looked to Abby like enough postcards for all their known relatives back home.
Later, when she was back to work on the new exhibit, organizing a display of feathers along with information on how the different types affected flight, Hugo stuck his head into the workroom. “No effect from the curse yet?”
“I haven't even seen another mouse.”
“Good. Maybe we’re safe then.” He gave her a jaunty wink.
Abby was pleased to see that Hugo's usual good humor had returned, although she wondered if he wasn't putting on a cheerful face for her benefit. Hugo was not usually a winking man.
Abby looked at her watch and was surprised to see that it was already almost 1:30. “I think I’ll run into town for lunch, okay?”
“Sure.” He hesitated, and for a moment Abby thought he was going to issue another warning about being careful. But all he did was smile and say, “Just don't let Donna talk you into buying a flock of her glow-in-the-dark frogs. She's already donated a bunch of them to Dr. Randolph to give to kids at the medical center.”
Hugo obviously guessed she intended to use her lunch hour for a trip to Bayside Souvenirs. “I’ll be careful.”
“About getting stuck with a lifetime supply of frogs?”
She smiled too. “About everything. I’ll be close to the Springhouse Café, so I’ll probably stop there for a sandwich.”
Once in to
wn, she had no difficulty finding a parking space right in front of Bayside Souvenirs. Traffic was light today. Touristy items filled the windows, everything from Sparrow Island T-shirts to big ceramic platters with topographical maps of the San Juan Islands. And yes, floppy-footed frogs of rubbery green plastic that looked as if they indeed might glow in the dark.
The shop was empty of customers at the moment, but Donna, fortyish, slim, blond and bubbly, was rushing around restocking shelves. “Have you run into those tourists from Scotland? They came in here and bought everything in sight! There are going to be Sparrow Island T-shirts all over Scotland.”
Before Abby could even respond to that greeting, Donna rushed over and gave her an enthusiastic hug. “What are you doing in here today? Oh, you’re looking wonderful! I love those bluebird earrings. How about some woodpecker salt and pepper shakers? And aren't my frogs fantastic?”
Abby laughed. Donna's enthusiasm for her merchandise almost made her want to scoop up a purchase, even though the last thing she needed was salt and pepper woodpeckers. Or floppy frogs, which peeked from nooks everywhere. “Today I’m just after information.”
“Information?” Donna's bubbles turned to surprise. She was wearing a green paisley smock over dark slacks and a turtleneck, blond tendrils escaping from a haphazard topknot tied with a green ribbon. “What could I possibly know that you don’t?”
“It's about the desk in my office in the museum. Hugo says he bought it from you.”
“Oh yes, I remember that desk well! Those beautiful walnut burl inserts and all those compartments and pigeonholes.” She clasped her hands together as if enraptured by the memory. “And those lovely dangling wooden drawer pulls with the brass tips.”
Hugo had definitely not made a mistake about having purchased the desk from Donna, then. Her description was exact, right down to the brass on the drawer pulls.
“I bought the desk with the intention of keeping it for myself,” Donna explained. “I had it here at the store just until I could get rid of an old metal desk at home to make room for it. But I rather quickly realized I’d paid more than I could afford for it and decided to sell it. I mentioned that to several people, but then, by the time Mr. Baron showed up asking about it, I’d become attached to it and decided not to sell after all.”
Donna smiled at Abby's bemused expression as she listened to this rather convoluted explanation of her relationship with the desk.
“But then you did decide to sell the desk to him after all?”
“He wanted you to have something really special, I think. He mentioned you specifically, and I just decided such a handsome old desk really deserved to be in some place like a museum rather than stuffed in a corner of my living room.”
“So where did you get the desk?”
“It was in an estate auction right here on the island. Remember that guy out on Wayfarer Point Road who died of a heart attack, and then his widow had some professional outfit come in and hold a big auction? It's that big yellow house with all the rock work out front.”
“I know the house. I think some people named Duranger own it now. They don't live there full time, but they’ve come to the museum a couple of times.”
“Maybe the heart attack was before you came back to the island. Although it couldn't have been much before. I don't remember how much time there was between the man's death and the auction. Although I do remember it was about the time I had the new sign put on the front of the store here…” She cocked her head as if trying to withdraw the information from some memory bank.
Abby tried not to get impatient with Donna's irrelevant details, but she prodded gently to hurry her along. “And so—?”
“And so I went out to the auction, fell in love with the desk and bought it. I wanted to bid on a beautiful old étagère too, but after buying the desk I couldn't afford it. The prices were exorbitant. And you know how it is when you’re bidding on something. You wind up going way higher than you intended. Buyers came from Seattle and Portland and everywhere. It was quite an event.”
“You checked the desk over thoroughly when you bought it?”
Donna gave Abby a look that suggested she thought that an odd question. “I suppose. Although I don't really remember. Are you thinking it isn’t an antique, maybe just a rip-off copy?”
“Oh no, nothing like that. Definitely antique. A beautiful antique. I’m just wondering …You didn't find anything in it?”
“Maybe a couple of old pencils and some paper clips. But no stash of hundred dollar bills or family jewels or anything like that, unfortunately.”
Abby knew Donna's mention of “family jewels” was just chatter, but its closeness to the possible truth jolted her anyway. “You didn't hide anything in it yourself?”
“Me? No. Of course not. Why? Did you find something in it?” Donna's green eyes lit up with interest.
Abby detoured that question with one of her own. “Do you know anyone named Claudia?”
“Here on the island?”
“Possibly. Although not necessarily.”
“I have a cousin named Claudia down in California. But I don't know any Claudia here on the island. Abby,” Donna chided with a small frown, “you’re acting very mysterious. What's this all about? Did you find something in the desk?”
Abby again detoured the question. “Do you have any idea how I might go about contacting whoever formerly owned the desk? The widow I guess it would be. Is she still on the island?”
“I’m sure she isn’t. I don't think she even attended the auction. Too painful, I suppose. She’d lost her husband, and then to have to get rid of her home and all her beautiful furniture and antiques too. I’d certainly have been sad to see them go if I were her.”
“Do you remember this woman's name?”
“Oh sure. It was kind of unusual. It’s—” Donna broke off, frowned and caught her lower lip between her teeth, as if that might help her think. Apparently it didn’t. “Well, isn't that frustrating? The name is right up there in my head, but I can't quite grab it. But I can look it up, though I’ll have to go into last year's records to do it.”
Abby's first inclination was to say, Oh, I don't want to put you to all that bother. But on second thought she smiled encouragingly and said, “Could you?” She really wanted that name.
Donna headed for a green curtain strung across a door to her supply room and office in back. “This may take a few minutes. If anyone comes in, push those glow-in-the-dark frogs, would you? I can't believe how many I let that salesman talk me into buying.” Donna's disappearance behind the curtain was followed by several unidentified clunks and thumps, then a small crash as if something fell over, but she didn't stop talking. “Do you suppose the fact that he was so good-looking had anything to do with it? I’ll have to sell a frog to every tourist who visits Sparrow Island in the next six months to get rid of them all.”
“You can do it,” Abby said. She’d once heard someone say that Donna could sell hair spray to a bald man. Although it appeared she may have met her equal in the floppy frog salesman.
Donna returned triumphantly waving a scrap of paper. “Here it is. Her name was Liberty Washington. Isn't that odd? But kind of pretty too. Though it's hard to imagine a mother yelling, ‘Liberty, you get that smirk off your face right this minute!’”
Abby shook her head. Talking to Donna was like trying to carry on a conversation with a small tornado. “Do you have an address?”
“No, but you might be able to go through the auction company to get it. I wrote their name down, too, along with a phone number in Woodinville that was on the sales slip.” She pointed to a second name on the scrap as she handed it to Abby.
“Donna, thank you so much. You’ve been a big help.” She tucked the scrap of paper in her purse.
Donna tapped Abby on the front of the shoulder. “What I want to know is, a big help with what ?”
“A …problem. A small problem,” Abby added quickly, not wanting to whet Donna's curiosity
. “And I do believe I’ll buy one of those glow-in-the-dark frogs.”
Bobby McDonald would get a kick out of it. She pulled out her wallet and handed Donna a ten. If she hoped the sale would distract Donna's curiosity, she was mistaken.
“That beautiful old desk. Something mysterious in it. A mysterious woman named Claudia,” Donna mused as she tilted her head before counting the change into Abby's hand. When Abby didn't offer any explanation, Donna said, “I know! You found some mysterious document hidden in the desk. A will, perhaps, maybe relating to someone named Claudia? Or maybe a long-lost pirate's map. Although it seems unlikely a pirate would be named Claudia.”
Abby laughed and didn't bother to deny Donna's wild speculations. “And here I thought I could keep it a secret,” she teased.
“Haven't I earned the right to know what this is all about, being so helpful and all?” Donna wheedled as she dropped the frog in a plastic bag.
“Later,” Abby promised. “For right now it's kind of a, oh, confidential matter.” Given the value of the necklace, Abby was now more certain than ever that the information shouldn't be scattered indiscriminately or people really would be coming out of the woodwork to claim the necklace. And given Donna's chatterbox personality, she wasn't the person to whom to tell secrets.
“Okay, I’ll just have to be patient then.” Donna gave a melodramatic, put-upon sigh. “Although patience has never been one of my virtues, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, Abby, tell Mr. Baron that if he ever decides to sell the desk, I’d love to buy it back. I have a different apartment now, one with more space.”
“I doubt he’ll ever want to sell.”
“Probably not. Oh, hey, I heard a bit of interesting gossip about Mr. Baron and a certain attractive woman yesterday!”
Donna's comment made Abby instantly uncomfortable. She tried to avoid listening to gossip and did her best not to pass it on. She didn't want to pay any attention to it now and this particular hint of gossip made her especially uncomfortable. Were people talking about some relationship between her and Hugo? “Oh?” she said warily.
The Blue Moon Page 6