The Blue Moon

by Lorena McCourtney

  Ida smiled. “No blabbing?”

  “No blabbing. Although it's probably a good thing Judee included the old photo along with the other information she spread around. It serves as a kind of barometer of honesty. Anyone who tries to claim the necklace using a description based on that photo can almost surely be classified as a phony.”

  ABBY THOUGHT THE DAY’S unpleasantries were over. First the phony Claudia, then the tense meeting with Gordon Siebert and Judee. Surely the day could only get better from this point onward.

  She was mistaken.

  The phone on her desk rang again a few minutes later. The museum had several incoming lines, with separate listings for Hugo, Abby and the front desk. Abby answered it the way she always did. “The Nature Museum. Abby Stanton speaking.”

  “Get rid of it, lady,” a deep voice said.

  “Get rid of what?” Abby repeated, startled, her mind momentarily blank.

  “The necklace. The Blue Moon or whatever it's called,” the man said impatiently. “No one wants it here on the island. It's dangerous. Get rid of it.”

  “Dangerous? You mean because of—” Abby broke off. No, she was not going to say the ridiculous word and reinforce this nonsense about a curse endangering either individuals or the island as a whole. “I would point out to you that the necklace has apparently been on the island for a considerable length of time and no calamities have yet occurred. I believe everyone is quite safe. Who is this?” she demanded.

  He ignored the question and repeated, “Get rid of it, lady. It's evil. Deadly.”

  The phone went dead.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE NEXT TWO DAYS WERE blessedly free of strange calls of any variety. No more relatives of grannies who’d misplaced their valuable necklaces. No more harsh voices warning dire consequences if the necklace wasn't removed from the island immediately.

  As Mary had earlier suggested, Abby put in a call from the office to the Woodinville Chamber of Commerce to see if they knew anything about an auction company located in that area. She did receive helpful information, although it was helpful only in that it told her she could quit trying to find the company. A woman who answered the phone said the auction company had disbanded when the owner died a few months ago. No trail to Liberty Washington led along that dead-end path.

  She tried nightly to call the people in the yellow house, but always got the same empty ringing.

  Life in general, however, seemed to be settling back to normal. She started setting up the feather section of the new exhibit. Hugo reported that the specialist in Seattle was still keeping him on medication, hoping that would be all the treatment he’d require. Bobby called and said the ornithopter kit had arrived and he was putting it together, though he’d like to get a bigger one. Henry reported that so far no one had come to the substation to make an actual claim on the necklace, although he’d had a couple of cautious calls.

  One bit of information, the fact that the necklace was now resting in a safe deposit box at the bank, apparently hadn't yet made it into the rumor pipeline. Blessings on Steven Jarvis, Abby thought, for keeping what he knew confidential.

  Perhaps, Abby thought hopefully, the whole uproar around the necklace would die down now and she could quietly go about finding the rightful owner.

  Then a call came when Abby was home alone on Wednesday evening. Mary had gone out with her friends after attending Wednesday night Bible study at Little Flock Church. Abby had begged off, wanting to spend a quiet evening at home. The phone rang and Abby removed Blossom from her lap and put down the mystery she was reading. Here at home she answered with a simple hello.

  “I’d like to speak to Abigail Stanton, please.” A male voice. She immediately knew this was not someone she knew personally.

  “This is Abigail,” she stated warily.

  “My name is Jules Gamino. I’m calling from Friday Harbor over on San Juan Island. I’ve just run into information about a valuable necklace that I’ve been trying to locate for some time now. I understand you’ve found it.”

  Abby's first thought was, Here we go again. Another grandma story. Her second thought was about the necklace itself: If you’ve been trying so hard to locate it, Mr. Gamino, why didn’t Henry find some report of that in the official records? She put that thought into a direct question. “And have you reported to the authorities that the necklace is missing?”

  “No, it isn't that kind of ‘missing.’ You might call it a business matter. I was, how should I put it? Manipulated? Deceived? The blunt truth is that I was cheated out of the necklace by someone I trusted.”

  This was, at least, a story with a fresh angle. Although she was as skeptical of it as she’d been of all the other calls. “Your grandma perhaps?” she asked tartly.

  “My grandmother?” the man repeated blankly. “No, of course not. Why would you think my grandmother had anything to do with this? My grandmother wouldn't cheat anyone.”

  Abby, feeling guilty and mildly chastised for her frivolous remark, didn't elaborate. “Never mind.” She started to tell him to contact Sergeant Cobb, then changed her mind. If this was another fraud, perhaps she could eliminate him right now rather than letting him take up Henry's time. “Could you describe the necklace for me, please?”

  “No, that's one of the frustrating parts about this. I never actually saw the necklace. It was just part of this business deal. But I do know that the main stone in it was a very large blue diamond with an old-fashioned cut.”

  His refusal to describe the necklace surprised Abby, as did his reference to an old-fashioned cut. On quick consideration, however, she decided the man was probably just protecting himself, shrewdly eliminating the possibility of offering a wrong description. Did he know enough about diamonds that he’d been able to identify the cut from that old black-and white photograph that he had no doubt seen?

  It was also remotely possible, she had to admit, that he was telling the truth and did have an honest claim on the necklace. Somewhere there was a rightful owner, of course. Perhaps this Jules Gamino was that person.

  Carefully she tossed out a small line of bait to see if it snagged anything. “We have reason to believe the necklace was intended as a gift for someone.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  Apparently that part of the traveling rumors hadn't made it to him, but if he didn't already know the name Claudia, she wasn't going to supply it. “Perhaps you could tell me.”

  “Look, let's not play games. The necklace is rightfully mine and I want it. This so-called friend of mine who ripped me off had no right to give it to anyone.”

  Okay, Abby decided, it was time to turn this over to Henry and the sheriff's department and let them sort it out. Out of curiosity, however, she let herself ask one more question. “You’ve heard about the curse?”

  “Oh sure. Big deal,” he scoffed. “I’ve had plenty of miserable things happen in my life without ever having laid a finger on that necklace, so I doubt my luck's going to get any worse when I do get hold of it. Now, let's arrange a—” He broke off as if he’d just thought of something. “You’re entitled to a reward, of course. Ten percent… no, let's be fair. How does fifteen percent sound to you?”

  All these generous people and their rewards! Although perhaps bribes would be a better word.

  “Actually, I should tell you that the necklace is no longer in my possession, so I can’t—”

  “So where is it?” he cut in. The gloss of smooth politeness had suddenly vanished, his tone now sharp as a lawyer's cross-examination.

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose that information. You’ll have to talk to Sergeant Cobb. He's the officer in charge at the local sheriff's substation in Green Harbor. He's handling all claims concerning the necklace.”

  “Claims? How many claims are there? Let me tell you, if anyone but me is making a claim, they’re trying to con you.”

  “You’ll have to talk to Sergeant Cobb.”

  There was silence as the man apparently dige
sted that bit of information. Abby doubted he liked hearing that he’d have to deal with an officer of the law rather than a lone woman whom he thought he could manipulate or intimidate.

  “Surely you didn't think I’d keep such a valuable item just lying around my home or office?” she suggested lightly.

  “If you turned that necklace over to the authorities, Ms. Stanton, you’re not nearly as intelligent as I thought you were.”

  The statement startled Abby. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because items disappear when they’re in police custody. Drugs that are supposed to be evidence in a trial come up missing. So do guns, which sometimes show up later on the black market and then back in the hands of criminals. Cops aren't saints, you know. They’re as tempted as anyone else by the chance to make a quick buck.”

  “I can assure you that Sergeant Cobb's integrity is above question. He is absolutely honest. I’d trust him with my life. The necklace is safe in—”

  Abby stopped herself, realizing just in time that in her anger with this man's ugly accusations she’d almost slipped and revealed the location of the necklace. She carefully finished the statement with generic vagueness. “The necklace is in a safe place.”

  The man's breathing made an audible rasp in the silence that followed, as if he were waiting for her to slip again. Unexpectedly he broke the silence with rough laughter.

  “Playing it cool, huh? Okay, I can understand that. Probably a smart move. I’ll be over in Green Harbor by Friday. I’ll contact you then.”

  “No! Please don’t. There's no need to—” But Abby was protesting to a dial tone. Jules Gamino had hung up.

  ABBY MENTIONED the unsettling phone call to Mary when she returned home that evening. Mary didn't find it particularly disturbing since the man hadn't actually threatened anything, but she was still fidgeting about the call when she sat down at her desk in her office the following morning. She couldn't pinpoint anything more disturbing about Jules Gamino's call than any of the other contacts. His tone had sharpened a couple of times, but, as Mary had pointed out, he hadn't made any actual threats.

  Finally, realizing that all she was getting done was ruining a perfectly good sheet of paper with nervous doodles, she dialed Henry at the substation and reported the incident to him.

  “I know he didn't make any actual threats, but there's something about the man that kind of twangs my nerves,” Abby admitted. “Some undercurrent I can't pinpoint, but it keeps tugging at me.”

  “Maybe it's the fact that he says he's going to contact you again. He sounds as if he doesn't intend to give up.”

  “His laugh didn't help. It was kind of sly.” Almost as if he considered Abby to be in an unspoken conspiracy with him and she was “playing it smart” so as to get the biggest reward money possible out of the necklace. “Of course, it's probably unfair to be suspicious of someone just because you don't like his laugh,” she added. But she hadn't liked the man's attack on the honesty and trustworthiness of law enforcement officers either.

  “I don't suppose he said what kind of business dealings this necklace was supposed to have been a part of?” Henry asked.

  “I didn't think to ask.”

  “I doubt he’d have told you anyway, if any such dealings ever actually existed. It may be just another wild story.” Static from a police radio scratched somewhere in the background. All the deputies had radios to keep in touch with the substation. “Hold on a minute, will you?”

  Henry put her on hold while he took care of official business, but he was laughing when he came back. “Small uproar over at The Dorset. Unbeknownst to the management, a guest brought in a pet ferret. Another guest became quite irate when it got loose and ran up his pant leg. A rather rude shouting match followed and a deputy had to intervene. But all is well now and everyone is having hot mocha lattes, compliments of the management.”

  Somehow the small interruption soothed her nerves and helped put everything into perspective. Not all law enforcement was deadly serious and dangerous, and she needed to keep that outlook on the necklace situation. The claimants, including Jules Gamino, were probably all more imaginative than dangerous.

  “Right. Now,” Henry said, obviously trying to stop chuckling and get back to serious business, “about this latest caller of yours—”

  “If he contacts me again, I can try to find out what kind of business dealings he was supposedly involved in that concerned the necklace.”

  “No, don't bother. I doubt you could believe anything he says anyway. If he contacts you again, just refuse to talk to him,” Henry advised. “Tell him he’ll have to talk to me. Then hang up.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BY SATURDAY EVENING, Abby was beginning to think she wouldn't hear from Jules Gamino again after all. He’d said he’d be on Sparrow Island by Friday, and now Saturday was almost gone. Perhaps he’d decided he didn't want to tangle with the law. Or a less comforting thought: Maybe it was just the weather that had delayed him.

  A new storm had blown in on Friday with gusts of wind and rain. By Saturday morning, the water around the island was so rough the Coast Guard had issued a small-craft warning, and only the indefatigable ferries were still plowing through the big waves.

  Whatever the reason Abby hadn't heard from Jules Gamino again, she was relieved. One call did come Saturday afternoon. Abby picked up the phone gingerly when it rang, readying herself to be firm and abrupt, but the caller was only cheerful Janet Heinz, secretary at Little Flock Church, saying they’d decided on an impromptu potluck the following day after church.

  “Pastor Jim, Patricia and I thought it would be a good way to celebrate the weather. Places all over the Northwest have been hit by drought, and here we are with enough rain to make people think we perhaps ought to start stockpiling lumber to build an ark.”

  “A potluck sounds like a fine idea.”

  “Bring whatever you’d like,” Janet added. “Somehow it all seems to balance out.”

  This was one of the many things Abby appreciated about Little Flock. People in this congregation had a definite “if life hands you lemons, make lemonade” attitude. And thank the Lord for the lemons while you’re at it.

  George Stanton had brought over three dozen fresh brown eggs, so Abby settled on deviled eggs for her contribution. Mary went fancier and whipped up a white cake complete with a picture of the church done in vanilla cream frosting on a chocolate background.

  “I don't know. It needs something,” Mary mused as she eyed her creation, spatula in hand.

  “People?” Abby asked.

  “Yes! People. That's exactly what it needs.” And she proceeded to add in a half dozen little frosting figures around the church—because it was the people who really made Little Flock special, as they both knew.

  ABBY ENJOYED THE BOUNTIFUL POTLUCK Sunday afternoon, a fitting follow-up to Pastor Jim's morning message on “Feeding on the Word.”

  The downpour of rain certainly didn't seem to affect anyone's spirits. Chatter and laughter filled the church's recreation room during the meal.

  Abby's mother had made good use of the abundant supply of eggs in a tasty potato salad with bits of colorful pimento for decoration. Candace Grover, Mary's manager at Island Blooms, had brought along her boyfriend from Seattle, lawyer Bradford Collins, and was introducing him around. Abby spotted Aaron Holloway and Ida. They hadn't been together during the morning service, but they were sitting together to share the meal.

  Singing followed the potluck. Hugo was there, his deep baritone coming in strong on the men's section of a praise chorus divided into parts. Afterward there was general socializing as small groups formed and reformed, people flowing genially from one cluster to another. Abby was talking with Sandy McDonald about Bobby's ornithopter project, when a gruff male voice interrupted.

  “Abby, what's this I heard about you finding a valuable necklace that was hidden away for a long time? Something that had belonged to your grandmother?” The speaker was short, s
tocky Frank Holloway, longtime owner of the local hardware store. He wasn't overweight, but today, after the big meal, the buttons on his snug vest were certainly being put to the test.

  Abby wasn't surprised by the reference to the necklace, considering all the information bouncing around the islands, but she was surprised that it came from the usually taciturn Frank. It must mean he was really curious. She was also startled by this totally erroneous connection with her grandmother. Where had that come from?

  “I hadn't heard anything about that,” Sandy said, looking interested. “Is this the grandmother on your father's side—” She glanced toward George Stanton, who was standing near the coffeemaker and laughing with Pastor Jim about something. “—or your mother’s?”

  “Is your grandmother the one who's supposed to have put a curse on the necklace?” Aaron Holloway, Frank's grandson asked eagerly as he came up to join the conversation. “It's said that something terrible will happen to anyone who owns it or touches it or something. Right?”

  Ida flicked Aaron with her napkin, an annoyed expression on her face. “Aaron, you know as well as I do that that's ridiculous. And even if such a thing as putting a curse on something were possible, which it isn’t, Abby's grandmother certainly wouldn't do it.”

  “What I heard is that anywhere the necklace is, that place may be in for trouble, and not just a few people,” Al Minsky, well known as the best mechanic on the island, put in. Abby saw him surreptitiously run the thumbnail of his left hand under the thumbnail of his right. Al's hands were always scrupulously clean, but he sometimes acted as if he were afraid he may have missed a bit of grease on his hands or under his fingernails. “Not that I believe that kind of superstitious stuff. Makes about as much sense as that movie with the haunted car running people down all by itself. But there was supposed to be an entire town in India or somewhere that was completely wiped out by a big earthquake while the necklace was there.”