Had Jules Gamino, pretending to be an innocent bicyclist, come right here to the house? And if so, why? What was he up to?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HENRY CALLED MARY THAT evening just to chat, since he hadn't been able to come over for church. Abby tapped Mary on the shoulder when it sounded as if the conversation was coming to a close.
“Tell him I’d like to talk to him for a minute,” she whispered. “About our visitor.”
Mary continued the conversation for a few more minutes, then said to Henry, “We had a rather odd person come to the door today. Abby wants to talk to you about him.” She handed the cordless phone to Abby.
“What kind of odd person?” Henry asked without preliminaries, his tone instantly alert. “What did he want?”
Abby started to tell him what she knew, but Bobby suddenly appeared at her side. He’d been sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace eating a grilled cheese sandwich.
Now he held out his hand for the phone. “I can tell him.”
Abby hesitated. She didn't want to pull Bobby into this. But, unfortunately, the fact that he was the only one who’d actually seen and talked to the man had already pulled him in. “Here's Bobby. He's the one with firsthand experience.”
She listened as Bobby gave Henry a competent description of the man and what he’d said, including how he’d sounded wheezy. He added one item he’d forgotten to mention to Abby earlier: the man was wearing sunglasses.
Abby's suspicions instantly jumped a notch. Sunglasses with more rain threatening to fall any moment?
“So, what do you think?” Abby asked Henry when Bobby returned the phone to her.
“I don't want to get paranoid here. The guy could be exactly what he said he was, a bicyclist looking for the lighthouse. I’ve seen people pedaling out in the rain and insisting they were enjoying themselves even when it looked to me like they had to be miserable.”
“To each his own, I guess.”
“Right. And some people think it looks cool to wear sunglasses anytime, even at midnight. So he wasn't necessarily trying to use them as a disguise.”
“So you don't think there's anything to be concerned about?”
Brief silence before Henry finally said reluctantly, “I wish I could say that, but I’m not sure I can.”
“Bobby said he sounded wheezy.” Now Abby came out with her concern. “I don't think I mentioned it before, but that Jules Gamino who called me also sounded very wheezy, kind of raspy when he spoke.”
“You think it could be the same person?”
“I don't know. A wheeze isn't much to go on. But the whole thing just strikes me as suspicious. I’m wondering if Gamino thought I lived alone, but when he came to the door and saw other people he decided to remain anonymous.”
“Could be. Although he may not have intended to identify himself to you today. He knows you have no idea what he looks like. So he may have been checking you out.”
“That could be right.”
“The thing is,” Henry went on, “I can't pick up a guy just because he looks scruffy and sounds wheezy and wears sunglasses at unlikely times. None of that is a crime, and he hasn't done anything actually threatening or illegal. But until we get this all settled, neither of you open the door to anyone unless you know the person. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Like I said, I can't pick the guy up on what we have here, but I’ll run his name through official channels and keep an eye out for him. You’d think criminals would be particularly careful not to attract the law, but they’re always doing it. Running red lights, using defective taillights, getting in fights, things like that. That's often how criminals get caught, rather than some fancy detective work. Maybe I’ll spot him doing something.”
“Although this guy probably isn't going to commit any big traffic infractions on a bicycle,” Abby observed.
“True. But I’ll keep an eye out. If I spot him, I can just stop him for a friendly chat. I think we can be reasonably certain, whether or not he's up to something, that he isn't a Sparrow Island resident.”
Abby had already come to that conclusion. “He must have brought the bicycle to the island with him,” she reflected thoughtfully, “because the bicycle rental place down by the ferry slip is closed for the season.”
“Right. Good thinking. He may have brought it in a pickup or van, of course, and no one would notice. But if he was riding it, someone working on the ferry may remember him because there aren't many bicyclists this time of year. I’ll check with them.”
“It's kind of hard to think of some dangerous criminal tooling around on a bicycle,” Abby said. “It seems so, well, out of character.”
“True,” Henry agreed. “But it could be a really smart move on his part. A bicycle doesn't tend to arouse suspicions, and there's no car license number for anyone to catch. And a bicycle is easy to stash out of sight.”
“But, unless he takes a late ferry out tonight, he has to stay somewhere on the island. There's The Dorset, of course, although, from how Bobby described him, he’d certainly stand out among their clientele. The Chois’ bed-and-breakfast is still open, and maybe a couple of others are too.”
“He could be camping out, but he’d have to be pretty rough and tough to be doing that in this weather. But I’ll check the usual places.”
“Thanks, Henry. I appreciate this. I don't want to be a worrywart.”
“Like I said earlier, both of you need to be careful. Maybe we’d better make that all of you. You might mention this to Bobby's folks too. Although don't alarm them. From what I hear, there are already enough people on the island alarmed about the ‘curse’ factor with the necklace. We don't want to raise more fears. One thing I’ll definitely do is send a patrol car out your way more often.”
When Sandy came to pick Bobby up that evening, Abby did mention the visitor and Henry's warning. Sandy had already reported that her father was fine, just a bit agitated in the new setting.
“I don't think there's any danger,” Abby added when Bobby was out of earshot. “Bobby is in no way connected with the necklace, and this guy didn't try to do anything today. But be careful anyway, okay?”
Sandy nodded. “Are you sure you two are okay?”
“We’re fine,” Mary assured her. “Anyone tries to do anything here, we’ll zap him with our can of Raid. I read somewhere that a spray of it in the eyes is very effective.”
Sandy laughed. “Okay. I know how self-sufficient you two are. But call anytime if you need help and Neil will come right over.”
“Thanks. We hope it doesn't come to that though,” said Abby.
THE NEXT MORNING on her way to the museum, Abby remembered that she’d intended to call Donna Morgan but had gotten sidetracked. On impulse she decided to go by the souvenir shop and talk to her in person. Donna was just turning the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN when Abby pulled up to the curb. She could see that the brace around Donna's neck made it difficult for her to turn her head.
“I heard you’d hurt your neck so I just thought I’d stop in and see how you’re doing,” Abby said when she stepped inside.
“Oh, thanks, Abby. I appreciate that. It's nothing serious, just a strain. But with this neck brace on I have trouble even tying my shoelaces. And my neck hurts too, but I can't afford to close the store down and take time off. Though I might as well, considering how slow business has been the last few days.”
Donna sounded morose and grumpy, not at all like her usual bubbly self.
“I could take an afternoon off and come in to help out so you could have some time off. How about tomorrow afternoon?”
“Oh no, that's okay. Thanks anyway. I can manage.” Donna said it so hastily, that Abby was momentarily taken aback. “I just hope this is all that happens,” Donna added.
“Why would anything more happen?” Abby asked, but then she knew exactly what Donna was going to say even before she spoke.
“Because it was the necklace that did i
t, don't you think? It was right here in my store so now this happened. But maybe this isn't enough, maybe there's something worse coming.”
Now Abby realized why Donna would rather not have her on the premises. Abby, having had even closer contact with the necklace than Donna had, might bring calamity to the store with her.
“Donna, the necklace is just a thing. It can't cause something bad to happen. It can't cause anything to happen. No more than . . . than one of those silly glow-in-the-dark frogs can.” An oversupply of which were still peeking out from various shelves.
Donna ignored the frog comparison. “Tell that to the people in the town that burned down over in England or wherever it was,” she retorted.
Abby ignored this new contortion of the rumor that had now moved the fire calamity to England. “Donna, have you ever strained your neck or been injured before?”
Donna ran a finger along the ridge of her nose. “I broke my nose when I fell with my bike when I was a kid. There's still a bump. If I ever get enough money together, I’ll get it fixed. But that was my own dumb fault. I was pretending I was like that guy who jumped all those cars on his motorcycle, and I tried to jump my bike over—”
Donna stopped short as if suddenly realizing what Abby was getting at, that this wrenched neck was no more caused by the necklace than the broken nose had been. She glanced toward the back room. The green curtain was pulled aside and Abby could see into the room. It looked like a combined maze and obstacle course. A desk, boxes, files, tools and junk. A disaster waiting to happen.
Donna looked thoughtful as she fingered the stiff brace around her neck, as if she was considering Abby's argument, but then she said, “This is different. The necklace really did have something to do with this.”
Abby tried a few more points of logic, but Donna wasn't convinced. Abby left feeling thoroughly frustrated.
THE PHONE WAS RINGING when Abby reached her office. She stared at it, dreading picking it up. Given the way things were going, who knew who it might be? Another Claudia or Jules Gamino again? Then, not one to avoid hard situations, she steeled herself and picked it up it. “The Nature Museum. Abby Stanton speaking.”
To her delight, the call had nothing to do with blue diamonds, necklaces or irrational superstitions. The caller was a former colleague from Cornell wanting to, as he put it, “pick her brain” about possible exceptions to normal feather coloring in a certain species of woodpecker. They had an enjoyable discussion both on a professional and personal level.
So when the phone rang again later, she picked it up without really considering who the caller might be. “The Nature Museum. Abby Stanton speaking.”
“Abby!” the male voice said heartily. “I didn't know that's the name you go by. I must apologize for calling you Abigail before. It's probably a name you hate and never use.”
A slight wheeze identified the caller as Jules Gamino, acting as if they were old buddies. “I’m fine with Abigail. But I’m really quite busy this morning—”
“I won't take much of your time. Sorry I didn't contact you earlier like I said I would, but I just got to the island this morning. This is Jules, by the way. Jules Gamino.”
Just got to the island this morning. Abby doubted that, since she strongly suspected he was the man who had come by the house on a bicycle. But there didn't seem much point in challenging the statement, so she let it go.
“I told you before, Mr. Gamino,” she said briskly, “you’ll have to talk to Sergeant Cobb at the sheriff's substation in Green Harbor about anything concerning the necklace.”
“Oh, I don't think that's necessary,” he said easily. “We can do this quite simply. You just get the necklace out of safekeeping, wherever you have it, and I’ll see that somewhere down the line you get your share.”
“Mr. Gamino, I have no interest in receiving any share in the necklace's value. And you will have to talk to Sergeant Cobb.” A hint of challenge crept into her voice when she added, “And I’m sure you’ll have to provide some proof of ownership. Can you do that?”
“I told you, it was part of a private business transaction. A trade actually. My so-called friend got the necklace and I got nothing. He just up and disappeared with it.” Gamino was beginning to sound impatient.
“So what you’re telling me is that you don't have any proof of ownership?”
“You don't need to . . . All you …is … rightfully mine. And…want you…get it…”
His voice had been coming through clearly, but it suddenly started to break up, cutting off some of the words as if a giant scissors was slashing through them. Abby was puzzled for a moment, then realized this must mean he was talking on a cell phone. Cell phone transmission was spotty on most of the islands. Sometimes they worked great, but other times they were about as effective as yelling from one tin can to another. Gamino had apparently been standing in a good transmission area when he started but had now moved away from it. By car? Bicycle? There was also a faint sound she couldn't quite identify in the background, a little like Blossom's purr when it was in high gear, except with a rougher undertone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Gamino, but as I’ve told you repeatedly, I don't have the necklace. I turned it over to the authorities.” She wondered if her voice was breaking up as badly as his. Once more she repeated the bottom line. “Please understand, you’ll have to talk to Sergeant Cobb.”
“No. You understand this,” he growled, all pretense of joviality gone now. “The necklace . . . mine. No intention . . . dealing with …sheriff's …”
“The only way you can make a legal claim for the necklace is through Sergeant Cobb. I can't get it for you.”
“Then it looks as if I’ll have to come up with a way to convince you that you can get it for me. And soon.”
The warning, even with the inconsistency of island cell phone transmission, came through loud and clear.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ABBY REPORTED GAMINO’S call to both Hugo and Henry, along with the man's claim that he’d just arrived on the island. Both were as skeptical of that as Abby was. They, too, thought he was the man on the bicycle.
Henry said he’d contacted the ferry operators, but no one recalled seeing anyone arrive by bicycle recently. Neither was anyone with the description of their bicycle visitor registered at The Dorset, the campgrounds or the bed-and-breakfasts.
Abby tried to keep her mind off Gamino and spent the rest of the morning working on the new exhibit, with only one interruption. Another Claudia showed up, this one young and stylish in low-cut jeans and a tight, stretchy blouse under a denim jacket. She claimed the necklace was hers because it was a family heirloom. She offered a detailed description of the necklace, exactly the same as the photo on the Internet, which immediately raised Abby's suspicions about the authenticity of her story.
“The problem is that my grandfather developed Alzheimer's and couldn't remember where he put the necklace,” the young woman said. “He was always hiding stuff, like his pills. He’d pretend to take them, but then my mother would find them hidden in his socks or under the mattress.”
“I see.”
“And I don't know how you got it, but this desk where you found the necklace is the one my grandparents used to own,” she’d added with a triumphant toss of her considerable mane of gold-streaked hair. Some claimants seemed to know about the desk, some didn’t. “Grandpa made it and I know it's where he’d hide the necklace.”
Abby had a strong urge to laugh. She restrained herself, but she couldn't help her curiosity. The very brashness of some of these stories intrigued her.
“How do you suppose the desk came to be here on Sparrow Island?” she inquired politely.
The woman had a quick answer. “A renter stole a bunch of Grandpa's stuff. He must have sold it to somebody here.”
Abby considered and decided that on a scale of one to five, this story rated three stars for imagination but only one star for probability. She referred the woman to Sergeant Cobb. “Claudia,”
like the claimants before her, turned wary when she realized she’d have to deal with an officer of the law.
“Well, I’ll think about that,” she muttered. “Probably no point in it. They’ll figure some way to cheat me out of it.”
“No one's going to cheat you if you’re telling the truth and the necklace really is yours,” Abby said gently.
Soon after the woman left, Mary called Abby from Island Blooms and asked if she’d like to meet for lunch at the Springhouse Café. Abby agreed readily and drove into town a few minutes later.
The day, with the island's sometimes capricious changes of weather at this time of year, had turned quite pleasant, unexpectedly springlike for a late fall day. Boats dotted the calm water, rather like mushrooms sprouting in a field after the rain. Mary was in good spirits after a morning at the flower shop, which had included taking a big order for flowers for a Tacoma couple's fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration at The Dorset.
Abby knew Mary must regret that her own marriage would never reach fifty years because of her husband Jacob's death, but she also knew Mary had come to terms with the loss and was always thankful for God's other blessings.
Now, after placing their orders for the quiche that was the special of the day, Mary was laughing as she said, “And one of my students stopped in to pick up yellow roses for a flower arrangement she's doing for her sister. For a while I had my doubts about this woman's ever getting the hang of flower arranging. She brought in some ‘pretty leaves’ to use in an arrangement a while back, and they turned out to be poison oak.”
“Oh no!”
“But she's doing great now. She had some nice wild vines to go with the roses. So, how was your morning?”
Abby grimaced and filled Mary in on the details of her unpleasant call from Gamino. Abby then tried to lighten the mood with a “Claudia” story. “Another Claudia with a wild claim for the necklace showed up. She said her grandfather made my desk. At least this story didn't involve a grandma.” She glanced at her watch. “I want to try calling those people in the yellow house during the daytime about the woman they bought their house from. I don't suppose there's any more chance of them answering their phone in the daytime than in the evening, but I thought I’d give it a try.”
The Blue Moon Page 13