by Adrianne Lee
It was like stepping into an ice cave. It wasn’t physically cold but visually chill. The bluish-white floor tiles, the snowy concrete walls, and the bleached cabinets looking like ice sculptures covered with glass. Pale blue velvet stools edged a display case of rings at one end of the room. Subdued New Age music floated from hidden speakers.
There was no other place quite like this in town. And no one else quite like Elton Ring, the proprietor. If I were to cast him in a movie, it would be as the diamond-mine worker rather than the gem merchant. Surrounded by riches, Elton appeared a poor man, his shirt fabric of the cheapest quality, his pants sale-rack rejects. Instead of a tie, he wore a jeweler’s loupe on a solid gold chain around his neck. His attention zeroed in on Meg. I prayed he wouldn’t mention the theft of her ruby engagement ring as I sought out the clerk, standing at the opposite side of the room, near the hallway to the inner offices where Elton cut and set stones.
“Just the person I wanted to see,” I said, easing up to the counter beside the nervous-looking clerk, a mousy, college-aged female with Elton’s big nose and bright eyes. His daughter Veronica. Movement in the corner of my eye brought me spinning toward the entrance to the back area. A WPD policeman filled the doorway. Troy. Uh-oh.
“Well now. This is interesting. What brings you all to the jewelry store this morning?” Troy skipped his gaze over the room, then pinned me specifically, as if I wore a T-shirt with flashing neon letters that proclaimed, I’m interfering with an official police investigation.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I had visions of being handcuffed and hauled to Weddingville’s police station, dumped into an interrogation room, and grilled like a cheeseburger at Big Finn Reilly’s Cold Feet Café. If I were a fictional private investigator, Agatha Christie would delete me from the pages of my own novel. I wouldn’t blame her either. Just as I couldn’t blame Troy. I knew the consequences of getting caught interfering with a police case. It’s not as though this were my first time. Nope. I’m officially a two-time offender.
Troy didn’t take me to the WPD but to a room at the end of the hall. A shelf with various boxes occupied one wall, and a worktable, positioned within easy reach, was decked out with tools I couldn’t name but assumed were a jeweler’s tricks of the trade. Troy shut the door behind us. The charged silence pounded against my ears. I retreated to the back wall, weighed down by guilt for dragging Meg and Jenny into this, for making them accessories. Apparently I wasn’t that contrite or prepared to face the music, however, since I kept wishing the wall would open up so that I could run outside. But the concrete was unyielding.
My gaze steadied on Troy. Tall, dark, and handsome to a fault. He was so good-looking, in fact, that I was pretty sure a lot of women didn’t appreciate that he could also be a hard-ass. That tilted smile, those dimples, and his disarming tone of voice gave the impression that you could talk your way out of whatever infraction of the law you might be accused of. I knew better. Troy was as serious about being an honest cop as I was about helping a bride find the right dress.
My ass was grass.
My nose twitched at the scent of something chemical that I didn’t recognize, but the smell of my fear was too familiar. “It’s your granny’s fault,” I declared before he could get a word out. “Her and that Irish Travelers’ curse.”
Troy blinked, his blue eyes like the flashers on a squad car. “Daryl Anne, I thought you’d learned your lesson about interfering with an official police investigation.”
He pulled that cop trick, clamming up, giving me the fish-eye, letting time pass to unnerve his suspect. Me. It was working. I wanted to spill my guts. But the truth was, I didn’t have any guts to spill. I’d just started my investigation. I had nothing but a super-short suspect list. And if I declared that I suspected Whitey, Mom would never forgive me. Before I gave in to the urge to confess all, Troy spoke.
“Wait. What? What do you mean about my granny and an Irish Travelers’ curse?” Troy had evidently been so intent on dressing me down that he hadn’t, at first, registered my outburst. I had his full attention now. My mouth dried. I stared at his badge, certain I could see my sickly face reflected there. He lifted his hat, his blue-black hair thick and unkempt. He scratched his head, and I had a lightbulb moment. His obvious confusion meant Meg hadn’t told him that she wouldn’t marry him without his granny’s ring. Damn and double damn.
I ran my tongue over my dry lips, wishing to find a zipper there so I could shut it. Seth apparently hadn’t informed Troy either that he’d spilled the beans about Meg’s ring. Despite how shocked he’d been at her meltdown. Why not? Was this some kind of guy code? He’d only tell Troy if Troy brought up the subject. Seth would probably figure it wasn’t his place. I, on the other hand, seemed to have no such scruples since I’d stripped the lid off that can of worms as if I were opening a tin of party peanuts. I groaned. Why did I always get stuck breaking bad news? It wasn’t like I wanted to inflict pain on others.
“Daryl Anne, I’m losing my patience.” He had his hand on the holstered gun at his hip. Definite incentive for a perp to cooperate. Not that I was a perp. He growled, “Start talking.”
I wrung my hands. “Well, er, you know the curse that’s on Granny O’Malley’s ruby ring—”
“What the hell?” His voice rose a couple of octaves, and his lifted brows declared me certifiable. “What curse?”
Oh, brother. He didn’t know about the curse either? Didn’t he and Meg ever talk? Actually, what did I know about the curse except from some disjointed ramblings from Meg? I bit my lower lip, a habit of Meg’s, not mine. I wasn’t sure what I expected other than a sore lip, but maybe I was trying to conjure my inner Meg, as if that would reveal the actual curse to me.
“What curse, Daryl Anne?” Troy asked, impatience oozing from him like a feral scent.
“Well, er, I don’t exactly know for sure.” My fingers were at the nape of my neck, stroking the ends of my short hair. “I only heard about it last night, after Meg learned that the ruby ring had been stolen.”
“What! Meg knows about the ring? How?”
At that moment, I knew how a mouse felt cornered by a cat, its huge teeth and claws bared. I just didn’t have a hole that I could run to and hide. “Th-that was an accident.”
“An accident…?”
His face was getting awfully red. He wouldn’t keel over and die from spiking blood pressure, would he? Nah. He was too young. Too healthy. But Seth might. I cringed. When he found out I’d ratted him out to Troy. Darn it. I didn’t want to get Seth into trouble. He might lose his part-time work for the WPD. Maybe I could come up with some other way to explain how Meg could’ve learned about the ring being stolen. I blanked. Truth was, only the truth would do. Just the facts, ma’am.
Please forgive me, Seth. And Meg. I inhaled to steady my nerves. “There’s just no easy way to say this. Meg might not be ready to be engaged.”
Troy blinked as though he hadn’t heard me right, and then he looked as if I’d punched him in the gut. I swallowed hard. He leaned toward me, the burning in his face so fiery I thought I might burst into flames. “If you’ve done something to screw things up between Meg and me, Daryl Anne…”
Indignation steeled my spine. “Me? I’m not the one trying to rush Meg into getting married when she hasn’t totally dealt with what happened over two and a half months ago.”
He reared back as if I’d doused him in ice water. He recovered quickly, doing that cop-stare thing again, only this time I didn’t feel a smidgen of pressure to speak. I’d already said too much. Already crossed a line from which there was no retreat. I felt like the Grinch who’d just swiped Christmas, my mean heart shriveling in my chest. “I’m sorry, Troy. I don’t mean to hurt you, but I think it’s all been too quick for her.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Then why didn’t Meg tell me that?”
“What was she going to say with your folks and my folks and her folks and the big surprise?”
He seeme
d dazed. “But everyone was so happy…”
I nodded. It was the kindest thing I could do. After all, Troy wasn’t just a cop; he was also a friend, even if our relationship was sometimes more that of contentious siblings. “Because it’s what they’ve all wanted for you guys since you were in high school.”
“But Meg said yes.”
Did she? I still wasn’t sure about that. “As hard as this is for you to process, that’s how difficult—times twenty—it is for Meg to come to terms with her mother being murdered and with discovering she couldn’t trust her fiancé.”
“But she can trust me,” Troy said.
I had too long a memory to let that statement go unchallenged. “Can she?”
He scowled. “What does that mean?”
“Did you forget you ran out on her and joined the navy without saying good-bye in person?”
He paled. “That was years ago. We were too young to settle down then.” He lifted his hat again, finger-combing his hair. “But, yeah. Okay. I could’ve handled it better. Biggest mistake of my life.”
“You can say that again.”
“Cut me some slack, Daryl Anne. I know I fucked up. Hurt her. That’s why I didn’t come to L.A. to see her when I got out of the navy. She deserved better. Deserved me to be better. But I swear to God that I never got over Meg.”
But Meg thought she was over you. I didn’t say that to him. I wanted him to understand, but I didn’t want to be cruel. Besides, I knew now that Meg had never truly gotten over Troy. But if and when she decided to commit to him, well, that was up to her. Not me. “I’m only saying she might be feeling pressured. Look, you two need to talk without anyone else around. Give her a chance to tell you how she feels. Tamp down your own excitement and just listen to her.”
I wasn’t sure he could manage that, but it was the best advice I had to give—that is, if Meg would open up to him. And really, shouldn’t she, if she wanted to have a true relationship with this guy?
He stood there absorbing what I’d said. Not an easy task for a man with his pride and ego, holding on to his dignity in the face of being told the love of his life might be having misgivings about marrying him. I was a dasher of hopes. A tear slipped down my cheek.
Troy must have seen it. “God, Daryl Anne, are you saying that Meg doesn’t love me?”
I shook my head fiercely. “No, I—”
“Troy.” Meg banged on the outer door. “What are you doing to Daryl Anne?”
Troy opened the door. Meg stood, hands on hips, bristling. “We weren’t doing anything wrong—”
She didn’t get the rest of the sentence out. Troy caught her wrist and yanked her into the room. If he thought that would calm her down, he was sorely mistaken. She kicked him in the shin.
“Ow.” Troy hopped on one foot. “What the hell?”
I gasped, my gaze flying wide. Oh my God, attacking a police officer, interfering in an official police investigation, the crimes against us were stacking up.
But that was the farthest thing from Meg’s mind. “Don’t think you can manhandle me, Troy O’Malley. Not now. Not ever. I won’t put up with police brutality or with any man who gets physically or verbally abusive.”
He stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “You’re right. It won’t happen again. Ever. I’m sorry, sweetheart. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that your engagement ring was part of the jewelry lifted from this store yesterday, but I couldn’t. That detail is not information for public consumption.”
He glared at me over Meg’s head when he said the last, a reminder that I still hadn’t explained how Meg learned her ring was missing. Maybe I could get out of here without mentioning Seth. Better that Troy learned of his involvement from Meg, not me.
“And yet you told Seth,” Meg accused.
Troy’s eyes widened. “Seth told you?”
“He told Daryl Anne and I happened to overhear.”
Troy looked ready to explode. So much for getting out of here unscathed.
“Can you imagine,” Meg said, her voice softer, the anger abating, but there was hurt in her words, “how it made me feel hearing that secondhand? You should have told me.”
“I was hoping we’d recover the ring before you had to know.” Troy lifted a finger to brush Meg’s hair from her eyes. His gaze was tender. Full of love. “I wanted to spare you any distress, sweetheart.”
Meg moved into his arms. I glanced longingly at the door, wanting to slip out and leave them alone, but they stood between me and the exit. I glanced at the floor, hummed in my head, trying not to listen to their cooing love talk. My gaze wandered to a wall clock. Crap. I was late. “Oh my God, I have to get to the bridal shop right now. Unless… Am I under arrest?”
“What?” Troy lifted his head from Meg’s. “Oh. No. You can go. Just stay out of this investigation. Understand?”
“Absolutely,” I lied, fingers crossed behind my back. No way I could stop investigating this, not if he wanted to marry Meg and not if I wanted to clear Whitey of all suspicion, including my own.
As I scooted past Meg and Troy and hurried out into the hall, I heard Troy say, “Where did Daryl Anne get the idea there’s a curse on my granny’s ring?”
I picked up my pace, intending to leave without encountering anyone else who wanted a piece of me. I was in luck. I could see that Elton was outside with Whitey, discussing the security cameras.
“No kidding?” I heard Jenny say. I stopped in midflight. She was huddled at the end counter chatting with Elton Ring’s daughter. The two shot apart as they sensed my intrusion. Veronica’s face reddened, but Jenny remained calm. She gave me a bright smile. “Time to go?”
I nodded, saving my curiosity for the street. “We’re late.”
Stepping outside was like going from a soundproof box into a roaring carnival, cars and people everywhere I looked, happy chatter drowning the caw of the seagulls. Another day in expo hell. We both donned dark glasses against the glaring sun. I tugged Jenny to the crowded sidewalk, keeping well away from Elton and Whitey. We dodged shoppers, looky-loos, and locals making their way to various destinations. As we neared Blessing’s Bridal, Jenny pulled up short.
“What?” I asked.
“Before we get swept up in the chaos of this day, I thought you might want to know what Ronnie told me about the robbery.” Jenny smoothed her ponytail, her head tilting thoughtfully to one side. “Or is it burglary when someone steals from a store?”
“Ronnie?” I asked, steering the conversation back to the point.
“Veronica.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew Ver—er, Ronnie.” Why hadn’t she mentioned that fact before we entered the jewelry shop?
Jenny removed her sunglasses, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We met at Pre-Wedding Jitters. Lisa Marie introduced us and a couple of the other temps working the expo. We now meet there each morning for coffee before work to diss, er, discuss interesting customers and our employers.”
I arched a brow at this last. A bee buzzed near my ear. I waved it away, along with any concern that Jenny was bad-mouthing my family. She was treated well, and if she dissed a customer or two, they probably deserved it. What had my full attention was this coffee klatch of hers. I was also kicking myself for not realizing sooner that she might’ve made friends with the other temps in town. In mystery books and detective shows, everyone underestimates what the servants and clerks overhear or know. These temps would be a source of information that might lead to my unveiling of a thief.
“So, who’s in this coffee group?”
“Me, Ronnie, and…”
She rattled off names as I took note of where each worked, noticing one name that she hadn’t included. “Not Hannah?”
Jenny’s face clouded as she seemed to struggle for a polite way of saying, Your cousin is weird. She settled for, “Your relative is a bit of a loner.”
I nodded in agreement. Then asked what I really wanted to know. “Did Ronnie volunteer the information about th
e, ah, jewel heist?”
Jenny shrugged. “We got to talking about this and that, and she sort of blurted it out.”
“This and that?”
Jenny replaced her sunglasses and quirked her mouth. “She doesn’t want to work at the jewelry store. She wanted to go to art school in Los Angeles, but her father wouldn’t pay for it. He made her take business classes online. Although he’s more than willing for her to apply her creative juices to making an original jewelry line that he’ll bankroll.”
Veronica Ring, artist? I’d never imagined that shy ice princess had such a hidden talent. Or any hidden talent. In a small town like ours, keeping that secret would’ve been impossible. Even for Elton Ring. I wasn’t sure I believed it.
On the other hand, I loved the idea of knowing someone who designed jewelry. “Is she going to do what her father wants?”
Jenny sighed. “Why can’t parents embrace their children’s dreams? Why do they look at their kids when they’re babies and make up their minds about their kids’ futures without even knowing if that’s what their child will want when they grow up?”
I had no answer for that. I’d grown up not knowing anything but dressing other people and somewhere deep inside realizing and accepting that I’d one day be working at, or even owning, Blessing’s Bridal. But I’d never resented my heritage. I wasn’t so much forced into it as sucked into it. As far back as I could recall, I’d been fascinated by Gram’s handwork, by the feel of the lace and chiffon, of satin and ribbons, of veils. And tiaras. Especially tiaras.
I said, “Inheriting your family business isn’t always a bad thing.”
Jenny’s expression blanked for a quick second as if she couldn’t relate on any level with that statement. “It is if you don’t want it.”
I didn’t know her background but wondered if whatever went wrong between Jenny and her parents explained why they weren’t involved in her upcoming wedding. I didn’t ask. That little voice in my head was shouting at me like the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. “You’re late… you’re late…” Plus, I still didn’t know what Jenny knew about the jewelry heist. I caught her elbow and got her moving. “What exactly did Ronnie tell you about the theft?”