She kept on pacing. “What are the odds that Geoffrey would have that particular autograph page? Not to mention the odds of us being introduced to him?”
I’d been pondering the same questions. I’ve never believed in the spirit world, nary a word from my father from the great beyond about his death as a case in point. I’ve also heard stories about murder victims haunting the houses where they were slain until the killer was found. Who hasn’t? But I didn’t believe them. I pride myself on being a logical person. Spirits, ghosts, and tarot cards defied logic. There was always a plausible explanation, and Misty’s latest post and Geoffrey Burrell’s autograph page were no exception.
“I think it’s a lucky coincidence.”
Chantelle rolled her eyes. “Seriously? A lucky coincidence?”
“Coincidence or not, what should we do next?”
“I was thinking of asking Misty to do a reading for us.”
I liked Misty well enough, and Misty’s Messages had netted us a client and a great source, despite my earlier reservations. But there was a limit to what I was willing to share with her.
“I don’t want her to know about the autograph page.”
“She doesn’t have to know about it. We can just ask for a general reading.”
I wasn’t convinced. “What’s she going to say? That the investigation is on the right track? That we should be aware of strangers bearing gifts? I don’t see it as a viable option.”
Chantelle was not about to be swayed. “Okay, maybe Misty isn’t the best choice, but it’s still something I want to try. Didn’t you tell me that you saw a psychic when you were investigating your mother’s disappearance?”
I was forced to admit that I had. “But it wasn’t for a reading. I needed someone to interpret the tarot cards I found at Snapdragon Circle.”
“And did she? Interpret them?”
“Yes.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Chantelle said, a little bit smug. “What was her name and where do we find her?”
“Her name was Randi and she works out of Sun, Moon and Stars.”
“The shop behind Nature’s Way Whole and Organic Foods? I knew that they sold crystals and tie-dyed scarves, but I had no idea they had psychics.”
“I don’t know about the other…psychics…but Randi offers readings using tarot, tea leaves, and personal objects.”
Chantelle’s gray eyes glistened. “You need to make another appointment with her. I’ve been doing research on psychics and personal objects. There’s a thing called psychometry, also known as token-object reading. It’s a form of extrasensory perception characterized by the ability to make associations from an object of unknown history by making physical contact with the object.”
“Sounds bogus to me.”
“The basic concept is that an individual possessing psychometric abilities holds an object, and from that they are able to tell something about the history of the object, the person who owned it, and the experiences that person had while in the possession of it. The psychometrist may be able to sense what the person was like, what they did, and even how they died.”
“Is that so?”
Chantelle either missed my attempt at sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “Sometimes the psychometrist can sense the emotions of the person at a particular time because emotions are most strongly recorded in an object. If Randi had a personal object from Anneliese, it might help. Even one from Sophie couldn’t hurt, especially if it’s something she inherited from her mother.”
“Suppose I was willing to give it a try, we don’t have a personal object from either of them. I don’t think old photographs qualify as an object.”
“Maybe we don’t have anything right this minute,” Chantelle said, “but there’s still Sophie’s jewelry box. Will you make an appointment with Randi if there’s anything in there that can be traced back to Anneliese?”
“Why don’t you make the appointment? It’s your idea.”
“Because I believe in these sorts of things, which also means I could be easily persuaded. You, on the other hand, are a born skeptic. If it’s nothing more than smoke and mirrors, you’ll see right through it.”
She had a point. “Fine, I’ll make the appointment, but only if there’s something in the jewelry box worth taking to Randi.”
“I’m positive there will be,” Chantelle said.
I was pretty sure there would be, too. The thought didn’t bring me comfort. Psychometry indeed. Next thing you knew, I’d be planning my day according to my horoscope.
I was debating what to include in my report for Louisa when my phone rang. No caller ID.
“Past & Present Investigations, Calamity speaking.”
“Hi Callie, it’s Louisa. I’m finally back home after the road trip from hell. Don’t get me started on the flight from Halifax to Toronto. Anyway, enough about that, you said in your message you’d made some progress.”
“We have. There’s a lot more to do, but we’ve made headway, and we have some good leads.”
“That’s great.”
“About the report…there are some loose ends that I’d rather leave out until we can tidy them up. Taken out of context, they might be more confusing than helpful.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I know initially I requested regular reports, but I’ve never been good at digesting things in bits and bytes. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to wait until you finished the investigation.”
I breathed a silent sigh of relief. It would have felt wrong to withhold information about Anton Osgoode, especially given the autograph page, but I needed to find out what role he played, if any, in Anneliese’s murder. Or at least try to find out.
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. I trust that you’re working hard on the case. Now, if we’re still having this conversation six months from now, that would be another story.”
“Six months? If we’re having this conversation three months from now, you should fire us.”
“Okay then. Do you still want me to bring you Sophie’s chocolate box and jewelry? I’m afraid I haven’t had the time to sort through either.” Louisa blushed. “Who am I trying to kid? I just couldn’t face it so soon after her death. Put me in a business situation, no matter how difficult, and I can be ruthless, but I practice avoidance when it comes to personal matters.”
“That’s a normal reaction. One day, you’ll find comfort in these things. In the meantime, there may be something in there to assist our investigation.”
“In that case, I’m going to be in Marketville tomorrow morning to visit one of our franchisees. I’ll get everything ready tonight and drop them off on my way there. About ten o’clock, depending on traffic.”
“See you then.”
Tomorrow morning seemed a long way off. Patience might be a virtue, but it had never been one of mine. I tapped my fingers on the table, trying to figure out what to do next. I couldn’t concentrate; the autograph page had rocked me more than I cared to admit. The double hearts meant that Anneliese and Anton hadn’t kept their shipboard romance a secret, at least when it came to the autograph artist. The odds were the rest of the people at table eight would have known or suspected as well.
Would any of the tablemates have kept in touch with either Anton or Anneliese? It wouldn’t have been as easy then as today, but it was possible.
What if one of them was a blackmailer that went too far? Three years seemed a long time to make it a likely scenario for Anneliese’s murder, but a thorough search meant including the names in my newspaper search.
I put the autograph page in front of me and began deciphering the other eleven signatures, some easier than others, adding them to the list of nine names I’d already written down in my notebook.
Twenty names. It seemed overwhelming, but I’d been faced with overwhelming odds when I was searching for the truth about my mother. I could do it again.
At least this time, it wasn’t personal.
Exce
pt that maybe it was.
Damn those Osgoodes, they were nothing but trouble.
I forced myself to push all thoughts of Anton Osgoode out of my mind and hopped onto the Past & Present Facebook page.
Nothing on my request for ephemera from the T.S.S. Canberra. I felt all the more grateful for meeting with Geoffrey Burrell.
I knew posting regularly on Facebook would build our followers, something that was important to the business, but I wasn’t sure what to post about. I sipped on a mug of cinnamon rooibos tea, thinking about the possibilities. After a few minutes, I had it. Pearls. Anneliese Prei Frankow had worn a pearl necklace on her wedding day, along with matching pearl drop earrings. There was no chance of finding her pearl necklace, I knew that, but with luck it would garner enough interest to make an interactive post.
I searched online until I found a three-strand pearl necklace similar to the one Anneliese wore on her wedding day and began writing the post.
Pearls: lucky or not?
Ancient Greek culture believed that pearls would promote marital bliss and guard against tears on the wedding day. Modern day superstition purports that pearls are never to be incorporated into an engagement or wedding ring lest they bring “tears to the marriage.” Brides are particularly cautioned against wearing pearls on their wedding day lest they begin their new lives with sorrow.
What do you believe, and why?
For a brief moment, I felt like I’d taken a step toward making that other world connection with Anneliese, then I gave myself a mental slap upside the head. I was really getting silly about all of this.
It didn’t stop me from hitting the Publish button.
22
Louisa arrived promptly at ten carrying a clear plastic storage tote. I was struck once again at her likeness to Anneliese. As before, she was dressed conservatively, this time wearing a navy blue blazer with matching pants, an off-white camisole, and pearl drop earrings that were eerily similar to the ones Anneliese had worn on her wedding day. Could they be the same earrings?
She handed me the box, which was surprisingly light. “My mom’s jewelry and the chocolate box. It’s slim pickings, but I hope you’re right in that they might be helpful. At any rate, there’s no rush to get them back. I have no plans for any of it in the foreseeable future.”
“Can I share any of this online, provided we believe that it could help with the search? I’m not saying we will, in fact, the likelihood is remote, but I would like to have the option available. I’ve drafted up an agreement for you to sign, if you consent.” I handed her the document. “Basically it says we can post photographs on Facebook, Twitter, and our website, but we won’t post photographs of people. Your name, and the names of all parties, will remain anonymous.”
Thankfully, Louisa didn’t seem to find anything odd with the request. She read the document, signed it without comment, and got ready to leave. “I’m afraid I’m on the clock and can’t stay, but I appreciate your attention to detail. Email me if you have any questions. That’s probably the best way to reach me. I have a lot of travel scheduled over the next few weeks, but I tend to check my emails at least once a day, if not more.”
“Will do.” I hesitated for a moment, but I knew if I didn’t ask now, I never would. “I’ve been admiring your earrings. They have a uniquely old-fashioned quality to them.”
Louisa lifted her hand to her ear, smiling as her fingers made contact. “That’s because they’re really old. They belonged to my mother, used to be clip-on, but she had them converted for pierced ears a few years back. I’ve been wearing them quite a lot. My mother always said pearls had to be worn to stay alive.”
“I’ve never heard that expression. Is there a matching necklace by any chance?”
“No. Just the earrings.”
I felt an unreasonable crush of disappointment. “You’re going to think this is an odd request, but is it possible to borrow those earrings for a short time? I promise to give them back to you as soon as I can.”
“You want my earrings? How could that benefit the investigation?” Louisa studied me, her brown eyes curious. “Never mind, don’t answer that, I don’t need to know. I trust you. If you say you need the earrings, you need the earrings.” She removed them quickly, handed them over, and slipped out the door. She was gone before I could say thank you.
The first thing I did was pull out the photo of Anneliese on her wedding day. Using a magnifying glass, I zeroed in on the earrings and compared them to the ones Louisa had given me. There was no way to be absolutely certain, but they looked like a match.
I’d have to go through the rest of the jewelry, but I believed we now had our object for Randi. I checked the time. Ten thirty. If I were lucky, Chantelle would still be home.
She had a half hour before she had to head to the gym. I gave her a quick update.
“You’ve got to go through the jewelry without me.” I could hear the regret in her voice. “I’ve got my own Pilates and spin classes today. I have a two-hour break, and then I’m filling in for one of the other instructors who called in sick. Weights, not my strong suit, no pun intended, but they couldn’t find anyone else at the last minute.” She chuckled drily. “What does that say about me, I wonder?”
I steered her back on track. “Okay, I’ll look at the contents of the jewelry box without you. What about the photos?”
“Can you leave the pix until tomorrow morning? I’ve got early classes, and I’ll let the fitness manager know that I can’t take any extra shifts. She’ll get sulky if someone calls in sick again, but she’ll get over it. I can be there by eleven.” Chantelle’s voice took on a pleading tone. “It’s just that we work well together when it comes to photographs.”
“I’ll do my best to resist the temptation.” Teasing her, but not really. It would take willpower not to slip in a sneak peek. It was like knowing there was butter pecan ice cream in the freezer or potato chips in the cupboard. You might not even crave those things, usually, but suddenly all you could think about was chips and ice cream.
Ice cream, potato chips, and pearls. I was going to dream about them tonight, guaranteed. In the meantime, I had a jewelry box to open. I removed the jeweler’s loupe from my Detective Callie drawer, thankful that Arabella Carpenter had recommended it, and got to work.
The jewelry box was a creamy shade of white vinyl with an embossed gold-leaf design that had worn off in several places, and a veneer of ingrained grime that could only have come from decades of use.
It was the sort of jewelry box that had been around since the 1940s and could still be found at your local department store for a few dollars; not what I’d been expecting. I had envisioned polished black lacquer with an intricate cloisonné inlay or something in burnished mahogany with brass trim. I hoped the interior was more promising than the exterior.
I opened the box and a tinny tune started to play. I hummed along with it, searching the recesses of my mind while I tried to identify the song. It took a few bars, but I finally recognized it: “Some Enchanted Evening” from the musical South Pacific. I stared at the turquoise velveteen interior. There was a green velvet ring box, and a rectangular leatherette case. The rest of the pieces, a half dozen in all, had been carefully stored inside colorful organza bags. I placed the contents onto the table, trying to decide where to start.
The organza bags won, not so much because I thought they’d be of the most interest, but because I liked to save the best for last, and the ring box held the most promise.
It didn’t take long to realize that the organza bags were a bust. There was a silver necklace with a crystal pendant, pretty enough but clearly contemporary; a string of lapis lazuli which might have some value if the stones were genuine—unlikely based on the inexpensive clasp; four sterling silver bangles tarnished black from lack of polishing or use; and a bracelet with alternating silver-tone spacers, amber crystals, and glass beads in butterscotch swirl and chocolate brown. A tag inside the bag identified the bracelet as a c
ircle of hope bracelet for Golden Rescue, the association that fostered and adopted out golden retrievers in need.
The last two bags held a pair of crystal earrings to match the pendant, and a circle of jade on a leather string. Not a chance either would have been part of Anneliese’s wardrobe.
I tackled the leatherette box next. Inside were eight brooches in various shapes and sizes. Three had been stamped avon and another two sarah coventry. Based on the designs, I dismissed them as being too recent to be of interest, though I recalled a time when Sarah Coventry home jewelry parties were all the rage.
That left a stickpin with a red metal rose circa 1970s; a gold-tone wreath with garnet and aurora borealis stones, reminding me of a vintage brooch I’d seen at the Glass Dolphin antiques shop; and a round brooch, about an inch in diameter, layered with aquamarine and sapphire stones, gold-tone fleur-de-lis, and clear rhinestones surrounding a large central rhinestone.
I picked up my jeweler’s loupe and studied the round brooch. The gold had discolored with dirt and age, and the stones had lost some of their luster, but it would have been lovely once, if not particularly valuable. I’m no expert on vintage jewelry, but this looked like something from the 1950s. The fleur-de-lis, a decidedly French symbol, interested me as well. I wondered if Anneliese had purchased this brooch in Quebec City as a souvenir of her trip.
I took out the photographs of Anneliese again, looking for evidence of the brooch, and found none. Nevertheless, I kept it aside.
That left the green velvet ring box. I opened it up and felt my breath catch in my throat. Because inside the box was a narrow yellow-gold wedding band with delicate filigree detailing. I went back to the photos of Anneliese playing with Sophie and, using the jeweler’s loupe once again, brought her hands into closer focus.
There was no question about it. This filigreed wedding band had belonged to Anneliese. How three-year-old Sophie had come into possession of it was anyone’s guess, but she had, along with the pearl drop earrings, and most likely, the fleur-de-lis brooch.
Past & Present Page 13