by Fran Stewart
“How do I—what a stupid question.” Shay flipped her hair back away from her face. “It’s an absolutely unique art piece. Ming dynasty ivory leaves strung on silk cords with solid beads of silver between the leaves. It’s worth tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. There’s not another piece like it. Ming jewelry was usually made of gold. The fact that this was silver makes it practically priceless.”
Harper didn’t dare look at Fairing, but he had a feeling her expression would have been a sight to see, even though he knew she’d probably been practicing keeping a straight face. He was having trouble keeping his own face straight. The necklace had been casually pushed to the back of her desk like a trinket, a bit of carnival detritus. How had Fairing come up with something that valuable? And why had she left it lying around like that?
“You said it was your mother’s?”
“Yes. But it was stolen one night and nobody’s seen it since.”
“Tell me about the theft of the necklace.”
“It wasn’t just the necklace.” Shay leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “Mother and Father had quite a lot of jewelry, silver, vases, most of it quite good. Whoever planned the theft knew just what to look for. Luckily, Mother was wearing her diamond.” Shay spread her left hand and gazed at it. Harper wondered if the garish stone on her finger was the diamond in question. “And Father had his ruby ring on, so those two pieces were safe.”
Harper waited a moment, but Shay kept her eyes on her ring. She recrossed her legs, but she didn’t lift her eyes.
“What happened to the ruby?”
“Don’t you believe me?” She reached into the bottom of the sturdy leather bag she wore hanging from the heavy belt around her red plaid arisaidh and pulled out a small zippered pouch.
Silk, Harper thought. He could feel the ring he kept in his pocket. The one he intended for Peggy. The one he’d never given to her. And maybe never would. But he could always hope. Maybe instead of the small blue box it was in, he should get a silk pouch like the one Shay held. Shay Burns. The person he should be concentrating on instead of letting his mind wander.
Shay pulled an enormous dark red ruby ring from the small bag. Harper studied it. Peggy, kneeling next to Bowman’s body, had told him, He had a big dark red ring. A ruby. “How long have you had this?” He kept his voice casual. He wasn’t surprised when Shay paused before answering.
“Father died shortly after the burglary, not quite ten years ago.”
He didn’t want to give her time to concoct an elaborate cover story. “Did you inherit it at that time?”
She stared at him. “No, of course not. Mother got it.”
That much sounded like the truth. “Is your mother still alive?”
“No. She died within a few months of Father.”
“Did you inherit both rings at that time?”
Shay twisted the diamond around her finger three or four times. “No,” she finally said. “They went to Lorena, the oldest of the four of us. Windsor, as the second oldest, was supposed to get the sterling silver tea set, but of course, it had been stolen, and Father and Mother hadn’t thought to change their wills after the burglary. Robert’s share was to have been all the silverware . . .” She waved her hand as if all the silverware hadn’t been very impressive. “And I was supposed to get the necklace. Mother believed jewelry should always go to daughters.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Get the necklace.”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “I told you. Everything was stolen, except for these two rings.”
“Wasn’t your mother wearing any other jewelry that night?”
Shay made a derisive sound. “It wasn’t that important an event. Everything else she had on was paste.” She looked over at Fairing, as if judging whether the policewoman would know what that term meant. Apparently Fairing failed Shay’s test. “Imitations,” she said in a voice like a rasp. “So the good items wouldn’t be at risk of damage.”
Harper remained quiet.
So did Fairing. Harper was impressed. Some cops didn’t know when to keep their mouths shut, especially if they were being taunted by an uncooperative suspect. Harper hadn’t really considered Shay to be a viable suspect. Other than the ease with which she could have gone from her house to the hotel to the meadow. That had convinced Murphy, but Harper had to admit he’d never been truly serious about believing in Shay’s guilt. But now? Now that he’d seen the woman’s vitriol—and that ruby ring—firsthand. That should have been a lesson to him. Never assume.
He wondered what Shay would say if she knew Marti Fairing was the only one on the team who believed Shay Burns was innocent. He wondered if Fairing still believed it. He wouldn’t blame her if she’d changed her mind.
Shay heaved a theatrical sigh. “She should have worn the good stuff.”
“You said Lorena inherited the rings.”
Shay nodded. “She always flaunted the diamond. And Big Willie, that husband of hers, wore the ruby like it had been made for him.”
Harper waited, absolutely still.
“The rest of us thought they should have sold the rings. It would have been much more fair if we could have split the money four ways, but Lorena refused.”
“Do you know why?”
“Because she was selfish. What else?”
“If Lorena wouldn’t sell the rings, how did you get them?”
“She died. Four years ago. That was the year I had to leave the Games. Because she went and died . . .”
She didn’t say at such an inconvenient time, but Harper could feel the words hanging in the air above the table. He noticed, too, that she hadn’t answered his question.
“Did she leave them to you in her will?”
“Of course not. She left them to that husband of hers.”
If she’d just tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth—and tell it quickly, Harper thought, I wouldn’t have to sit here playing games to try to get it out of her.
“And?”
“And what?” She shifted in her seat, as if her rear end was going to sleep.
“You said she left the rings to her husband. Would you like to explain how you have them now?”
“He . . . he gave them to me.”
Harper continued to look at her, wondering if she’d explain what she was obviously leaving out. “When?”
She uncrossed her legs yet again. “When what?”
Harper was barely able to keep from rolling his eyes. “When did he give them to you?”
She paused. Was she simply trying to remember? Or was she calculating what would be the best answer? He couldn’t tell. Maybe she was just trying to decide whether or not to cross her legs one more time.
“It was Thursday morning. We took a walk up through the woods.”
“Which path did you follow?”
She looked surprised at his question, but she answered without hesitation. “The one that heads uphill from the empty lot next to my house.”
“Which fork did you take?”
At that, she raised an eyebrow. “Does it matter? We took the one to the right.”
“Were both rings in the little silk bag?”
Shay seemed to appraise him for a moment. A man who recognized silk when he saw it. Or so it seemed to Harper.
“No. The diamond was in the bag. In his sporran. He took the ruby off his finger before he gave it to me.”
“And why did he give them to you?”
Shay looked amused. “Because I asked him for them.”
Harper heard a faint snort from Fairing.
“When I informed you that there had been a murder at the hotel, why didn’t you tell me William Bowman was your brother-in-law?”
“He wasn’t.”
Harper raised an eyebrow.
“Not for the past four years.” She crossed her arms. “He stopped being my brother-in-law as soon as Lorena died. And as soon as he . . .”
Harper watched her grind her teeth together. He could hear the grating sound of it even from here, across the table. “As soon as he what?”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“You’re certainly entitled to call a lawyer if you feel you need to.”
“I want to see the necklace first.”
Harper took his time strolling to the door—he could play games, too—and motioned across the room to Murphy. “Would you retrieve the necklace that’s lying on Fairing’s desk?”
Murphy nodded and turned.
“Be careful with it, would you, Lieutenant? And don’t smudge any fingerprints,” he added. “Wait. On second thought, I’ll get it.” Harper stepped back into the room. “Sergeant Fairing, could I speak with you privately? You’ll excuse us for a moment, Ms. Burns?”
“So you can turn the thumbscrews?” She waved him away. “Be my guest.”
Harper waited for Fairing to step out and close the door. She didn’t wait for his question. “It was a gift from Peggy Winn. She gave it to me yesterday as a thank-you present. She said she’d heard about how I stopped Turner, although how she knew it was me, I have no idea. I didn’t tell anybody except you and Murphy.” Fairing motioned toward her desk. “I brought it here—I hadn’t even unwrapped it yet—because I thought I’d better check first to be sure it was okay to keep it. I didn’t want anyone thinking it was a bribe. But then, with the homicide in the hotel, I didn’t think to mention it. In fact, I forgot about it altogether.”
“Why would Peg—Ms. Winn—give you a necklace worth thousands of dollars?”
“She didn’t. I mean, she did; she gave it to me, but she said it wasn’t worth a lot. In fact she said it didn’t have much value at all, but she thought it was pretty and thought I might like it. She said it was plastic.”
Harper mulled that over.
“She said if I didn’t like it . . .”
“She wanted it back?”
“No.” Fairing tilted her head to one side. “She said to give it to Goodwill.”
Harper couldn’t believe how bizarre all this was. “Murphy,” he said, “would you and Sergeant Fairing keep Ms. Burns company for a few minutes?”
Murphy hadn’t been very far away. “I gotta protect our sergeant from the public?”
“Just from Ms. Burns.”
Murphy grinned.
Fairing didn’t.
Harper headed for Fairing’s desk.
* * *
Sam stuck his head in the door. “We really need you two out here. It’s pretty busy.”
Gilda was the first to recover. No wonder; she wasn’t the one who’d given away a necklace worth thousands of dollars. How could I have been so dense?
I followed her through the door. Sam hadn’t been kidding. We were inundated. The next hour hardly left me any time to draw a deep breath, much less to think about my own stupidity. Eventually, though, as usually happens, there was a lull. Scamp left the sweater shelter long enough to sit in front of Gilda and give one of his woofy commands.
“He’s thirsty,” she said. “I think.” She looked over at the door to the back room. Sam had installed a small dog door last summer so Scamp could get to his water bowl and his food anytime he wanted without interrupting us. But there Scamp sat. “What do you want, boy?”
“Mayhap the other wee doggie”—Dirk sketched a brief wave back over his shoulder—“is in need o’ some water as weel.”
“That’s right, of course,” I said.
Gilda looked at me. “Do you talk dog talk now? What’s he right about?”
“Silla needs some water.” I parted the sweaters and picked her up. How long was it going to take for her to come back from this dark depression? Because that’s truly what it looked like. “Let’s go get you something to drink, you brave little girl.”
Silla lifted her head, as if the whisper of an echo had bounced around the shop. I took her through the staff door and set her next to the water bowl.
After she lapped a few unenthusiastic mouthfuls, she turned aside. I hooked on her red leash and led both dogs outside, where they dutifully took care of their business—Scamp with enthusiasm and Silla almost as an afterthought. Inside again, she went right back to the sweater cave.
“The puir wee doggie,” Dirk said.
I agreed. The phone rang and Sam went to answer it.
“When my grandda died, his dog lay upon his grave for the next five years.”
“Big Willie doesn’t have a grave yet,” I said.
“Of course not,” Gilda said. “How long do you think it will be before they release the body?”
I just shook my head.
“Peggy, this is for you,” Sam called. “Harper,” he added as he handed me the phone.
I took it warily. “Yes? This is Peggy.”
“I know you’re probably busy at the shop, but I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay. There’s nobody here at the moment.” Dirk stood right beside me, trying to listen. Nobody here except for two employees and a ghost. “I mean, no customers.”
“Could you take a few minutes to come down to the station?”
“I guess so. What’s this about?”
“I’d rather wait to tell you until you get here.”
“Okay. I’ll be right down.” I hung up the phone and whispered, “I don’t know whether to ask you to watch the dogs or come with me to the police station.”
“Mistress Gilda can watch the wee dogs. I will go wi’ ye to the constable’s office.”
Why did that not surprise me? I knew he’d want to be in on the action. Whatever it was. I hadn’t a clue.
* * *
Harper clicked off his cell and picked up a blank sheet of legal paper off the top of Fairing’s paperwork. He slid it carefully underneath the necklace, along with the blue wrapping paper and silver ribbon upon which it sat.
Murphy eyed the collection with a raised eyebrow.
“When Peggy Winn arrives, ask her to wait a few minutes. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”
Murphy nodded and surrendered his position just inside the door of the interview room.
Harper set everything on the table, keeping his hands close to it. When Shay reached for the necklace, he stopped her. “I can’t let you touch it,” he said. “We haven’t checked it for fingerprints yet.”
Shay’s eyes widened. “Where did you—I mean where did she—find it?”
“The real question we have to consider is whether this is the necklace you claim was your mother’s.” He knew he was going to have a long conversation with Fairing, but not while Shay Stone Burns was around.
“Of course it was my mother’s.” Shay was awfully good at this snapping routine of hers. Harper didn’t say anything. “You can see the leaf veins carved into the—” She stopped and bent closer. “Could we have a little more light in here?”
Harper nodded, and Fairing stepped to a bank of switches. The intense spotlight made the room look like the interrogation chamber Shay had accused him of taking her to in the first place, but she didn’t seem to notice. She focused all her attention on the necklace. After far less than a minute, her shoulders drooped and her leg went back to jiggling up and down.
“It’s the fake,” she said. “The one my father ordered right after he bought the original.”
“How can you tell?”
“In the real necklace, each leaf was individual. Every vein was carved by hand. Some of the leaves had four veins on each side of the central one. Some had five, some three. Each leaf had a slightly different shape, too. But these are all alike. It’s the same leaf stamped out over and over again.” She sank back into the chair and drummed her
fingers on the table. “And these are plastic.”
“Wouldn’t people at those events you mentioned have noticed that your mother was wearing an imitation?”
Shay shrugged. “Mother never sat still long enough for anyone to take a closer look.”
Rather like yourself, Harper thought. He studied Shay’s face. She’d withdrawn from the room. Her hands still drummed and her leg still jiggled, but she’d gone somewhere else. He’d give almost anything to know where.
“May I leave now?”
He had no reason to keep her. Except that he now thought there was a good possibility she’d killed for those two rings. He had no proof, though. Nothing even close to it. Motive. Opportunity. It wasn’t enough.
But as she stood to leave, he mentioned one more thing. “Ms. Burns? What did you argue with William Bowman about in the ScotShop on Thursday?”
Her lips pursed. “Who said we argued?”
“The shop was crowded. There were a number of witnesses.”
“He . . . he told me four years ago he wouldn’t be coming back to the Games.”
Why didn’t she just tell the truth and get it over with? “Why not?”
“Because his wife died.”
“And?”
“And what? I just wanted to know why he changed his mind.”
“Then why did you tell him he had to leave?”
“Leave? I didn’t say anything like that. Whoever told you I said that . . . simply misinterpreted.” She smiled, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Is that all, Officer?”
“Not quite. I’ve been wondering why you accused him of having let your sister die.”
Her inner pirate peeked out in one raised eyebrow and one narrowed eye. “I never said that. I said I was sorry she died before I had a chance to talk with her. She was in a coma toward the end, you know. Whatever your witnesses heard, it was just a misinterpretation. ‘You . . . you let her die before I got there to talk to her.’ That was what I said. Something like that. I can’t remember the exact words I used.”
And she refused to alter this version of her story.
Harper knew she’d lied. The part about the coma sounded true enough, but he wasn’t sure whether any of the rest of it was. Maybe none. Maybe only half. She was lying, though.