The Pandora Box

by Lilly Maytree

  Every page was filled with the neat, distinctive handwriting she had already come to recognize as his. There would be plenty of time to examine it more carefully, later. Right now, she could hardly believe she was actually holding these missing pieces of the famous puzzle.

  “Thank you, Nels,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure it’s used in the best possible ways, just like you wanted it to be.” An almost physical sense of power swept through her.

  At the bottom of the box, she found another large envelope containing five thousand dollars in cash. A stab of guilt penetrated, but she couldn’t think why. Hadn’t the note said it was all hers? Money was not good or bad; it was how one used it that determined that and being a philanthropist was held in very high regard, these days. In fact, hadn’t Nellie Bly herself taken over fifteen years off from reporting to do just this sort of thing after she married her wealthy husband?

  That was the logical thing to do with such large sums of money. Besides, Dee felt sure that if she wasn’t that kind of person at the moment, she could easily become one.

  Meanwhile, she stashed the envelope into her bulky canvas bag that said American Originals, Inc. it. That left only an old passport dated 1959, made out in the name of David Nelson. But the picture was Peterson. A much younger, almost rakish version of the old man, but definitely him. She got goose pimples. Beneath that, there was a black velvet box—the kind that held rings. Opening it, she found herself staring at the most beautiful setting of rubies and diamonds she had ever seen in her life.

  They were exactly the way they looked in the research photos she had studied. The gold-work was done with amazing perfection in filigrees and fancy scrolls, on an unusual coat of arms. She recognized that, too. This was part of the collection! An exquisite piece of the Strassgaard family jewels. Just holding it in her hands was…absolutely breathtaking.

  If there had been any doubt in her mind that the rest of the infamous collection was truly hidden somewhere along the Russian coast, it left her at that precise moment. She closed the empty deposit box with a decisive click and pushed the buzzer.

  This time, it was not the cocky assistant manager who came but a very distinguished-looking older man with long gray sideburns “All finished, Ms. Parker?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” She had signed in, just as Mr. Peterson had instructed. How he put her name on that signature card she didn’t know. But the old man was ingenious. Dee got to her feet and tried not to walk ahead of him too quickly. She nearly forgot to sign out again, but remembered at the last moment. The man seemed to be scrutinizing her signature as she scribbled it out. Her own nerves playing tricks on her, no doubt.

  “Everything all right with Mr. Peterson?”

  “As…well as can be expected…considering his condition.” Dee took the sunglasses she had thoughtlessly hooked in the V-neck of her dress and put them back on.

  “Good to have family around during trying times.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Give my regards to your sister when you see her again.”

  Dee never remembered exactly what she answered to that startling request because it hit her like another deluge of icy water. She didn’t have a sister. And, as far as she knew, Nelson Peterson had no children. It suddenly felt hard to breathe. So she mumbled something non-committal and tried not to rush as she left. Once outside, she practically collided with the assistant manager who seemed to be enjoying a casual smoke next to her car.

  “Nice hat.” He dropped the nearly whole cigarette onto the pavement and ground it out with a perfectly polished shoe.

  Dee put the car in gear and zipped out of the parking lot.

  Once back on the interstate, she let out a long, slow breath. Activities like this were definitely hard on the nerves. But there was a long, five-hour drive ahead to calm down. Which she would need every minute of. Because obviously, she was also going to need every rational thought she could come up with from here on out. For heaven’s sake, her heart was still pounding.

  It was nearly midnight by the time she pulled into the alley that fronted Marion’s basement apartment, back in downtown Portland. The lights were out, but she descended the few steps below street-level and rang the bell anyway.

  After two more rings, Marion appeared in a hastily-donned bathrobe. Her short, gray-flecked brown hair was already askew from several hours of sleep.

  “Well, thank heavens!” The older woman dragged her in. “You know I’ve been trying to call you all day? Why didn’t you answer?”

  “I took off without my phone. Must still be sitting on the kitchen counter from the last time I tried to call you.”

  “That just proves my point, Dee Parker, there’s more reasons than grief for people to forget things.”

  “Well, maybe there is. Except I’m feeling sort of grief-stricken, myself. You wouldn’t believe what happened, Marion.” She sank into the easy chair in the one room studio: the couch having already been unfolded into the bed.

  “Out with it, girl. Did you have any trouble springing him?” Marion headed for the kitchenette, filled an electric kettle and plugged it in for tea. “I wonder if it was a good idea to leave him all by himself in a hotel. What if he really does have dementia?”

  “I didn’t leave him by himself. Because he…he died yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “And I have the most awful feeling it wasn’t of natural causes. They had him in the violent ward.” Dee leaned her head back. She had long since removed the floppy beach hat, and her curls were twisted haphazardly up into a clip which she realized was drooping. She unclipped it and twisted it up tight again.

  “What happened?”

  “Whatever it was, he saw it coming, and”—she kicked her sandals off to prop her feet up on the corner of the bed—”he managed to slip me a note through one of the aides.”

  “What did it say…’help?’ And you didn’t get there in time!”

  “He said it was all mine. Everything. A…” She sat up straight. “Inside was a deed to a hundred thousand dollar yacht, and…”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Fifty million in diamonds.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Marion’s mouth dropped open.

  “Remember that wild story about those famous jewels that were stolen by Nazis from some wealthy Russian-Jewish family?”

  “I remember you said they were inaccessible. Hid on an island off some frozen Russian coast, that’s what I remember. Dee, old people are always shocking anyone that will listen with whoppers like that. Is that the fifty million you’re talking about? Well, I’m surprised at you. You’re a very sensible woman, as a rule.”

  “I’m going.”

  She gasped. “What—to Russia?”

  “Next week, to be exact. And I…I need you to come with me, Mare. Because…well, there’s safety in numbers.”

  “Dee Parker! What are you saying?”

  “It wouldn’t be much different than the cruise we went on, last year. A real adventure and it wouldn’t even take…”

  “But you know I’m not the adventuring kind! I wouldn’t call visiting foreign countries on a huge cruise ship with hundreds of other people around the height of adventure anyway.”

  “You loved it.”

  “Of course I did. Because it got my mind off Bill, and it was wonderful of you to invite me. Only that’s not the same thing. Why…” The kettle began to whistle, and she went back to the kitchenette to turn it off. “Russia! The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics! The KGB! It’s dangerous over there, don’t you know that? They’re having some kind of—revolution or something. The whole country’s falling apart from what I hear.”

  “Mare, listen to me.” Dee breathed in the scent of orange spice tea as it began to waft over the little room. “This could be the adventure of a lifetime. Not to mention the money part. I can’t even imagine fifty million dollars. Can you?”

  “Fifty million for a single set of jewelry? He had to be exagger
ating!”

  “It would be worth it even if it was a million, wouldn’t you say?”

  “But he could have dreamed the whole thing up. In the violent ward? He was probably as crazy as they said he was. The whole story was just some figment of his imagination.”

  “I checked it out already.”

  “Dee, you couldn’t have been to Russia and back in a weekend. Look how long it took us just to get our passports last year.”

  “His yacht. Not only is it real, it’s worth a hundred thousand dollars! I actually sat on it this morning. I even have a signed title for it already, five thousand dollars in cash, and…”

  “Five thousand dollars!” Marion gasped.

  “A pittance compared to what we’re talking about, here.”

  “Pittance to you, maybe…”

  “I also have a ring that looks like a real czarina could have worn on her finger. Right now, right here in my purse.” Dee snatched up the shoulder bag and fished around for the little velvet box. “There, take a look at that.” Dee flipped open the little spring lid and shoved it off to her.

  Marion took it and moved over beneath the light in the kitchen corner as if she were in a daze. “Why, it’s the most…fantastic…beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” She let her breath out slowly. “You better give it back!”

  “Who would I give it to? They’re all dead now, Marion, and Peterson gave it to me.”

  “I heard getting arrested in Mexico doesn’t hold a candle to getting arrested in Russia.” She murmured, almost to herself.

  “Who said anything about getting arrested?”

  “Believe me, it could happen.” Marion finally tore her gaze away from the glittering jewels and handed the ring back. Then she got their tea. She put a heaping spoon of sugar into her own cup, stirred briskly, and then carried Dee’s (without sugar) over to her. She sat down on the edge of the bed, all without saying a single word.

  Dee could see her mind was already racing.

  “It’s not like vacationing in Hawaii, you know,” Marion was still on the same track. “They say that whole country’s run by the mafia now.”

  “Who says?”

  “I think I heard it on the BBC. That’s the only news I trust any more. Anyway, you can’t just”—she blew warm steam away from her cup and sipped—”get off the plane with a suitcase full of picks and shovels and start digging.”

  “We’re not going by plane.”

  “We’d still have to go through customs.”

  “Not necessarily. We’re taking the boat, Marion. My yacht!”

  Marion looked up from her contemplation as if she hadn’t heard right. “By ourselves? We could both be killed!”

  Dee set her tea on the coffee table. “Have you ever known me to jump into an assignment without figuring things out to the last detail? Look at the lengths I went to just to meet Peterson in the first place.”

  “This is way beyond pilfering information for a three-part scandal piece for the Columbia Herald, Dee. I’m telling you, we could both be killed!”

  “Not if we hire professionals to run the yacht for us. That was Peterson’s original plan, in the first place, and he wrote everything down to the last detail. I know I could follow that plan! It will be a bona fide treasure hunt. And, you’d get a share—that goes without saying. Everybody would. It would be listed under expenses. Professional boat handlers, Mare. I wouldn’t do it any other way.”

  “There’s professionals and…professionals. If you know what I mean. Why, it would cost a fortune to get somebody to take that kind of risk. Who in the world would do such a thing?”

  “Why would we?” Dee countered.

  “Well, for the money, I guess. Adventure you can find anywhere. But…” Now, she got a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes. “Just imagine not having to worry if you could pay all your bills next month. Why, I could write full time.” She set her cup aside and began to pace. Her blue robe billowed with every turn she made between the door and the couch.

  Dee had seen that fidgety concentration before and took it as a good sign. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m just wondering how we could be sure that anyone who would risk such a thing would even be trustworthy.” She pushed a thatch of hair behind one ear. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “You always said I’m a good judge of character.”

  “In the news media, maybe,” Marion huffed. “How are you with the Russian mafia?”

  8

  Leaving Home

  “I wondered if I should be able to pass over the river to the goal of my strange ambition.” ~ Nellie Bly

  Marion was in. Less than an hour later, she had packed her nearly-finished novel and a laptop computer into one suitcase and some clothing into another. Mostly ski clothes, because Marion heard it was cold in Russia, even at this time of year.

  Dee put perishables from the refrigerator into a picnic basket, and by one-thirty in the morning, they were racing toward her place on the other side of town.

  “Go on in. There’s a backpack and some hiking boots I want to get down from the rafters while I’m out here.” Dee said, as she pulled into the garage. She was halfway up an aluminum ladder when she heard Marion scream from somewhere near the vicinity of the kitchen.

  The entire place had been ransacked.

  Under any other circumstances, Dee would have called the police. But considering the only thing missing was a particular chart of the Russian coast that Nels had specially marked for her last week, she knew at once who to suspect.

  Scott Evans was either trying to scare her or get to those diamonds before she did.

  There were no rules for treasure hunting.

  With Nelson Peterson frantically seeking out “accomplices” over the last couple years, there could even be more than Scott who were involved. Who knew how much information he doled out to anyone who would listen? He had been so desperate to get out of Wyngate, there was every possibility he had handed out enough clues to send treasure hunters clamoring toward the Pandora from Canada all the way to Mexico. So she and Marion would have to be doubly careful.

  People did strange things when large amounts of money were at stake.

  That thought made any shred of caution that was left in her vanish.

  Within hours, the two women were winging their way to the southern Oregon coast. Morning found them on the outskirts of Eugene.

  Dee pulled off the interstate in a seedy section of downtown and began cruising slowly up and down the boulevards.

  “Gads!” Marion woke out of a sound sleep and peered through the window at their surroundings. “We’ll get food poisoning if we stop to eat in an area like this. What are we doing so far off the highway?”

  “I need to check something out. Without the whole world knowing about it. That little town has eyes and ears all over, and I wouldn’t want word to get back to our partners. Or anyone else, if you know what I mean.”

  “Good grief, Dee, you’re talking like some spy right out of the movies. Where did you get that crazy beach hat? I think you have more hats than most people have shoes.” Marion gave a slight gasp when she caught sight of someone lying in front of the doorway to a shop. “Did you see that? There was somebody…there’s another one! Dee, you’ve driven us right into the middle of some slum! Hang a U-turn and let’s get out of here!”

  “Marion.” Dee took off the floppy hat she had bought yesterday and tossed it onto the back seat. Her hair was still a mess; the light brown curls still pulled up into the clip instead of combed. “There’s something I haven’t told you, yet.” She spoke in a hushed tone, as if they weren’t the only two people in the car.

  “I knew it.”

  “There’s a possibility…actually, it’s just a feeling I have…” Dee parked in front of a block of rundown buildings.

  “Will you say it, already? You’re making me nervous. Possibility for what?”

  “That Peterson wasn’t exactly who he said he was.”

>   “I could have told you that. Didn’t I tell you that the very first time he…” Her gaze went to another odd-looking lump in front of a shop entrance. “Oh, my…Lord…I…” She leaned forward until her nose was practically touching the front windshield. “There’s a dead man over there.”

  Dee’s stomach did a flip-flop at the pronouncement, but she forced herself under control and looked over to where Marion was pointing. “Probably just a…” She reached for her purse on the seat between them and opened the door. “A drunk who hasn’t woken up, yet.”

  “Dee, get back in this car! I say you’ve driven us into a lowlife, dangerous…”

  “I’m just going to make sure he’s all right.”

  “He could be an axe murderer! It’s none of our business!”

  “Of course it’s our business. We saw him, didn’t we? Are we Good Samaritans or aren’t we?” She pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder and put her hat back on. “I’ll be back in a few. I need something from this pawn shop right here.”

  “Then, I’m going to turn the car around and keep the motor running.” Marion fumbled in her purse for a moment and came up with a cell phone. “I’ll dial nine-one. And if you aren’t back in five minutes, I’ll hit another one.”

  “You hit someone with that cell phone, Mare, and it would only make them mad.”

  “The number one,” she raised her voice as Dee shut the door. “If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m calling 911!”

  ****

  Marion slid over to the driver seat and watched Dee walk in front of the car, step up onto the sidewalk, and then cross over to the recessed doorway beneath faded red lettering on the side of the building that spelled out the words Pappy’s Pawn. Dee leaned down to gently shake a shoulder, and the dead suddenly sprang to life.