The Wedding Necklace

by Adrianne Lee

  Craig's head had cleared, his worry focused. Despite not finding the necklace, Lyssa Carlyle had conducted herself during their search as if she expected to find it. If he believed her story, he'd have to believe that the Purity had been at Windance last Monday night, at the time of Wayne’s heart attack. So, did he believe her story? His palms were damp, and the jumping in his gut wouldn’t ease until he set eyes on the Purity, held it.

  One block from the waterfront, David parked at the rear entrance of a red-brick warehouse, in an alley that ran north and south and connected Madison and Spring Avenues. Until ten years ago the building had sat vacant, then an innovative contractor had seen its potential, renovated it, and leased spaces to a pricey furniture store, two trendy restaurants, several private business offices, and the suites where Rival Gems International bought and sold estate jewelry.

  David said, “Sure you wouldn't rather go straight to the condo? You look pretty beat.”

  “I’m fine. I want to see the place.” “The Collection” was what he really wanted to see. Immediately. He stepped from the car and leaned toward David’s open window. “Afterward, I promise I’ll catch a cab and head straight for my bed. See you tomorrow. And Dave…thanks.”

  He straightened as the car roared away, and drew in a breath. The air was cool, rife with the briny scent of the bay and impending rain. Black clouds pressed low, enforcing an early darkness. The roar of late afternoon traffic seemed to say, “Hurry, Craig, hurry.”

  He hastened inside, then turned right toward the elevator, barely aware of the teal carpet cushioning his footfalls, the mellow ecru walls, the greasy odor of deep fry oil wafting from the Asian fast food cafe at the end of the hallway.

  Minutes later, the elevator arrived at the fourth floor. Craig stared at the red-brick wall with the five inch brass letters proclaiming he'd arrived at Rival Gems International. At least this hadn't changed, he thought with relief. He shoved through the solid mahogany door to the left of the lettering. Would the Purity be missing from “The Collection” case as he feared?

  With his heart beating erratically, he stepped into the windowless ante room, passed the two unoccupied leather chairs to the inside door, knowing an interior chime had alerted anyone in the showroom or offices of his arrival.

  With anxiety permeating him, he unlocked the door and hurried inside. The overhead light was brilliant. Windows, strategically placed in the old brick walls, added to the glare. Rival Gems had occupied this suite of offices for the past ten years. The carpets were mauve, the chairs and stools mahogany and navy blue leather. Brass and glass abounded.

  Like the ante room, the showroom was unoccupied. No one came to stop him as he all but ran to the alcove at the far wall, to the case displaying “The Collection.”

  Craig’s heart nearly leaped from his chest at the sight that met him. The whole case was empty.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “The last flight to Phoenix left an hour ago. The next earliest is tomorrow.” The airline clerk fiddled with his computer. “Let me check availability…”

  Lyssa sighed in frustration as the clerk related that all the morning and afternoon flights were full. Her options came down to standby or an evening flight. She took the sure thing, presented her credit card, secured the ticket, and extended the lease on her latest rental car. Hoisting her nearly empty carry-on bag, she wandered through the stream of travelers arriving and leaving SeaTac International until she spotted a bank of telephones. Reluctantly, she dialed her mother’s number and was relieved when the answering machine responded; explanations about her delay needed telling in person. She left a curt message, stating she’d missed the plane and would be home tomorrow, late.

  What was she going to do now? Where was she going to spend the night? A motel? Her heart skipped as a vision of herself curled on a bed, pillow clutched to her chest, her eyes riveted to the door, flashed into her mind. No. Giving her statement to the police had dredged every nightmarish aspect of her ordeal to the light and now the memories lurked in the dark corners of her consciousness, taunting her.

  She needed a friendly face, a sympathetic ear. Company. Craig Rival’s face came easily to mind, and she recalled how gentle and concerned he’d been. She’d give anything for some of that gentle concern tonight, but his attitude had changed when she couldn’t produce the faux Purity.

  Maybe Teri was home. She dug a tiny address book from her purse. The pages were water-warped, the ink smeared, her old friend’s name barely legible, her address and phone number blue blots. Thankfully, Teri Dean was listed in the local directory.

  She sounded surprised, but happy, to hear Lyssa was at SeaTac, and before she could even ask, Teri insisted she stay overnight at her apartment in Kent.

  Lyssa said, “Great. Then I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”

  She hurried through the airport toward the multi-level parking garage. It was well-lighted, but as her footsteps echoed on the concrete floor, she felt vulnerable, exposed, half-expecting a sinister figure in a raincoat and low slung hat to leap from behind one of the vehicles and club her. She glanced around repeatedly, biting down the panic. At last, she spotted the Taurus she’d leased--no more small cars after the incident in the Mazda--and hastened inside, relocking the doors.

  The creepy feeling stayed with her as Lyssa drove to Kent and into The Palms, one of a cluster of apartment complexes near River Bend Golf Complex, an eighteen hole course spread out on the banks of the Green River. She found building C, a three story, tan affair with forest green trim, and pulled forward into a visitor parking spot opposite. As she shut off the engine, she glanced in her rearview mirror and noticed Teri standing in one of the ground floor doorways, waving goodbye to a man.

  It looked like…Kevin?

  Lyssa cranked her head around and stared out the car’s rear window. The man wheeled away from Teri and his face was revealed in the porch light. It was Kevin.

  What was he doing at Teri’s?

  A memory stirred at Kevin’s familiar stride. Long ago, she’d suspected him of coming on to Teri. Teri had denied it, but Lyssa always wondered if Teri was sparing her feelings.

  Kevin headed toward her car. Lyssa turned quickly in her seat, watching him once again in the mirror.

  She had forgotten her suspicions after Teri met and married Mason Dean and moved to the Northwest, but situations had changed. Teri had been widowed for three years, she and Kevin divorced for two. They were both welcome to see whomever they pleased.

  Near her trunk, Kevin stopped. He glanced at his watch, apparently reading it in the glow of the street lamp. His chestnut hair was stylishly mussed, his face tanned, angular, perfect. Why hadn’t she noticed the stinginess around his pale green eyes until it was too late? A fleeting image of generous black-brown eyes teased her, and she brushed the thought of Craig Rival away like a pesky fly.

  Kevin gazed up and for half a second seemed to stare right at her. Lyssa’s pulse wobbled. Had he seen her sitting here? She steeled her resolve, then let out a huge sigh as he moved to the car beside hers. With her back to him, she pretended to fidget with something on the seat, silently screaming at him to drive away.

  Finally, he did.

  Sneaking a last glance at him in the side view mirror, Lyssa felt a sudden shiver as if she’d nearly stepped barefoot on a scorpion.

  “How'd you get in here?”

  Craig jerked around, his heart in his throat. The voice belonged to a stranger, a tall woman who was exactly the kind Uncle Wayne couldn’t resist: long legs in a brown skirt the color of her eyes, ample bosom in a blouse as creamy as her skin, and flame hair tied back in a clip as round as her gaping mouth.

  He said, “Where the hell is ‘The Collection’?”

  “Wh-who are you?” She backed away a step, her hand snaking around the edge of the counter to the silent alarm.

  “Don’t touch that alarm.” His temper and his patience snapped at the same time. “I’m Craig Rival.”

  Her hand
went to her chest, and she gulped shallow breaths as if he’d scared the daylights out of her, which he realized belatedly he most likely had. He wasn’t exactly dressed for the office and the bruise on his forehead gave him an angry mien.

  She was gazing at it with interest, a frown flickering in her eyes. “Mr. Rival,” she stammered. “Please, accept my apology. We didn’t expect you today. Stacey left for a few minutes. When the chime went off, I thought she’d returned, but when I saw you…” Her eyes were again on the bruise. “Well, I suppose I thought you were…” She shrugged, apparently not wanting to call her new boss a burglar--at least not to his face.

  “Who are you?” Craig was sick and tired of women he didn’t know showing up in places he didn’t expect. He had a fleeting thought of Lyssa, and it reminded him that “The Collection”, including the Purity, was missing from the display case. “Where is ‘The Collection’?”

  “Why…in the vault. There have been a rash of burglaries in the area over the past three months and Way…er…Mr. Riv…the other Mr. Rival, your uncle, insisted ‘The Collection’ not be left out for any reason.”

  Craig had started past her the second she’d said vault.

  He skirted the long counter in the middle of the room and ducked into the offices beyond.

  The woman followed, chattering. “I'm Ginger Van Allen. Way…your uncle hired me about a year ago…as salesclerk. Stacey will verify that when she returns.”

  Craig had already figured out that she was an employee hired in his absence. He found the vault standing open and rushed inside. Ginger arrived on his heels. He demanded, “Where?”

  She pointed to a corner. He pulled his loupe from his pocket and began lifting jewelry box lids, doing a rapid inventory, his heartbeat leveling off with each piece accounted for, the jumping in his belly also abating. He felt suddenly exhausted. Yet joyous. It was all here, including the Russian tzarina's tiara. Including the Purity. The genuine Purity.

  His budding trust of Lyssa Carlyle shattered as if it were made of zircons like the faux she’d claimed she’d made. He gnashed his teeth together. She’d had to have lied about it. She’d said it herself: there wasn’t any way Wayne could have returned this necklace from Windance after suffering a fatal heart attack. But she’d seemed so honest. Doubts swept him. Could someone else have discovered the necklace at Windance and returned it to the vault before Craig could find it missing? “Do you know, Ginger, whether or not my uncle ever had cause to remove the Purity from the premises?”

  He could have sworn the question startled her. “N-no way. Wayn…Mr. Rival would never do that.”

  Craig got the impression she was trying to convince them both. He gently replaced the Purity in its box. If Wayne had taken the Purity to Windance he certainly wasn’t the one who’d returned it to this vault. Who might have? Who else had had the opportunity? Stacey? David? They’d claimed Wayne’s body at Belmont Hospital. Then why hadn’t David mentioned it? Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe Stacey had taken a tour of the house and found the necklace. Necklaces? Would she admit it if she had?

  The chime sounded and a moment later, the subject of his speculation appeared. “Cousin Craig. How wonderful! Oh, my that looks awful.” Her hazel eyes lifted to the bruise. “But David assures me the concussion is mild?”

  “Yes,” he answered, studying her. Stacey Rival reminded Craig of a petite Morticia Addams. She had her father’s slight build and pale Scandinavian coloring, but she dyed her straight, shoulder length hair black and chose ghoulish lipsticks which gave her face a pallid, exaggerated tone as if she were a Halloween vampire. Her fingernails were painted black, he noticed, no doubt to match her clothing, which always tended toward mourning wear. “I was just asking Ginger if your dad might have had reason to take the Purity to Windance anytime over the past three months?”

  He noticed a slight tensing of Stacey’s jaw. Then she smiled, but her smile was chilly. “The only time Dad was at Windance was to check on the place…and the incompetent caretaker you left in charge. He certainly never took any jewelry with him on those occasions.”

  “Did David also tell you that a Lyssa Carlyle claims Wayne let her make a copy of the Purity?”

  Stacey’s eyes narrowed. “She’s lying. You knew Dad better than that.”

  But the issue of how well he’d known Wayne kept cropping up, Craig mused as he climbed into the taxi an hour later and gave the address for his condo on Queen Anne Hill. It was preferable to think Lyssa Carlyle was the liar here, but a large part of her story proved out. He shouldn’t care. Not any longer. He had the Purity. “The Collection” was intact.

  Rain washed the windows, obscuring his view of the town he'd called home for more than ten years. It was too dark to see anything much anyway. He settled back in the seat as the cab rolled through traffic in starts and stops. Damn. He wanted the truth. All of it. It seemed the only way to make sense of the attack on Lyssa.

  And then, as if night were suddenly morning and all that had been hidden in darkness was now revealed, he knew what had had him worried earlier that day. Why had whoever attacked Lyssa come back to Windance after making a clean escape from the police? Would someone who chose victims at random take such a risk? Fear wound tight around his heart. Where was Lyssa Carlyle?

  Teri’s perfectly arched brown eyebrows shot upward as she opened the door and saw Lyssa standing in the porch light. “What in the world happened to you?”

  Lyssa gave her a crooked grin, knowing her appearance had deteriorated to rag mop status, while Teri looked great with her frosted brown hair cut ultra short and brushed forward feathering the edges of her oval face, enhancing her powder blue eyes and high cheek bones. The only flaw in an otherwise charming face was a thin mouth that seemed prematurely downturned, a legacy of early widowhood. “You might be sorry you asked.”

  “Never.” Teri swept Lyssa inside and closed the door against the rain that had started falling in huge dollops. The apartment smelled of peach potpourri and fresh coffee. It was newly built, decorated in a Southwestern motif, the white leather loveseat and chair draped in pastel Indian blanket throws. Above the gas fireplace hung a collage of desert watercolors. Obviously Arizona was still dear to Teri. “You like?”

  Lyssa did and told her so as she set her bag on the floor near the door and headed straight for the inviting chair.

  “Coffee?”

  “Yes.”

  Teri was back immediately and curled on the sofa tucking her feet beneath her. “You have great timing. If you’d been here a few minutes sooner, you'd have run smack into Kevin.”

  “Really?” Whatever was going on between her ex and Teri didn’t interest Lyssa, and she decided the best way to discourage Teri from divulging any details was not to ask about it. “I’ll bet you love having a putting green practically on your doorstep.”

  Teri looked disappointed and ignored her question altogether. “Aren’t you even a tad curious about Kevin…what agency he’s with, that he was on the cover of GQ last year?”

  Lyssa shook her head, weariness washing through her like the rain washing the windows. “Not even a smidge.”

  She shrugged as if she didn’t believe it, and said, “Well, it was strictly business. C.J. lent him some jewelry for a shoot at Ocean Shores. Kevin is leaving for Texas tomorrow and I’m returning the pieces to the firm.” C.J. was C.J. Temple, Teri’s boss, and the owner of Temple’s Trinkets & Treasures, one of Lyssa’s clients, one of Rival Gems competitors.

  Lyssa said, “I thought you wanted to know how I came to look like a hobo.”

  “Okay, I can take a hint.”

  Teri’s grin vanished as Lyssa gave her a terse recap of the events of the past twenty-four hours. She interrupted with an occasional expletive, tearing up at the horror of Lyssa’s flight, laughing in shock at the recounting of her encounter with Craig Rival.

  Teri said, “You actually got him arrested?”

  Lyssa nodded, chagrined. “In his own home.”

  �
��He’s a real stuffed-shirt.” Teri laughed. “I imagine he was furious.”

  Recalling Craig Rival’s strong embrace and the gentle way he’d calmed her, Lyssa couldn’t imagine anyone less of a stuffed-shirt. “Actually, he was…kind.”

  Teri gave her a hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Lyssa laughed half-heartedly, but she was damned glad to be alive and in one piece.

  Teri freshened their coffee, then resettled on the loveseat, her face thoughtful. “What were you doing at Hood Canal anyway?”

  Lyssa felt heat spiral into her cheeks. Maybe she didn’t usually blush because she didn’t usually lie. In fact, she was normally forthright to the point of indiscretion and had had to school herself against speaking without thinking on the subject of the faux Purity. But she’d purposely omitted mention of it from her story. After all, she’d promised Wayne to keep it secret, and promises were things she didn't give lightly. Not even to rats like Wayne Rival. However, she supposed it didn’t matter now that he was dead, now that the faux was gone.

  She told Teri about her deal with Wayne, expecting and receiving an amazed reaction, but something about the response was phony, as put on as Lyssa’s had been that year when she was eight and had found her Christmas present in her mother’s closet and had had to act surprised and delighted about the party dress she'd gotten instead of the Barbie Doll she’d wanted. Had Teri somehow already known?

  An unsettling feeling crept over Lyssa like a black cloud creeping across the night sky, almost invisible, but there. She swallowed too fast and felt her throat seize in protest. She trusted Teri. She did. But as they continued to discuss mutual friends and family, she wasn’t as relaxed as she had been before she’d mentioned copying the Purity.

  At length, Teri asked, “You planning to stick around for Wayne's funeral?”