The Wedding Necklace

by Adrianne Lee

  Every creak and groan the old house made sounded like an intruder's footsteps. Maybe she should have gone home with her mother. It wasn’t too late. She could still go there now.

  She gripped the carry-on bag to her belly, considering. Her weary body decided the issue. She stepped further into the living room, cursing the faceless person who had in on night stolen her sense of security. Blast it! She would not be frighten from her own home.

  Turning on lights as she went, Lyssa hurried to her workroom. It took several minutes to disengage the alarm system, retrieve the document that Craig didn’t believe existed from the wall safe and reset the security code. Thinking she would have to have the security system installed throughout the house now that she could afford it, Lyssa double checked all the ground level windows and doors, then shut off the lights, and hastened upstairs to her bedroom.

  Nothing scary here, she reassured herself, greeting her enormous doll collection with a, “Hello, ladies.” Everything was as she’d left it. But maybe a good hot shower would restore her nerves. She discarded her bag on the floor beside a solid brass ginger jar, laid the agreement on her waterbed, and selected clean panties and a sleeping tee shirt from a bureau drawer. In the bathroom, she turned on the shower and stripped.

  Lyssa’s bedroom closet door slipped open. The killer crouched among her clothing, listening. The sound of running water gave the person, who was dressed like an old man, courage enough to step into the room.

  Her bedroom was reminiscent of a doll shop. The stupid toys were omnipresent, cluttering every corner, perched here and there like watchdogs; a hundred set of eyes observing my smallest movement. Gives me the willies. The intruder gave a disgusted grunt. Never liked dolls.

  Son of a bitch, even the waterbed was littered with the creepy things. Something seemed to waver from the center of the bed, paper floating on the pink and blue spread. Probably a set of paper dolls. The intruder inched closer. No, it was some sort of legal document. The name Lundeen was eye catching and the intruder leaned over and snatched the paper, then chuckled.

  Well, well, well, would you look at this. It’s enough to make my partner forgive me for killing Lyssa. Shoving the paper into a pocket, the person stared down at the syringe, and again, as in the stairwell at the hospital, reconsidered the difficulties of jabbing Lyssa in a vein. Wasn’t likely she would oblige. Couldn’t chance any signs of a struggle. But her being in the shower sparked an even better idea. Just needed something to conk her with, something unbreakable, something that would look like she’d slipped and hit her head on the bathtub.

  The intruder glanced at the dolls again. Nothing there. But what was that behind the carry-on bag? A brass ginger jar. Perfect. Lifting it, the intruder hurried to the bathroom door, which Lyssa had left open.

  Her slender, feminine form was silhouetted through the pastel pink shower curtain. She’d never know what hit her, the intruder thought, grinning at the analogy, and stepped through the doorway onto the bath mat, creeping closer, reaching for the shower curtain, the ginger jar raised higher than Lyssa’s head.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The hot water beat against Lyssa’s skin, massaging her aching muscles, and easing the tension from her neck and shoulders. Her own bed was going to feel heavenly. If only she could shake the uneasiness that kept creeping over her. Again, she considered packing a small bag and spending the night at her mother’s. It was foolish to feel this scared. The house had good locks and she was used to spending the night alone. She shut off the water.

  For one whole second, quiet reigned supreme. Oppressive quiet. Then the pipes rattled, water dripped from the shower head, and overriding both, she heard the doorbell. Who in the world would be calling on her at this hour? Unless…had Grandy gotten worse?

  She jerked the shower curtain aside. Oddly, she thought she caught a whiff of whiskey mingled with the scent of shampoo permeating the bathroom. Frowning at her wayward sense of smell, Lyssa snatched a towel, wrapped it around her wet body, then grabbed her robe and shoved her feet into her slippers. She hurried for the staircase, poking her arms into the sleeves of the robe, and calling, “I’m coming!”

  At the door, she switched on the porch light and peered through the peep hole. Her mother. Lyssa’s heart stumbled. She snapped the locks free and threw the door wide. “Is it Grandy?”

  “No, no.” Roxanne gave her a quick hug, and moved into the room. She was carrying a tote bag, and taking stock of Lyssa’s gaping robe and haphazardly draped towel, her dripping hair. “No, I presume Mother’s maintaining status quo. I was just worried about you. I know how empty a house can be sometimes, especially after the ordeal you’ve been through, and well, I thought maybe you’d like some overnight company…unless you already have some?”

  Lyssa closed the door, reworked the locks, then tugging her robe shut, turned to her mother with a tolerant expression. Did she really think she'd find Craig Rival here? “I’m alone, Mom. And you’re more than welcome to stay the night. But only tonight.”

  In fact, Lyssa was relieved to have her mother here, no matter what had actually brought her.

  “Darlin’ mine, you are drippin’ water all over the place. Why don’t you go take care of that, while I fix us some hot cocoa?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Lyssa smiled at her mother. “But no heart to hearts tonight. I’m ready to drop in my tracks.”

  Her mother looked only slightly disappointed. “Agreed.”

  Lyssa returned to her room with a lighter step than she’d had earlier. Ten minutes later she was in the kitchen, her hair wrapped in a towel, wearing dry bed clothes, and enjoying the hot chocolate with her mother.

  The intruder cowered in the guest bedroom closet, sitting on the floor, back to the wall, legs drawn to chin, clutching the brass ginger jar to a heart which only now was slowing to its normal beat. That was too close. The doorbell startled the daylights out of me. It’s a miracle I didn't cry out. Or boggle the whole affair. Instead, I reacted like a coward. Shame and rage surged through the intruder at the memory.

  Damn Lyssa. She ought to be dead, her head cracked open, her life’s blood flowing down the drain. The intruder pictured it, and grinned, then recalling the doorbell, knew the course of action taken had been the smartest one. Couldn’t risk hitting her with someone at the door. Lyssa might have screamed, alerting whomever had chosen such a rotten time to show up.

  But what now?

  Setting the ginger jar on the floor between both legs, the intruder gazed into the upper reaches of the closet. Except for a couple of blankets and pillows on the shelf above the hanger rod, it was empty. And narrow. Like the linen closet Papa used to lock me in as a kid whenever I was naughty.

  The darkness seemed to press in from all sides, panic gathered in the intruder’s chest and air was gulped instead of inhaled. Had to get out of the closet. Gingerly shoving the door aside, the person peered out, listening intently.

  All was silent. At least, Lyssa wasn’t in this room. Moving with slow deliberate steps, the intruder headed for the bedroom door. A board creaked beneath the Nikes. Wild eyed, the intruder froze. But no one came to investigate. In the hallway, the sound of voices wafted from below. Her company was still here. Was the other person going to stay long? Long enough to be accused if Lyssa’s death didn’t appear to be an accident?

  Warming to the thought, the intruder wondered who the visitor was. Need to get closer. Down two stairs. Stop. Listen. A woman. But who? Did it really matter…as long as Lyssa ended up dead?

  For she would die this night. She had to. Failing again would mean putting it off until later in the week. The thought made the intruder's stomach pinch. I can’t chance missing work, can’t chance being regarded suspiciously in anyway, or for any reason. My partner is already fit to be tied about this, but my partner doesn’t understand. The longer Lyssa lives, the greater risk she will remember seeing me at Windance.

  The voices were coming closer. The intruder hastened into the guest room
again, and cowered against the wall behind the door.

  “The bed has fresh linen. Thanks for coming. I do feel safer now.”

  That was Lyssa. The intruder’s heart thumped like a drumbeat. She and the other woman were on the landing outside the guest room.

  Someone grasped the knob and began pushing the door open. The intruder heard her say, “Sweet dreams, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “ ‘Night, Mama.”

  Mama? Her mother? Pain twanged the intruder’s temples. Who was going to believe her own mother murdered her in the night? Damn! Damn! Double damn! Getting rid of Lyssa was turning into a Chinese puzzle. The intruder dove once again into the dreaded closet, this time leaving the door ajar, but in the haste, the toe of one Nike bumped the abandoned ginger jar, and the resulting clang seemed as loud as a gong. The intruder waited in sheer terror to be discovered, hefting the brass jar high, readied for attack.

  But the woman apparently hadn’t heard it. She disrobed, pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. The intruder settled on the closet floor and set the jar aside. She’d be asleep soon. Just have to wait. What time was it anyway? Wish I could see my watch. It must be after four a.m.. Stifling a yawn, the intruder slumped against the wall of the closet and closed heavy eyelids.

  Sunday

  The alarm went off at seven. Lyssa had awakened minutes before, suddenly recalling the agreement. She was certain she'd set it on the bed before taking her shower, but hadn’t given it a thought after her mother had arrived. Now, she couldn’t remember seeing it when she’d slid beneath the covers. She sat up, shuffling through the blankets, then slowly shook each one in turn. Nothing. She scrambled onto her knees, and peered over one side then the other of the bed. Nothing.

  With mounting concern, she zipped off the bed and sifted through the dolls she’d scooped onto the floor. Still nothing. A sinking feeling hit her stomach. Impossibly, the agreement was gone.

  Lyssa sat there bewildered, her gaze jumping from familiar item to familiar item, when with a jolt, she realized something else was missing. A clammy sensation swept her as she stared at the empty spot where her brass ginger jar had been last night when she’d dropped her carry-on bag in front of it. The clammy sensation was washed away in a brutal chill as she bolted from her room into the guest bedroom. “Mama!”

  Roxanne sprang up, startled from sleep by Lyssa’s outcry. “What is it? Mother?”

  “No. I just wanted to see if you were all…right…” Lyssa trailed off, stopping dead in her tracks, her face losing all warmth as her gaze steadied on the open closet door and the missing ginger jar that lay overturned inside.

  “Well, I was until you scared the stuffin’ out of me. Lyssa? Lyssa? Why, what’s the matter? You’re white as paste."

  “Did you take the ginger jar out of my room last night?”

  But even as she asked Lyssa knew the answer. Her mother hadn’t gone into her room. Had she been so sleepy she’d mistakenly thought she’d seen the ginger jar where it belonged last night? She couldn’t believe that. Yes, she’d been stressed out lately about Grandy, but that didn’t explain when or how the jar had gotten into this closet…or the odd whiff of whiskey she’d smelled last night in her bathroom, and she’d swear lingered in the closet now.

  Or where the agreement had gone.

  Her knees wobbled.

  “Lyssa?” Roxanne threw back the covers and reached for her robe, scurrying to her side.

  Lyssa took a deep breath. She didn’t want to alarm her mother. But that seemed unavoidable. “I’d suggest you get dressed as fast as possible. I’m going to call the police. Unless I’m very much mistaken, we had an intruder last night.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll call from my room. Hurry, get dressed.”

  But Lyssa didn’t make it back to her room without Roxanne. She grabbed her clothes and raced after her daughter. They locked the bedroom door. Roxanne checked the bathroom and the closet ensuring they were alone and Lyssa, relieved to find the phone working, dialed the police.

  By eight-thirty, the police had come and gone. They hadn’t found any signs of a break in. It had rained the night before and there were no footprints outside any windows. If someone had gotten into the house last night, they’d concluded, she’d either let them in or they’d had a key. But the key she had hidden outside, after twice locking herself out, was still in its place, and a check for fingerprints produced nothing but smudges.

  The official hypothesis seemed to be that since the only item missing was a scrap of paper it was most likely that she’d mislaid it. However, if she was still concerned, she could change her locks.

  After the incident at Windance and now this, Lyssa determined leaving keys outdoors for any reason was not something she’d ever do again. She made arrangements to meet a locksmith at the house later that day. It galled her that the police thought she was paranoid. Someone had been in the house. Someone had moved the ginger jar. Someone had taken the agreement. But why? To discredit her with Craig Rival? For he certainly wasn’t going to believe her any more than the police had. She doubted even seeing their official report would satisfy him, but it was tucked inside her purse, nonetheless.

  He was waiting outside the motel when she drove up, again wearing black jeans, but today his polo shirt was yellow and black. Her palms were damp, her mouth dry. A sweet tingle of desire spread lazily through her as he climbed into the car. His sensuous aftershave tugged on her senses.

  Vulnerable. Personally and professionally. That was the effect he had on her, and she hated it. She liked being the one in control. Steeling herself against his immediate request for the agreement, she was relieved when he didn’t mention it. They drove to the hospital conversing about Superstition Mountain, and the beauty of Arizona in September.

  Roxanne was not alone in the waiting room. Her two younger brothers sat on either side of her. Lyssa’s stomach did a slow roll, but her mother had apparently already told them both to expect Craig. Although she was greeted with hugs and kisses, he was given a luke-warm reception. Lyssa strove to break the tension. “How’s Grandy?”

  “It’s incredible.” There was a brightness in her mother’s eyes, she hadn’t seen in a while. “We’re waiting for the doctor to confirm it, but the nurse suspects she’s going into another remission. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  Half an hour later, the doctor, more prudently than the nurse, told them that Idella did seem more alert, her spirits good, but cautioned them against thinking remission without some solid proof. He’d know more in a few days.

  But if looks were any indication, Grandy was indeed feeling better. The moment she saw Craig and Lyssa, she shooed her sons and daughter from her side and asked, “Did you bring my necklace?” Her voice was stronger than it had been in weeks.

  Craig quickly produced it from the briefcase and presented it to her.

  Idella, propped up by extra pillows at her back, accepted the Purity with reverence as though she'd accepted a dried rose petal that might disintegrate if she breathed on it. Her gnarled fingers caressed each stone, every ounce of gold, then she lifted it to her neck, insisting Lyssa fasten it, and demanding a mirror. The blue of the diamonds stood out against the pale hospital gown, giving the ocean blue eyes a deep pure clarity. Idella gazed at herself, her expression becoming dreamy as if she were remembering a time when she was young, her neck as smooth and lovely as the necklace.

  Craig was reminded of his mother.

  “You look beautiful, Grandy,” Lyssa said.

  Idella smiled at her. “No, this is a young woman’s necklace. A bride’s necklace. But I am happy…and that is your doing, Lyssa. Yours…and this young man of yours.” She gazed at Craig now, studying him as if something about him were familiar, something she couldn’t quite place her finger on.

  It gave Lyssa a moment of concern. Did Craig resemble his grandfather? Was Grandy seeing family similarities?

  Grandy asked, “Have we met before, young man?
”

  Lyssa blanched. “Grandy, this is Craig…ah--”

  “Smith,” Roxanne finished for her.

  Ignoring the scowl on her uncles’ faces, Lyssa watched Craig’s neck grow red and guessed even this necessary lie would bode poorly for her honesty.

  Grandy seemed to notice Lyssa’s dismay. She frowned at her reprovingly. “Don’t you fret, girl. Nothing wrong with the name Smith. It’s good, honest, all American.”

  “I…agree,” Lyssa sputtered.

  “And a mighty handsome devil he is, too.” She smiled, her ocean blue eyes seeking out Craig. “I can finally go to my reward knowing my Lyssa will have a good and lasting marriage. Welcome to the family, Craig Smith. Now come here and give an old lady a kiss on the cheek.”

  Silence charged the air. Lyssa couldn’t believe she’d heard right. Where had Grandy gotten such an idea? Heat burned her face. She avoided looking at her mother and her uncles.

  Craig was embarrassed, also, but he obliged Idella DeHaviland with a kiss on the cheek and then started to step back.

  Idella grasped his wrist. “Not so quick. Here undo the clasp.” With obvious effort, she shifted on the bed to accommodate him. Her breathing seemed louder. “I might not make it to your wedding, so I want to see you put the Purity on Lyssa, here and now.”

  Craig bit down his chagrin, and glanced at Lyssa. Her face was the shade of rubies, but her eyes were rife with concern. He could feel her silent plea to go along with anything as long as it didn't upset her grandmother. The rest of her family seemed just as eager that he comply. Craig balked at the idea. Letting Idella believe they were getting married was downright cruel. She'd have to learn the truth sooner or later.