by Scott, D. D.
“You’re family, Ricky,” she said, “you and Tara, and—” Her voice broke off in a gasp.
The dog bark sounded again.
“What?” Ricky asked.
“The Ice Queen!” Penelope said. “She’s gone!”
I immediately knew what Penelope was referring to; the Ice Queen was an antique glass vase. It had been featured in a regional magazine recently, among other locally owned, notable artworks in private collections. But despite the competition—numerous paintings, a group of carvings from Africa, and even a 17th century still life from the Spanish golden age—the Ice Queen stood apart. The color of opals, the large, glass urn curved like a shapely woman—wide hips tapered to small ankles below and, above, the glass flourished out into a voluptuous round opening. But though the shape of the glass was eye-catching, it merely complimented the extravagantly ornate, jewel-studded silver handles that ran the full-length of the vase on either side. One silver handle was shaped into elements from a winter landscape. Thin, snowcapped evergreen trees overburdened with rubies comprised the handle’s top, and a stream began halfway down the handle and meandered around icy gemmed rocks to the vase’s base. The other handle had been crafted into a woman with frosty aquamarine eyes, a Mona Lisa smile, and a crown featuring diamond-drizzled snowflakes. Her fingers, ringed with gems, reached toward the vase’s opening, and her toes pointed to the handle’s base. This woman was no Suzie Snowflake; she had to be the ice queen.
“My Ice Queen!” Penelope repeated. “She’s supposed to be here, on this table.”
Her wail was answered by another bark and the sound of nails fervently scratching against wood.
Penelope looked around the entryway as if expecting to find that the vase had wandered to a different area and perhaps hidden itself behind a tree. Then Penelope’s gaze fell—and remained—on Tara. “You took her!”
“What?” Ricky asked.
“There,” Penelope said, “in your wife’s purse.”
Tara swung a large, bulky purse the breadth of a seat cushion from behind her skirt and held it, two-handed, against her body. More like a canvas tote bag, but with leather handles, the fabric of the purse bulged irregularly, and the zipper seemed to be straining against the bloated bag.
“Open it,” Penelope said.
“No,” Tara said. “I didn’t take no ice thing.”
The dog’s barking got louder and more incessant in tandem with the rising tension in the foyer.
“Ice Queen,” Penelope corrected, grabbing for the purse.
Tara dodged Penelope by turning her shoulders. “I don’t have your Ice Queen!”
“Then let me look!”
“No! My purse is private!”
“If you’re so innocent,” Penelope said over the barking, at last managing to grab the bag with one hand, “let me look.”
Tara yanked her bag away, the momentum landing her against the front door. The purse also banged against the door, clanging slightly. Penelope tripped to the floor, her dress pooling around her.
By the time I’d swung up onto the pantry countertop and jumped through the interior window into the hallway, Ricky and Tara had disappeared out the door.
Penelope stared after them. “Come back! Thief!”
I ran down the stairs to Penelope.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, crouching down. “Penelope?”
“Jade O’Reilly?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”
Outside, a pickup truck backfired and pulled away from the curb with a screech. The dog’s barking had stopped, but scratching against an interior door still sounded on the far side of the staircase. Gregory, Penelope’s husband, ran up the front porch stairs. He looked distinguished in a black tuxedo that appeared custom-tailored to his long, brawny build. His ruffled, thick salt-and-pepper hair hung over dark brown eyes, a nose as straight as a beak, and ruddy cheeks. “Sweetheart!” he said, joining me at her side.
Penelope stared at him blankly.
“Penny, what happened? Are you okay?”
“No, Gregory.” Penelope pushed herself up. She smoothed her satin skirt with vigorous swipes. “My sister-in-law just stole the Ice Queen!”
Gregory stood and looked at the table where the vase had been displayed. I also stood and stepped backward, wondering if I should silently retreat back to the pantry or relay condolences and then leave. Perhaps I could offer to help recover the vase, I thought. After all, I’d been a private investigator for a year when a part-time surveillance job turned into a full-time opportunity. If I hadn’t joined Grayson Investigations, I’d either have gone to law school or basic law enforcement training. But I enjoyed private investigation. For some reason, the solitude of surveillance, variety of cases, and feeling of accomplishment when I uncovered dirt suited me.
“Tara stole my vase!” Penelope raised manicured fingernails to massage her forehead in small circles.
“Now, hold on, sweet—”
“What’s going on?” Olivia, Penelope’s sister, asked, walking in the front door. Shorter and less polished than Penelope but with a similarly refined stature, Olivia wore her brown hair curly and loose while Penelope’s smooth locks were restrained in a bun. Olivia’s eyes appeared red-rimmed, although the shading could have resulted from makeup to match her holly berry red gown and clasped clutch change purse. An artist in clay and glass mediums with a downtown studio, Olivia wore a necklace that showcased her talents. From a silver chain, multi-colored fingernail-sized glass charms dangled like shiny, exotic candies in brilliant reds and deep greens.
“What were you doing out front?” Penelope asked.
“What do you think?” Olivia ran a finger beneath her lower lip, wiping away smudged lipstick. “I was smoking, of course.”
“You quit months ago,” Penelope said. “And why not smoke in the backyard?”
“I had a relapse. Is that all right with you?” Olivia lowered her hand and rolled her eyes. “I needed a sneak. And what do you expect—me to smoke in the backyard in front of all your guests? If I did, we both know you’d be flipping out more than you are right now!”
“And you?” Penelope turned to her husband. Her eyes strayed to his lips, which looked almost purple from the cold but betrayed no lipstick smudging.
“Taking out the trash, of course,” he said.
Penelope adjusted her husband’s bow tie, straightening it. I stepped backward, away from the group. Perhaps I should just retreat up the stairs, I thought.
“I’m just trying to help our party run smoothly,” Gregory said.
“Interesting,” Penelope said, “you two, out in the front yard, together.”
“Are you insinuating something?” Olivia asked.
“I’m expressing my surprise at the extraordinary odds of finding you as well as my—” Penelope said, pausing, “my husband—”
“We didn’t see each other out there,” Olivia said. “And even if we did, so what? Are you forbidding Gregory from having friends? Oh, wait—you’re just jealous because we’ve always been friends where as you and Gregory, not so much, especially lately.”
I took another step back. I needed to leave, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, especially not now.
“You know, he’s got to have someone to talk to,” Olivia said. “And if you won’t—”
“Olivia,” Gregory said.
“I’m so sorry,” Olivia said to Gregory. “Sorry for you.”
Olivia began to walk around Penelope and toward the party, but Penelope grabbed her arm.
“Let her go,” Gregory said. “Penny, sweetheart—”
“You’re standing up for her now?” Penelope asked.
“Get your hand off me!” Olivia said, struggling.
The dog barked from behind the door.
“Sadie!” Gregory shouted. “Quiet!”
“Our sister-in-law just stole our Ice Queen,” Penelope said.
Olivia’s mouth fell open. She stopped struggling and looked at the table
.
“What?” she asked. “Tara?”
“Yes.”
“You’re saying Tara stole your vase.”
“And Ricky helped her,” Penelope said, her hand still grasping Olivia’s arm. “They stole our vase!”
“Well,” Olivia said. “Well, good. They need the money.”
“You can’t mean you’re all right with them pawning the Ice Queen for cash!”
“You know they need money,” Olivia said. “And, yeah, I’d rather them have money to pay for heat this winter than for them to freeze while the vase sits pretty on your polished tabletop.”
“Our vase,” Penelope said, “is part of our family’s history. It’s an heirloom and as such is priceless.”
“Our vase? Last I checked, the Ice Queen wasn’t our vase. It was yours. What are you going to do? Have Ricky and Tara arrested?”
“I’ll do what it takes,” Penelope said. “It’s the Ice Queen, and she’s been stolen!”
Olivia yanked her arm free.
“You’re wrong,” Olivia said. “The ice queen is standing right in front of me.”
Penelope slapped Olivia’s face. Olivia, stunned still for a moment, blinked and then dashed out the front door. Penelope turned to her husband.
“Did you give Olivia that idea?” she asked. “Calling me the Ice Queen?”
The dog barked again.
Gregory held up his hands. “No.”
“Were you out there,” Penelope asked, pointing outside, “out with that—outside with Olivia?”
“No! I told you, I was taking out the trash. She must have been on the other side of the house.”
Penelope considered him for a moment. “Take your dog outside before she destroys our sitting room!”
“She’s just upset because of all the commotion.”
Penelope strode past me into the house, toward the party. Gregory watched her leave. He frowned at me.
“Sorry you had to see that, Jade,” he said.
I shook my head. I didn’t know what to say. But Gregory didn’t wait for a response. He opened the sitting room door, releasing a dog with about the same build as a Labrador but smaller and sleeker.
“Have you met Sadie?” Gregory asked. The dog bounded toward me with a slight limp.
“She’s gorgeous,” I said. As Sadie’s wet nose left a cold watermark on my pantyhose, I ran my fingers through her soft, light brown fur. It shined honey in the light. “What kind of a dog is she?”
“A Vizsla. She’s the best hunting dog I’ve ever had.”
After a few moments, a calmer, slower Sadie returned to Gregory.
“She’s retired, just like me,” Gregory said, scratching behind her ears. “She’s been with me 13 years. Seen my daughters grow up and move out. Seen me through some good times, and some bad.”
“I’ve never heard of Vizslas,” I said.
“They’re not nearly as common a breed as your Labrador or golden retriever,” he said, “but they’re fantastic birddogs.” Gregory ran his hands down Sadie’s back. “Good girl. That’s my Sadie.”
As he dissolved in dog-speak, I again thought about retreating. But, I thought, perhaps I could help Penelope.
“You know,” I said, regaining Gregory’s attention. “I can help your wife retrieve her vase.”
“That’s thoughtful,” he said. “Thanks, but I don’t know that Penny would want that. What you witnessed, it’s personal.”
I nodded. I wondered which was more personal—accusing a family member of stealing a vase or having a family member accuse you of being an ice queen.
“Just because a fire goes cold doesn’t mean it can’t be rekindled,” Gregory murmured. He cleared his throat and began speaking again in his normal voice. “I simply don’t think that Penny would want a PI investigating her family,” Gregory said. He opened the drawer from a stand in the corner and pulled out a leather leash. “Ricky and Tara, their problems—it’s not something Penelope would want to advertise.”
“I would keep everything private,” I said.
“I’d better take Sadie out and get her quieted down. She’s wound up from all the arguing. Come on, old girl.”
I nodded and watched him lead Sadie down the steps and into the cold, dark night.
**
I plodded upstairs and retrieved my abandoned, half-eaten cake from the pantry. The thief had stolen my appetite along with the vase. I left my plate on the main kitchen counter, where Sarah was filling white coffee mugs on one of her employees’ trays with dripless precision while her other employee placed more mugs on another platter. Unlike Sarah and the two paid employees, who wore white shirts with maroon ties and black slacks, I’d worn an apron over a dress so I could join the party following my service. With a scoop neck and long sleeves, the midnight blue nylon fabric clung to my curves and ended halfway up my thighs in a flirty cut.
“Something wrong?” Sarah asked, nodding at my plate. “You shouldn’t worry about stretching your dress. A little meat on those bones would give the boys something to chew on.”
“Don’t let your husband hear you talking like that,” I said, referring to my eldest brother. He sometimes acted more like a father to me, even more than my other two big brothers combined.
Sarah smirked and kept her eyes on the coffee mugs.
“Has anyone passed through here?” I asked.
“Other than my staff?” she asked. “No. Why?”
“No reason,” I said.
“Then get out of my kitchen,” she joked. “Go enjoy yourself and drive those rich boys wild.”
Outside, seeing the string quartet, twinkle lights, space heaters, and ice sculptures, I imagined the party’s expenses spiraling upwards as fast as a twirling ice skater, legs blurred. Through the crowd, I glimpsed Penelope’s tall figure walking toward a dark corner. I began to follow her when a hand grasped my shoulder.
“Where’ve you been, beautiful?”
I turned to find Dale Pickles, my ex-fiancé, beside me. Dale was everything I could hope for in a man, and then some. He was handsome from the inside out, with a heart that drove him to hold open doors and mow lawns for people who couldn’t. Dale freely offered compliments and was always lending a hand to anyone who needed help. And I liked to think his goodness shaped him, gracing him with dimples and pale blue eyes that squinted at the corners when he laughed, in addition to his adorable, curly, blonde surfer-boy hair. His body appeared strong and steady, another match to his personality. The only son in a wealthy family known for banking and investments, Dale had chosen law enforcement for a career instead of living off the family legacy. He’d already served several years as a police officer in Sweetwater and said he hoped to become a detective one day.
“Dance with me?” he asked, already pulling me by my hand closer to couples swaying in rhythm with the love song.
As we moved together, my arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. I wondered why, when we were engaged, I had never loved Dale with the intensity I believed a woman ought to love her future husband and what I could do to convince Dale to move on. I’d have thought dumping him two months before our big day would have been enough to axe his evergreen presence in my life. Or maybe he knew something about me that I didn’t. Maybe one day my heart would change, and I’d feel more toward him than friendship. That was my problem; Dale always was more friend than love. That and I couldn’t imagine replacing my last name, O’Reilly, with Pickles—Hello, my name is Jade Pickles. I winced.
“What’s wrong, Jade?”
I shook my head.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, rocking me to the slow beat.
“Have you been drinking?”
“You look gorgeous tonight. Even earlier, in the apron. That was cute. You definitely should wear aprons more often.”
“Now I know you’ve been drinking.”
We danced a while in silence.
“I still love you,” he whispered, his warm breath easily pushing my hair behind my shou
lder.
“Dale.” I stopped dancing. “There are a ton of nice, fine-looking women here who could be as enraptured with you as you seem to be with me.”
“There’s no one here who even begins to interest me other than you.”
“Then you need to open your eyes and look around.”
“They’re open,” he said. “You’re the one whose eyes need opening, beautiful.”
“I’ve got to go.” I walked in the direction I’d last seen Penelope.
“Where’s the fire?” Dale asked, following at my side.
“I’m trying to track down a missing—something,” I said, not wanting to give away anything Penelope had not yet made public.
“PI biz? Come on, Jade. It’s a party. Spend some time with me.”
I stopped and looked Dale in the eyes, those sweet, blue, puppy-dog eyes.
“No, Dale. I’m sorry.”
“Dance with me,” he said. “Just another song. Relax.”
“You know I hate it when people tell me to relax.”
“That’s why I say it. I’ve got to keep you real.”
I shook my head.
“I’ll wait for you to change your mind,” he said.
“You shouldn’t,” I said, walking away and thinking to myself that maybe I had just sprinted ahead of Penelope in the race for reigning ice queen.
**
I found Penelope sitting at a corner table alone and nursing a glass with ice and some amber liquor that wasn’t champagne. Noticing my approach, she twisted one corner of her thin lips up into a lopsided grin.
“After what you witnessed between Gregory and me downstairs,” she said, “you’re probably glad you ditched Dale and never tied that hangman’s knot.”
I decided to ignore the comment. Sweetwater’s smallness provided fertile breeding ground for gossip. From whisperings I'd overhead, talk about why Dale hadn't moved on since our breakup continued to be a trendy conversational topic. Generally, people considered me to be Sweetwater’s own prodigal daughter who still, understandably, was regarded as unreliable. And Dale was one of the town's most eligible bachelors.