Blood Rubies

by Jane K. Cleland

  Heather stood at a black granite kitchen island squeezing lemons into a pitcher. She was petite, even shorter than me. Her skin was super fair, and I wondered if she used whiter-than-her-skin-tone foundation or if this was her natural color. Her chin-length black hair was held off her face by a turquoise headband. Her eyes were hazel. Prisms from her huge—I guessed three karats—yellow diamond ring flicked along the counter. Jason was tall and classically handsome, with chiseled features and backswept brown hair. He leaned against a wall by the French doors that opened onto a slate patio, tapping into his smart phone. I guessed he was older than Heather by a dozen or so years.

  “How did it go?” Heather asked Ana as we approached the counter.

  “Fabulous, of course, since Josie was the guest.” All signs of Ana’s angst had vanished. “Josie, meet my good buddy Heather Walker. Jason? Let me drag you away from work for a moment. This is Josie—Josie Prescott. She owns a big-deal antiques auction house here in Rocky Point.”

  “Hi!” Heather said, smiling.

  Jason looked up momentarily. “Hey.”

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Josie’s doing the Fabergé Spring Egg appraisal, right?” Heather asked as she stirred in some simple syrup.

  “Right. Timothy wants to use it in the pilot, so I figured I’d better get my insurance up to date. I’m embarrassed to admit that it hasn’t been appraised in eighteen years.”

  Heather laughed. “You don’t need insurance—your dad’s house is a fortress!”

  “True … still, eighteen years is a long time.” She shrugged. “Anyway, since I was going to have that one appraised, I decided to have Josie look at them all.”

  “Have you seen the other two, the Christmas scene and the skaters?” I asked Heather.

  “Are you kidding? I was the one who encouraged Ana to buy them. ‘Live a little,’ I told her. ‘You’re starting to make some money. Enjoy it!’ For once she listened to me.”

  “What are you talking about!” Ana said, smiling at Heather. “I always listen to you.”

  Heather shot Jason a look I couldn’t read. “As if. You’re the smart one. If I have any brains at all, it shows in my talent for surrounding myself with people who are brighter than me.” She dipped a spoon into the lemonade for a taste, then scrunched up her nose. “Tart.” She ladled in some more simple syrup and stirred, then took a clean spoon for another taste. “Yum.” She poured glasses and offered them around. “Lemonade, anyone?”

  I reached for a glass. “Thanks!” The lemon flavor was bright and fresh. “What do you do, Heather?”

  “I’m Jason’s research assistant.”

  “We share that interest, then,” I said. “A lot of my work involves research.”

  “Do you specialize?” Jason asked me without looking away from his device, making me wonder whether he’d been listening to our entire conversation or just happened to overhear that remark.

  “No. We’re a full-service house. I run monthly high-end themed auctions and weekly tag sales. Which means I need a lot of inventory, so I buy anything and we deal in everything.”

  I’d caught his interest, and he took a step toward us. “I collect chess sets. Just got a beauty—English boxwood.”

  “Nice!”

  Jason cocked his head, reading my expression. “Not impressed?”

  “I’m always impressed when a collector finds an object they love.”

  “But…?”

  “English boxwood chess sets aren’t particularly rare.”

  “What is?”

  “Decorative glass. Exotic woods, like rosewood. Anything from the eighteenth century or earlier.”

  “How much should I have paid?”

  “There are too many variables for me to say without examining it—who made it, who owned it, who played with it, its condition, and so on.”

  “I like your style, Josie. I host a weekly investment show on cable and write a monthly newsletter, both called Ferris Investor News. We should talk. I’m always looking for expert investment advice I can pass on to my viewers and readers. When I get back from my honeymoon, let’s brainstorm how we can work together.”

  “I’d love it,” I said.

  I extracted a business card from the sterling silver case my boyfriend, Ty, had given me for my last birthday and handed it to him. He pulled one from an inner pocket of his wallet for me.

  “In the meantime, will you appraise my collection?”

  I tucked his card away. “With pleasure!” I explained our procedures, and Jason said he’d stop by to sign the paperwork in the morning.

  “More lemonade?” Heather asked.

  “Thanks.” I held out my glass for a refill. “Where are you going on your honeymoon?”

  “Australia,” Heather said.

  “Bedarra Island,” Jason said with a cocky grin.

  “That’s on the Great Barrier Reef, right?”

  “You know it?” Jason asked, impressed.

  “I read about it in Travel & Leisure.”

  “It’s very chichi,” Heather said, half embarrassed, half excited.

  “I have a reputation to uphold,” Jason said. “My audience expects me to live the good life, to live their dreams.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was joking.

  Heather placed her hand on her hip. “You’re taking me to Bedarra to impress other people?”

  I couldn’t tell if she was joking, either.

  “No. I’m taking you to Bedarra because you’re the perfect woman I’d given up hope of finding. I want to impress you.”

  “You silver-tongued devil, you. You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

  “That’s the idea,” he said, turning back to his phone.

  She stirred the lemonade.

  Ana stood off to the side, her eyes moving from Jason to Heather and back again.

  “This lemonade is delish,” I said to change the subject. “Do you share Ana’s love of cooking?”

  “God, no! In fact, I can barely boil a steak. Oh, wait, I just remembered! You don’t boil steak.”

  I laughed. “Then I assume you’re not having a do-it-yourself wedding. Who’s your caterer?”

  Jason wandered back to the window to catch the light and started reading something on his phone.

  “Ana is taking care of the wedding cake and desserts, natch. Everything else is being handled by the Blue Dolphin.”

  “That’s my favorite restaurant!”

  “Me, too!” Ana said.

  Heather giggled, her eyes beaming mischievously. “Josie’s talking about the food, Ana, not the chef.” She turned her gaze to me. “The executive chef, Ray, has been spending an awful lot of time going over the menu with Ana.”

  Ana laughed. “That’s just because he’s trying to placate his pastry chef, Maurice. Talk about temperamental! Jeesh!”

  “Everybody’s got attitude,” Jason said, not looking up from his device. “Like this guy here.” He tapped his screen. “He reads my investment newsletter, loses money, then has the gall to blame me.”

  “Aren’t people supposed to follow your advice?” Ana asked. “Isn’t that the point?”

  “Hell, no. They’re supposed to educate themselves, not follow the herd. It says so plainly at the top of each issue and at the start of each episode.” He grinned at me. “Caveat emptor—right, Josie?”

  “I don’t know anything about your business. In mine, we warranty what we sell. Every antique or collectible’s pedigree is set out in writing, or it’s sold ‘as is.’ I don’t want clients to misunderstand what they’re buying.”

  He winked at me. “I knew I’d want to do business with you.”

  I couldn’t think of a reply, so I stayed quiet. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to do business with him.

  “Enough work for today,” Heather said, her tone issuing a challenge.

  Jason didn’t look up or reply.

  “Jason? It’s time for us to go. Chuck and Sara await.” She smiled in my directio
n. “The wedding is in five days, this coming Saturday, and folks are starting to arrive. Chuck is Jason’s best friend—his best man. He and his wife got in today, and like most of us, they’re staying at the Pelican. Who wouldn’t want to take an extra few days in Rocky Point, right?”

  “At least March seems to going out like a lamb,” Ana said. “Some years, people might be arriving in a blizzard. Or trudging through mud. I remember one year—”

  Ana broke off as Heather gaped at something behind us. Her jaw hung open. She took a step back as her already pallid complexion turned paper white. Ana and I spun around.

  A good-looking man about my age, maybe a few years older, strolled toward the island. I hadn’t heard the porch door open or close. Seemingly, he just appeared out of thin air. It was eerie. He had light blue eyes and longish blond-brown hair, and he was shorter than Jason by half a foot, and far stockier. He didn’t look fat, though; he looked strong.

  “Hey, Ana!” he said, smiling. “Heather. Jason.”

  “Peter!” Ana said, rushing toward him.

  He hugged her. “Hey, sis!”

  “Peter,” Heather said, turning the word into a plea.

  “Nice to see you, Pete,” Jason said, joining Heather at the island. “Let’s go, babe.” Jason touched her elbow, and she scurried from the room. He followed her with a swagger, pausing at the threshold to look back at Peter. “Quite a coincidence, your showing up this week.”

  “Didn’t you think I’d come to cheer Ana on?” Peter asked. “Come on! It’s not every day she films a pilot for a TV show.”

  Jason shook his head, communicating contempt. “You’re not fooling anyone, Pete.”

  Peter spread his hands, palms up. “You’ve got it all wrong, friend. I’m here to celebrate.”

  “Bad idea, dude. Bad karma. It’s time to be on your way.”

  “Thanks for the tip. I think I’ll stay a few days, though.” Peter said something that sounded like Simyet blezh de cevyo and grinned.

  “Family above all,” Ana translated, looking from Peter to me to Jason, then back to me. “Our family motto, inherited from our Russian forefathers.”

  “That’s right,” Peter said. “Words to live by.” Peter placed his arm around Ana’s shoulders, and squeezed.

  When Jason didn’t comment, Peter’s grin broadened. “You’re staying at the Pelican, right? Me, too. I’ll probably see you around.”

  Jason glared at him for a few seconds, then marched out. The screen door slammed. No one spoke.

  “Why are you staying at a hotel?” Ana asked. “I have room here.”

  “Too much activity going on, what with the TV shooting and all. Plus, they have a killer gym at the Pelican. You know me. I need my workouts.” He squeezed her shoulder again and picked up a glass of lemonade. “I’ll be here every day, though, clapping like a crazy man, watching my beautiful sister work.”

  Ana stared at him, trying to read between the lines, perhaps.

  After a few seconds, I became uncomfortable witnessing their unbroken silence and walked to the French doors, looking past a small whitewashed gazebo, past the rambling roses not yet in bud, past the feathery grass border, to the ocean, wishing I were somewhere else, anywhere else. I could faintly hear the waves crashing against the boulders. Ana’s yard looked like it belonged in an article about dream locales, the ones that promise memory-laden lazy days and soul-searing romantic nights. Empty promises, usually.

  “As you might have gathered, Josie,” Ana said, “this is my brother, Peter, up from Boston.”

  I turned to face them. Ana was smiling, patting her brother’s arm.

  “This is Josie Prescott, Peter. I’ve told you about her.”

  Peter gave a two-finger semisalute. “Hey.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I returned to the island and slid my empty glass onto the counter. “Thanks for the lemonade. I’ve got to get back to work.” I headed for the living room. “See ya!”

  As I stepped onto the porch, I heard Ana say, “Tell me the truth, Peter. What are you doing here?”

  I closed the door, whispered, “Whew,” and walked slowly to my car.

  Timothy sat on a director’s chair, drinking Coke from an old-fashioned small green bottle. The yellow-haired man pushed a large black crate up a ramp into an 18-wheeler. OSCAR’S MOVIE RENTALS was stenciled on the side.

  “So what do you think of your first television role?” Timothy asked as I drew near.

  “I think I’m lucky the star of the show and her director are so talented.”

  “You’re too modest! You have a flair, Josie. The camera loves you.”

  Timothy was a diplomat. I’m old enough to know that the camera doesn’t love me. It doesn’t even like me much. I don’t have good angles. I don’t have a best side. I look like what I am—a pretty enough woman with a too-round face, chin-length nothing-special brown hair, a wide mouth, and big brown eyes. For Timothy’s purpose, though, I didn’t have to look good. My job was to help Ana shine, and if I excelled at that, from his perspective, I was a star.

  I extended a hand for a shake. “Thanks, Timothy. I’m glad you got usable footage.”

  I was behind the wheel, latching my seat belt, when Peter strode down the driveway. Ana hurried after him, then stopped short of the street, letting him go, her eyes shadowed with uneasiness.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I peered under the photocopier and spotted the missing pink felt mouse right away. Hank, Prescott’s Maine Coon cat, had batted it across the office, and when it disappeared under the machine, he got upset and started mewing and pacing, agitated.

  “I see it, Hank!” I told him.

  He meowed imperatively, unimpressed. He wanted his mouse and he wanted it now.

  “Can you reach it?” Gretchen asked.

  “I think so. Hank must have put some English on it—it’s in the far corner and upside down. Let me try the yardstick.”

  She handed me the old wooden ruler we kept nearby for just this purpose. I waved it back and forth along the carpet. On my third pass, the mouse came flying out, and Hank leaped on it like a mountain lion attacks a deer. He picked it up in his mouth and shook his head so the little mouse rattled, then pranced away, his upset already forgotten.

  “I could make a little skirt,” Cara, our grandmotherly receptionist, said. Seeing our bewilderment, she pointed to the gap. “You know, for the bottom of the machine, to stop Hank’s mice from running underneath. If you’re all right with double-stick Velcro, Josie, I could attach it that way.”

  “You’re a wonder woman, Cara! Sure, go for it! We’ll have the best-dressed photocopier in Rocky Point.”

  The wind chimes Gretchen had hung on the front door years earlier jingled, and Ana walked in.

  Seeing me kneeling on the floor, she laughed. “I bet there’s a story here!”

  I stood up and brushed a few dusty bits from my khakis. “Caught in the act of rescuing our cat’s favorite toy.” I introduced her to Cara and Gretchen. “What can we get you? Coffee? Tea?”

  “Nothing, thanks. Do you have a minute to talk gifts?”

  “Always. Have a seat. Or—if it’s private, we can go to my office.”

  Ana sat down at the guest table, as stylish and put-together in jeans and a mint green sweater as she’d been earlier in the day in her on-air outfit. “It’s not the least bit private. Or rather, it’s top secret until Heather and Jason’s wedding, then it’s not. Here’s the deal—I got them something from their registry, which is fine, but I’ve been racking my brain looking for a gift that’s more, I don’t know, personal. Hearing Jason talk about chess sets, well, it got me thinking. Any ideas on how to merge that interest with something art deco, which is Heather’s style?”

  “Maybe. Gretchen, would you see if we have any art deco chess sets in stock?”

  She started tapping code words into the search function in our database.

  Reacting to Ana’s surprised expression, I added, “I told you we were a full-
service house.”

  “That’s great! I spoke to my dad, by the way, coordinating our schedules. If it’s not too late, you can come by my house around five thirty tomorrow afternoon and pick up the Spring Egg snow globe.”

  “Perfect.” I swiveled to face Cara. “Would you put that in my calendar?”

  She nodded as the printer nearest Gretchen’s desk whirred to life. Gretchen glanced at the one-page printout, then handed it over. I thanked her and scanned the list.

  “It looks like we have two sets in stock, one decorative glass from France, circa 1928, and one Bakelite, circa 1935. If you’ll wait here for just a minute, I’ll get them.”

  Ana glanced at her watch, a gold and diamond bangle. “Oh, God! It’s nearly four. I’ll need to stop back tomorrow. I’m supposed to meet Ray about the dessert display for Heather and Jason’s wedding at four-fifteen.”

  “That’s fine. Anytime.” I stood up. “I’m meeting my boyfriend, Ty, at the Blue Dolphin at six this evening. If you’re still there, maybe you can join us for a drink.”

  She said she would, thanked me, said good-bye to us all, and left.

  “She’s so pretty,” Gretchen said.

  “Elegant,” Cara agreed.

  “Nice, too,” I grinned, a cocky one, excitement bubbling to the surface. “And she owns a Fabergé egg that we get to appraise!”

  * * *

  I stood under the dome-shaped hammered-copper awning that shielded the Blue Dolphin’s entryway waiting for Ty. I saw him as soon as he turned onto Bow Street, and I smiled. When he spotted me, he smiled back. I loved his rugged looks. He was tall, about six-two, and well-built, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His brown hair was cut short. Since taking a job as a training supervisor with Homeland Security, he spent most of his time outdoors, and his skin had weathered to a warm nut brown. He was smart and wise and fun and funny. He was also compassionate and tender. I adored him.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.

  “Hey, handsome.” I went up on tiptoe.