Ten Days in Summer

by Susan Calder

  “But you examined the brooch. You said the stones were fake.”

  “If I got that wrong, shoot me now,” Robin said. “Still, I wish your claimants had left the brooch with me. I could match it against this photo and see how close a copy was made. I wonder how this article got hold of the photo if the brooch was never worn in public.”

  “You’re certain the brooch my claimants brought you wasn’t the original?”

  “If it was, either that jeweller ripped off a high-profile member of royalty by stiffing him with fake gems or the Duke of Windsor showered his beloved with a worthless bauble.” Robin fanned the printouts. “From what I’ve read of Mrs. Simpson, if she found out the duke had done that to her, she’d have had his balls.”

  Paula laughed.

  “I’d assumed my father’s rival was undeserving of his great success until I followed my father into the business and saw some of this chap’s work. He had a skill I haven’t seen since. The pieces he fashioned were art. The man’s son, like me, went into the family business. He inherited some of his father’s talent, but as a man, I wouldn’t touch him with a cheap zircon. Rumour has it he’s the go-to jeweller for crooks wanting their jewellery fenced.”

  Through her work, Paula had heard stories of a jeweller the police had been watching for years. They couldn’t get him on anything. “Someone told me he’d retired.”

  “From his legitimate work,” Robin said. “He still works freelance with thieves on the side. No use talking to him. He hasn’t got where he is by being a blabbermouth. My point is: like father, like son. If the father had unscrupulous tendencies, he might have palmed off a worthless piece on the duke, who’d be long gone from the country before discovering he’d been duped. By then Edward might have decided it was too much bother to make an issue of this, or he didn’t want to offend his friends or Canadians. Some thought, at the time, he was angling to be appointed our Governor General. These papers make for interesting reading.”

  “Could I borrow them?”

  “I’ll make you copies. I’d like to go over them again in case something else strikes me. If the duke got shafted and realized it, this would explain why the duchess never wore the brooch in public and why it wasn’t included in her estate sale.”

  “If your father’s rival palmed a cheap brooch off on the duke, he’d have pocketed a hefty amount.”

  “In 2010, the Cartier flamingo brooch previously owned by the Duchess of Windsor sold at auction for 2.52 million dollars.”

  “Wow.” Paula recalled Johnny holding the wild mare brooch in the Becker’s alcove, Cynthia calling it ‘pretty;’ its pin sticking her finger. Too bad for the Beckers that The Treasure, as Brendan called it, wasn’t real. It could be worth more than their property.

  “The less famous mare would sell for less, but still a significant amount.”

  “The question is: how did my claimants, the Beckers, get hold of it? The grandparents did housecleaning at the ranch while the Windsors were there. Did the Becker grandparents steal the brooch and, before pawning it, make a copy? I’ve been led to think they weren’t inclined to pilfer from their wealthy employers.”

  “Ahhhh,” Robin said. “That explains it.”

  “What?”

  “Would the grandparents have taken a camera to the ranch in the hopes of catching a shot of the royals?”

  “They might have, if they owned one. They viewed the ranch job as a holiday.”

  “My guess is they admired the piece, took a photo and had a copy made. People do this all the time to touch royalty. How many women have bought dresses or shoes in a style worn by Princess Kate?”

  Through the door’s opaque glass Paula saw Nils’ tall, lean form heading down the stairs to meet his moving van.

  “Do you plan to contact my claimants to tell them what you learned about the brooch?” Paula asked.

  “Is there a chance they’ll loan it to me for further research?”

  “I’ll find out.”

  “I won’t call them until I hear from you,” Robin said. “On the whole, I’m glad to think the old, dead jeweller didn’t take advantage of the duke. My father would have got a thrill from my branding his rival a thief, but I like to believe a man who could craft such splendid art was honest.”

  * * *

  David was waiting on his front porch when Paula and her mother arrived with his saskatoon berry pie.

  “That’s too big for me alone, Theda,” he said. “You’ll have to come in and share.”

  “My granddaughter’s expecting us for lunch,” her mother told him.

  “Supper?”

  “I’m staying on to spend the night at Erin’s.”

  “Theda, I don’t know how you can stand so much time with those young folks.”

  “They keep me fresh.”

  “Well, they’re doing a good job.” David chortled, if that’s what the noise was.

  Were her mother and David flirting? Paula couldn’t wait to tell Sam.

  “How about tomorrow?” David asked.

  “As long as you don’t put me to work pitting cherries or canning,” her mother teased.

  * * *

  “Since I’ll be in Edmonton, Erin can drive you to David’s for lunch tomorrow,” Paula told her mother in the car. “I must say I’m surprised by how well you and he have hit it off.”

  Her mother stared ahead. “We enjoy each other’s company.”

  “He almost seems pleasant when you’re around.”

  “Why wouldn’t he be? You and Sam have the wrong impression of David.”

  “He created that impression for us. When you were there on Sunday with Sam, didn’t you notice David belittling him?”

  “You have to understand. David lived through the war.”

  “He was a child at the time.”

  “I was too.”

  “It didn’t make you miserable and bitter.”

  “His experience was different.”

  All Paula and Sam knew about his father’s childhood was that when World War II broke out, his Jewish parents hid him with a Polish couple. The couple eventually wouldn’t accept the risk and let David loose, along with a teenager they were also hiding. Somehow, the pair made it through Europe to Ireland, where the older boy supported them with manual labour; David sold garbage he collected at night. After the war, they immigrated to Canada but later parted ways in Winnipeg and had no further contact, for reasons David avoided explaining.

  “I still think it’s no excuse for him to hurt people close to him,” Paula said.

  “You could be more tolerant.”

  David rarely spoke about the war. For him to have shared anything with her mother this early in their acquaintanceship was significant. There was so much to discuss with Sam tonight.

  They entered Erin’s house to the patter of Salt bounding down the stairs to greet them.

  Erin said Isabelle had left for the Beckers’ yard sale. “She and I had a long talk over breakfast. She hates the thought of moving as much I do. We worked out a kind of budget for her. She’s going to pay me rent every week so she can keep more on top of her money.” Erin picked up Pepper. Salt scurried around her feet. “I’ve decided I don’t want to sell anymore, if you don’t mind hanging on to the house.”

  “Of course not,” Paula said. “You and the dogs staying here was what we both wanted.” The money from the house sale would have covered Paula’s contribution to Sam’s studio above the garage, but how wonderful to see the tension drained from her daughter’s blue eyes.

  “I was kind of jealous of her and Habib,” Erin said. “I’m glad they got together, but both of them were my friends first, and they’re moving to a new level that doesn’t include me.”

  “They’ll still be your friends.”

  “I know, and I’ll get used to it.” Erin stroked Pepper’s head. “At the end of our talk, the couple in the master bedroom wandered in for breakfast. Isabelle and I confronted them. We asked what it would take to convince them
to move out. They were snarly and arguing, but we finally agreed to split the three-month rental penalty in their lease. They’ll pay half of it and be gone by September.” Erin’s face glowed.

  Paula hugged her, the dog squeezed between them. “What a great negotiator. You’ll make an insurance adjuster yet.”

  “No thanks, Mom, I’d rather work with animals than people.”

  * * *

  Paula arrived at the Becker house with a couple of hours to spare before leaving for Edmonton. Even more vehicles than yesterday were parked on the street. One was a plumbing company van. Among the crowd in the front yard Paula spotted Brendan carrying a chair to a truck. Johnny’s pickup and Florence’s Toyota were gone. Paula had hoped to catch Leah before she left for work.

  At the clothing racks along the far side of the house, Isabelle expounded to a group of women that included Cynthia Becker dressed in the attractive sun dress from the previous day. Had she actually come to help? From the table, Cynthia picked up a fur coat, put it on and studied herself in the full-length mirror leaning against the house.

  A sign on the front door read, “Washers and dryers inside.” Paula accepted this as an invitation to enter. ‘PRIVATE’ said the sign on Florence’s closed bedroom door. Florence stood in the hall, talking to the plumber installing the washing machine in her utility room. Paula asked if there was any news about Johnny.

  “I wish people would stop talking about him,” Florence said.

  The washing machine hummed.

  “Looking good,” the plumber said.

  “Throw in some suds and clothes to make sure it cleans properly,” Florence told him.

  “I brought the contract for the clean-up at Caspar’s.” Paula glanced at the love seats in the living room. “Do you want to sit down to go over it?”

  “As long as it stipulates that we do the work, I’ll sign.”

  Paula took out the folder and a pen from her briefcase. “It states there will be no payment until the job is completed to the satisfaction of both parties.”

  “Why are you making a big deal of that?”

  “It is a big deal,” Paula said. “I wouldn’t agree to this for other claimants.” She paused. “I think you’ll do a bang up job, but my duty is to protect the insurer.” This wasn’t a lie. She was about fifty-one percent confident that Florence and company would come through.

  A look of what might be gratitude, pleasure or pride flitted across Florence’s face. Despite her scorn of the contract, she read through it carefully, frown lines deepening on her forehead. Paula scanned the living room for the gnome cookie jar and Caspar’s research papers. From what she could see of the alcove, it was reasonably clear. Most likely, Florence had placed the jar and papers in her ‘PRIVATE’ bedroom to keep them away from customers.

  Florence finished reading. “I find nothing objectionable.”

  Paula witnessed Florence’s signature. If that look had been gratitude, might Florence be willing to answer a question or two without barking?

  “I was wondering,” Paula said. “Did your in-laws own a camera in the 1950s? It strikes me as the type of item an employer might have given them when newer models came along. Electronics quickly become obsolete.”

  “In those days manufacturers built things to last, and people weren’t as obsessed with having the newest and fastest and fanciest of everything.”

  True.

  “We collected the odd hand-me-down camera,” Florence said. “I remember Willie taking a group photo the day I met the family.”

  That would have been in the late 1960s. “Did she take any of your husband and Caspar as children?”

  “I recall the odd photo of them. Film was expensive.”

  “Can you help me pull the dryer from the wall?” the plumber called from the utility room.

  Paula stood up.

  “I’ll do it,” Florence said.

  While they struggled to budge the machine, Paula wondered if she had time to slip into the ‘PRIVATE’ bedroom, close the door, fish through the cookie jar and snap a picture of the brooch? Florence would assume Paula had left the house, her insurance work done. With luck, Paula could sneak out of the bedroom while Florence was occupied with the plumber or one of these people shopping for washer and dryers. If Paula got caught, Florence would crab at her. What was new there?

  Paula edged toward the bedroom. What if the cookie jar was hidden, not in plain sight? It would add minutes to the search. If Florence’s look had been one of gratitude, getting caught would destroy whatever credit Paula had earned.

  Florence emerged from the laundry room. “You’re still here?”

  “I meant to tell you,” Paula said. “The jeweller you and Brendan saw yesterday contacted me about the wild mare brooch.”

  Florence’s body stiffened. “Why you? It’s not part of our insurance claim.”

  “He found out some things of interest relating to the brooch.”

  “I always called it a stallion.”

  “It was a mare, according to the Internet.”

  “Who believes what you read there?” Florence ducked into the utility room. She raised the lid of the whirring washing machine, as though to check on the progress of the cycle.

  “The jeweller wondered why a bauble worth next to nothing would appear on the Net.” Paula spoke over the dryer that blocked the entrance. “Your brooch appears to be a copy of a notable piece.”

  Florence shot a glance at the plumber crouched behind the dryer. “Why are you bringing this up? It has nothing to do with the claim.”

  “It might have everything to do with your son’s disappearance.”

  “I told you I was sick of hearing about that.”

  Florence squeezed by the dryer to the hall and scanned the living room, where a half dozen people milled between the washers and dryers. She shoved Paula into the alcove. “I don’t know why you’re interfering, but we can discuss it on the deck.”

  They moved out to the bright sunshine. Florence closed the deck door behind them. She checked the latch to make sure it was secure.

  “Too many ears in there,” she said. “What did that jeweller tell you?”

  “It seems the original brooch belonged to the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. Your in-laws, Willie and Hans, worked for them.”

  “Only for a day.” Florence lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Brendan could be listening below.”

  “He’s in the front yard working the sale.”

  “Do you know he is, this very minute?” Florence said. “What about your daughter?”

  “She left early for work.”

  Florence placed her hands on the railing and leaned over to look for Leah or Brendan. The railing shook.

  “Careful,” Paula said.

  “I don’t see anyone. If it weren’t for Johnny going missing.” Florence paced to the barbecues at the end of the deck. She marched back. “You have to promise not to tell anyone, including the police.”

  “I may have to tell them so they can help.”

  “If that’s your attitude.” Florence lunged to the door.

  Paula grabbed Florence’s arm and pulled her away from the knob. “All right, I agree,” Paula said. Pledges could be broken if need be.

  “Not here. Too many people. We’ll go for a walk.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with—”

  “We’ll tell them we need some exercise and fresh air.”

  “I don’t—”

  Florence was already in the alcove, on her way to the living room. She gave the plumber cash from her pocket and told him to make certain both machines worked perfectly before he left. “I’m not paying you for a repeat visit.”

  Outside, Brendan and Cynthia stood next to a group of chairs for sale. They stopped talking when Florence and Paula approached.

  Florence told them that she was going to buy groceries. “I need Paula to help carry them all. I didn’t expect Leah to take my car this early in the day.”

  “She’s
stopping by her boyfriend’s on the way to work,” Brendan said.

  Florence ordered Cynthia inside to deal with any questions about the washers and dryers.

  “I promised Isabelle I’d help with the clothes,” Cynthia said.

  “Isabelle’s here?” Paula spied her blond head among a throng of shoppers.

  “It’s more important to make sure no one runs off with my personal belongings,” Florence said.

  “Didn’t you go out for groceries this morning?” Brendan asked her.

  “All I had time to buy was cleaning supplies.”

  Florence headed for the sidewalk. Paula sped up to join her.

  “Do you know Tom Campbell’s Hill?” Florence asked. “There’s plenty of open space for talking and seeing anyone creep up on us.”

  Paula had done strolls and bike rides on the promontory about a ten-minute walk away. This was Saturday, a sunny, hot afternoon in the middle of summer. People and dogs would be flocking to all the city parks. Tom Campbell’s Hill, even with Florence acting peculiar, should be safe enough.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Swear on your daughter’s life that you won’t tell a soul,” Florence said.

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  “I suppose it was you who told the police Johnny was missing.”

  “Cynthia asked me to have my contacts check out vehicle accidents,” Paula said. “I couldn’t do that without explaining—”

  Florence seized her arm and hauled her past a man walking a Labrador retriever. Paula found Tom Campbell’s Hill Park surprisingly unoccupied. Was everyone at the Stampede grounds today? They stopped at the west edge looking out to downtown.

  “Why shouldn’t the police know?” Paula asked. “What mischief do you think Johnny’s up to?”

  “Here’s the story.” Florence stared beyond the highrise towers to the puffy white clouds floating over the mountains along the horizon. “Willie and Hans were hired to prepare the ranch for the Duke of Windsor’s arrival. Remember I told you she served tea to the royal party.”