The Marquesa's Necklace (Oak Grove Mysteries Book 1)

by P. J. MacLayne

  I fell asleep curled up on the loveseat, covered with one of my crocheted afghans and listening to an old John Denver CD playing softly in the background. My mother was a big John Denver fan and playing his music made me feel close to her. Almost safe again. Morning would be time enough to figure out my next move. As I dozed off, I wondered if my ghost was a good kisser or not.

  After a restless night, my morning routine soothed my frazzled nerves. Start the coffee pot, shower, towel dry my hair, slip into a comfortable pair of jeans and a random blouse from the closet, pour myself a cup of coffee, one sugar, no cream, run downstairs to grab the newspaper, and sit on the bottom step to glance through it. That was my summer routine anyway. I didn’t sit outside in the winter naturally. The local paper, The Herald, tried hard to cover local news, but not much happens in Oak Grove anymore. I’d been in it too much.

  Piper came to greet me, sticking his nose through the chain-link face. Most days, I brought a doggy-biscuit with me, but he doesn’t care on the rare days I forgot. He was happy to have me scratch the top of his head. Some days I swear he purred when I got it just right.

  While I sipped the coffee and watched the sun rise, I tried to formulate a plan. I was over waiting for the next pin to drop. It was time to make some noise of my own, and the attempted robbery gave me my first clue. First step—find out what was so special about my necklace.

  Two hours of digging around the internet later, and I still didn’t have any new information. Next stop—a local pawn shop with a specialty of used jewelry. The owner, Gary, dabbled in short story writing—he really was quite good—and I would get a straight answer from him.

  He tried hard to keep it neat, but the amount of inventory in his shop made it an obstacle course. After navigating through used bicycles and eccentric yard decorations, I browsed the used books while he checked out a customer. Once in a while I’d find a collectable edition of an old book, but he didn’t have anything particular interesting in stock at the moment. He quirked one eyebrow when I took off my necklace and handed it to him.

  “You aren’t pawning this, are you, Harmony?” he asked. It touched me to see the concern in his eyes, and I rushed to put him at ease.

  “No, I just want to get some information about it.” I hesitated, deciding whether to mention last night’s incident, and realized he would find out one way or the other by the end of the day. Ye olde gossipe network would be working overtime, and I might as well tell him the truth.

  “So I want to find out if there’s anything special about it,” I concluded.

  He took it in both hands and ran his fingers down its length, twisting and turning the various pieces of turquoise. Next he held the necklace up to the light and did some more studying of the strand, then flipped down his jeweler’s glass and examined it. He glanced at me once or twice during the process, but I couldn’t read his expression. Finally, he laid it down on a soft cloth on his counter and shook his head.

  “Some nice hunks of turquoise, but it isn’t anything special.” He looked at me and pursed his lips. “Not worth paying someone to steal it. Are you sure this is what the guy wanted?”

  “That’s what he said.” Gary handed the necklace back to me and I fastened it around my neck. “Surprised me, too.”

  “Maybe you better put it somewhere safe for a while,” he suggested. “Until this mess gets straightened out.”

  “With my luck, the day I put it in my safe-deposit box would be the day the bank got robbed.” I grinned. “No, I’m going to keep wearing it. The guy was so drugged up he probably went to the wrong address.”

  I called and left Freddie a message while I was sitting in the pawn shop’s parking lot, hoping for an update on the investigation. I even invited him to come to my place for supper—I felt bad about sending him home the night before.

  Then I hit the library. A few years back, a patron donated a large collection of books about jewelry. Sure, most of them featured masterpieces by Tiffany and Cartier, but I might get lucky and find something similar to my necklace in one of them.

  Mid-afternoon, I left several books opened on the table while I took a rest break. When I came back, something seemed out of place, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Nothing was missing, but it seemed as if the books had been moved. It could have been my imagination, or the result of lack of sleep. Whatever. I pulled out the chair, sat, and selected the top book from the stack.

  Diamond jewelry has nothing in common with what I wear, but the pictures were gorgeous and a girl can dream. About the time I put that book down and chose another one, I noticed the corner of a piece of thick paper sticking out from between two other books. I moved the top one, and picked up the rectangle.

  It was a picture of me and Jake.

  Chapter Ten

  I remembered that night. Jake had taken me to the fanciest restaurant in town, The Grove. Hardly original, but I’m not the one who named it. I wore a long-sleeved, low-cut, silky red dress that clung in all the right places and ended just above my knees. I felt gorgeous in that dress, and from the look in his eyes all night long, he thought so too. The dress hasn’t been worn since. I should donate it to a charity.

  I’ll never wear it again.

  That was the night he gave me the necklace. It seemed as if he’d bought it to match the dress. An arrangement of rubies and diamonds mounted in white gold, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. When he fastened it around my neck, I felt as if I’d transformed into Old World royalty.

  I really hated giving the necklace back to him, but it was far too expensive for me to accept. He got his reward anyway. When we undressed each other before tumbling into bed, he asked me to leave it on, and I did, but took it off before I fell asleep. I suppose he returned the necklace, but I never asked him and he never mentioned it again.

  With cell phones everywhere these days, it would have been easy for someone to have snapped a shot of us unnoticed. I don’t remember anyone taking pictures that night, but from the looks on our faces, Jake and I were oblivious to anyone but each other. Jake told me he loved me for the first time during supper. A few weeks later, the cops busted us for suspected drug trafficking.

  I knew where the picture came from, and that if I looked I wouldn’t find him. My ghost had struck again. How does a ghost get his hands on a picture taken over a year ago? For that matter, how does a ghost give someone fresh flowers? And what did he know that I didn’t?

  *****

  I’d changed my mind about having company for supper, but couldn’t figure out a graceful way to tell Freddie. I needed to pump him for information anyway, and over supper would be a good time to do it. He hadn’t been keeping me up to date with what the department had found out about the various incidents. “Still under investigation” was his usual put-off. I hoped the homemade beef stew and pinot noir would loosen his tongue enough to let something slip. If not, a chocolate cake waited for me at the town’s best bakery. And if all those failed, I might have to bring out the big guns.

  “Ready for some more?” I asked, in my most cheerful voice when he put his spoon down into the newly-emptied bowl. I swear, I almost sparkled I was so bright. I noticed his wine glass was three-quarters empty, and topped it off without him asking. I tallied up what he had drunk so far—I didn’t want him so tipsy I would be forced to let him spend the night.

  He put one hand over his bowl and the other on his stomach. “No, no more. It was delicious, but I’m stuffed.”

  “Then we’ll wait a bit before I cut into the Double Chocolate Cherry Drizzle cake.” I scooped up his dish and mine, walked over and piled them in the sink. It’s depressing to talk over dirty plates. I smiled as he took another drink of his wine. So far my plan was going according to schedule. We hadn’t talked about work yet, but I was waiting for an opening.

  He stretched and leaned back in his chair so far it seemed he’d tip over, but he straightened up at the last possible second. I picked up my glass and walked the short distance
to front room, sitting it down on one of the coasters on my coffee table. When I sat on the loveseat and patted the empty spot, he grinned and followed my lead, yawning as he sat down.

  “Long day at the office?” I asked innocently.

  “Yeah, the meth head that attacked you started going into withdrawal during questioning today. We didn’t get much out of him.” He ran his fingers down the side of my face and traced a line to where it met my turquoise necklace. “Still can’t figure why someone would hire him to steal this,” he added, hooking one finger under it.

  For some reason, his gentle touch made me shiver, and I leaned against him. As I hoped, the change in position made him shift as well, and he put one arm around me. “I talked to Gary down at the pawn shop today and he said there isn’t anything special about it.”

  Freddie frowned. “Maybe you ought to put it in your safe deposit box or something until we figure out what’s going on. I’d be glad to take you to your bank tomorrow.”

  “That’s sweet of you.” I snuggled a little closer to him. “But I don’t want to stop wearing it. It’s almost a part of me.” I reached for my glass and took a sip, enjoying the hint of cherry. It would go well with the cake later. “Did anything ever come back on the note left in my door?”

  “Nope, clean as a whistle. Except for your prints—and mine.”

  That’s right, he wasn’t wearing gloves when I gave it to him. “And the break in?”

  “Clean. Not a print to be found except yours.”

  “And the car?”

  He sighed, and pulled me closer. “Crime lab isn’t sure. It might have been a leak in the fuel line, but the car burnt bad enough they can’t be sure. That alone points to something beyond simple mechanical failure.”

  I shivered again, and this time I knew why. I could have been in George when he exploded. “So who’s responsible?”

  “Most of the guys think it has to be someone associated with Hennessey.” He took his arm off my shoulders, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and stared at something I couldn’t see. “But I’m not so sure. He got you mixed up in his illegal activities, but I can’t see him wanting to hurt you. You aren’t the reason he’s in jail.”

  No, I’m not. And if Freddie could have proven his case, I would be in jail now too. The reminder made me wonder what the hell I was doing.

  It must have triggered some bad memories for Freddie too, because he abruptly set his glass down and stood. “I should head home,” he said.

  “We haven’t had the cake yet,” I protested halfheartedly as I stood as well.

  “It’ll keep for a day, won’t it? I can come back tomorrow night. We can eat it then.” He leaned over to kiss me, a task made more difficult because I had just lifted my wine glass to take another sip.

  Even with all the practicing we’d been doing, his kisses didn’t make my toes curl or send desire shooting through my body. Too bad, because although he was no Jake, he was a good-looking guy. “Good night, Freddie,” I said when we reached a stopping point.

  He pulled away from me just enough to study my eyes and nodded. The perfect hostess, I walked with him to the door—it took all of five steps. As he stepped outside, he turned and looked at me one more time. “Good night, Angel,” he said and dropped one soft kiss on my forehead before starting down the stairs. He paused about three stairs down. “Close your door and lock it,” he added.

  I blew him a kiss, closed the door, and turned the lock. It struck me as I carried both of our wine glasses to the kitchen to wash. I refilled mine, collapsed into the easy chair and emptied the whole thing in one big gulp.

  Jake used to call me “Angel.”

  Deep down, I believed Jake got a raw deal. He was no more into drug trafficking than I was. Sure, he smoked pot on occasion, but a lot of folks do. I don’t, but the drug laws in this country needed to be changed, and it didn’t bother me when he lit up a joint. Just like it didn’t bother him that I wouldn’t join him. If he used the harder stuff, he never did it around me.

  When they arrested us, he only had about half an ounce of pot on him. High-quality stuff, they said, high THC content and all, but how they stretched that into intent to distribute, I didn’t understand. And evidently, the jury didn’t either, because they found both of us not guilty on those charges.

  But Jake fought like a madman when they tried to put cuffs on him. I lost count of how many cops it took to finally subdue him. Two of them needed to go to the emergency room afterward. The Taser finally took him down, and not the first shot either.

  No doubt he was strong. I loved to run my hands along those muscles, and watch his reaction. But he was always gentle with me and I was never afraid of him. I would be now.

  The police—including Freddie—tried to get me to testify against Jake. Offered to drop the charges against me if I would rat him out. But I couldn’t—there wasn’t anything I could tell them. Even after spending a weekend locked up waiting for my bail hearing I wouldn’t turn on him. They resorted to showing me pictures of Jake with other women to try and make me hate him. Not in Oak Grove, of course, but in other places he’d been. I didn’t ask how the local police got those pictures. I may not love Jake anymore, but I don’t hate him either. He might have been using me as a cover for whatever illegal activities he was involved in, yet he always treated me right when we were together.

  And yes, I’m sure he was doing something illegal. Plenty of evidence was introduced at his trial to prove his real estate company was a sham. Which is too bad, because when he showed me the house here he planned to restore, he was truly excited about it. He had good ideas for the remodel too. Where his money came from, the investigators were never able to determine. I don’t want to know anymore.

  *****

  Most of Friday was spent in a fog. I didn’t leave for the library until after lunch, and browsed the fiction stacks for romance books all afternoon. Every now and then, I need to escape with a good “trashy” novel. I didn’t even stake a claim on a table.

  I kept expecting to run into my ghost but fiction is on the third floor. Each time I walked under an air-conditioning vent and got a blast of cold air, I looked around for him. Maybe I hoped to get another rose, or to actually talk to him and ask him about the picture. But he didn’t show, not even when I hung around the second floor on my way down to the front desk to check out.

  When Freddie stopped by that night, I was in a bad mood again. He came back for the cake, or that was his story anyway. I put on a smile and played hostess. We made do with coffee to go with the cake, because the wine was all gone.

  The cake was too big for two people and I remembered it didn’t freeze well. I took some of the leftovers down to the boys. Yes, Luke and Joe are much older than me, but that’s what I call them. Not to their faces, of course. It was a quick trip, just downstairs and back up again. They were busy discussing the current installment of their favorite cop show and trying to figure out who done it during the commercial breaks. I didn’t want to stick around and spoil their friendly argument. Besides, I had accidentally gotten some of the frosting on my blouse and wanted to rinse it out.

  It seems Freddie didn’t expect me to get back so fast. He wasn’t on the loveseat where I had left him, and I didn’t hear him in the kitchen either. Because the door was closed, I assumed he was using the bathroom. I headed down the hallway towards my bedroom to change into a T-shirt. That way I wouldn’t have to change in front of him.

  I wondered why the light in my closet was on as I flipped the switch for the overhead fixture in the bedroom. A quick glance showed two legs sticking out from my closet, and for a moment I had the terrible fantasy that Freddie had passed out on the floor.

  Reality was worse.

  Chapter Eleven

  Freddie backed out of the closet, holding a shoe box tied with a pink ribbon. Inside were the postcards Jake sent me from all over the country. The box had been seized after my arrest, but returned when the prosecutors determined they c
ontained nothing helpful to their case. A picture of the Grand Canyon with “Wish you were here” scrawled on the back isn’t exactly incriminating. I should have thrown them away, but I wasn’t ready. Some small part of me still clung to the memories Jake and I had shared.

  Detective Thomason eased from the closet, unaware I watched his every move. At least he had the grace to look ashamed as he stood and saw me standing there, my arms crossed. It didn’t last long.

  “Harmony…” he started.

  I cut him off as I grabbed the box from his hands and slammed it on the bed. “Get out, Detective,” I said, my face cold and hard. I fought to control the rage boiling inside. I imagined how good it would feel to use him as a practice dummy for a few of the more aggressive self-defense moves, but he carried a gun. I wouldn’t be fast enough to get to it before he did.

  His walk of shame between the bedroom and the front door didn’t last long enough to satisfy me. He turned around on the landing, and opened his mouth, but shut it when I shook my head. He walked down two steps, and turned. “Harmony,” he tried again.

  I snatched his jacket from the hook by the front door and threw it at him, slamming the door shut behind it. As I stalked towards the kitchen to find something alcoholic to drink, he called “Lock your door, Angel.”