The Jewelry Case Read online

  But something inside her, like a silent whisper, reminded her that Esther herself was the one who had brought the topic up. Leaving Paisley the cameo had not been just a sentimental gesture: it had been a pointed reminder of the old legends.

  And then bequeathing the house to Paisley, rather than to Jonathan. Another teasing message, that Jonathan had comprehended, even if she hadn't. That the treasure he and his family had sought all these years were not his. Esther had dangled it just beyond his fingertips, laughing, even beyond the grave.

  Even the dreams .... No, the dreams didn't count. Paisley didn't believe in ghosts, or messages from the Other World. But the link existed, albeit a fragile one. Somehow she had the sensation that Esther was urging her along, that Esther wanted her to follow the clues. The old woman would be disappointed if she stopped now.

  "Mrs. Rivers…."

  "Oh, call me Georgiana, please!" Under the soft wrinkles appeared a glimpse of the friendly, impulsive girl who had taken young Esther under her wing.

  "Georgiana, did Esther ever talk about...." Paisley cleared her throat again, avoiding Ian's mocking eyes. He was letting her do most of the work. Well, why not? It was her quest, not his. Yet she had come to think of him as an equal partner. "Did Esther ever mention a set of valuable jewels that she brought with her from Poland?"

  "Jewels?" Georgiana's face lit in a broad smile. "That old story? My goodness, no, Esther always guffawed when someone mentioned it." Then, seeing the expression Paisley's face, the old woman grew serious. "Although there is one story that might interest you, though I don't suppose you'll find it very helpful."

  "Please. I'd love to hear it."

  "When we were little, Esther did once ask me if I wanted to see some pretty things her Polish grandmother had given her. I thought she meant dolls, or a tea set, or something of that nature. Then something happened to interrupt us, I don't remember what it was. Maybe another friend came up, or maybe her Aunt Henka called her in to do chores. The next time we played, I'd forgotten all about it, and Esther did not mention the subject again. I did wonder about it later, but I thought it would be rude to ask. I have no idea what she meant, or if there is any connection to what you're asking about."

  Pretty things? It was a vague clue, but Paisley filed it with the small amount of inconclusive evidence she had acquired elsewhere. "Is there anything else you can tell me?" she asked, not very hopefully.

  The line appeared again between Georgiana's eyebrows. "Hmmm. It was so long ago. She did tell me that her family had once been quite rich, and that a relative had been a famous singer in Europe. I'm not sure I believed her, as we used to play pretend so often. Besides, the Perlemans were far from wealthy." She stopped and coughed.

  Paisley tried to hide her disappointment. Another dead end. She handed the old woman a glass of water from the nightstand. "Was Esther…." She hesitated again. This was a question she had to ask. "Was Esther happy living with her American relatives?"

  Georgiana sipped delicately and set the glass down on the bedside table. "Well, that's a difficult question to answer," she said slowly. "Esther was a happy person. But she was not close to her Auntie Henka. I don't think there was any physical abuse, as we would have thought of it then, but Henka was a harsh woman, and Esther always seemed to prefer coming to play at my house. That's really all I can tell you." Her eyes softened. "I do wish you could have come to her funeral. It was lovely. All her friends and former students could hardly fit in the synagogue. Sadly, Jonathan and you were on tour, so that could not be helped, and there was a niece from back east in bad health who did not come. But of course, Esther had not been particularly close to her family."

  "I wish I had been there," Paisley said sincerely. "Where is she buried?"

  "Up at the town cemetery. Under a large prairie oak, just like the one by her house, with a view looking the river. She bought the site long ago because it was so beautiful and peaceful."

  A knock came at the door, and an orderly came in, carrying a tray. Georgiana threw him an annoyed look, like Shirley Temple shaking her curls in an old movie from the 1930s. "Oh, pooh! Time for my pills already?"

  "Yes, Mrs. Rivers. And your granddaughter is in the lobby to see you."

  She turned to Paisley and Ian, clutching at their hands, again with surprising strength. Under the docile, sweet-little-old-lady persona, she was alert and capable. "It's amazing," she said, looking intently at Paisley. "You remind me so much of her. Just as small, the same glossy dark ringlets, even a hint of the sadness in those pretty black eyes. I'm sorry I couldn't help you, my dear, but I do hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Esther would be so happy for the two of you. Such a pleasant young couple!"

  They took their leave, avoiding looking at each other. As they walked down the hall, they passed a kind-faced young woman carrying flowers, escorted by a pair of pink-cheeked children whose blue eyes bore a distinct resemblance to Georgiana's.

  "Wherever did she get the impression that we…?" began Paisley suddenly when they reached the car.

  "Never mind," said Ian, as he opened the door. But he was blushing.

  #

  On the drive back to town, Paisley stopped at a flower shop and purchased a large vase of sunflowers. Ian didn't ask what she was doing. When they found the cemetery, he helped her search through the gravestones until they found the one she was looking for. As Georgiana had told them, it was under the shade of a large oak tree, like the one that shaded the house. The headstone was simple polished granite, engraved with a name and two dates.

  They stayed for a while, each alone with their thoughts, until by mutual agreement they turned back to the car together and drove away in silence, leaving the flowers.

  #

  Paisley wondered why she didn't feel more disappointed that their visit to Sunny Acres had yielded no useful information, or that she would never know what had happened to the jewels. Sorry, Esther. I tried. I really did. Now she could turn her attention to other matters, like her mounting bills. It tightening her belt and accepting a job that did not excite her, but so what? Aunt Esther had lived a long and meaningful life with far more dire problems. And Georgiana has said she was happy.

  But as she turned the VW down the winding road that led to River Bend, her resolve began to weaken. Life without singing? She determinedly wrenched her mind away from the subject. She must be strong. Esther had been strong.

  Following Ian's directions, she pulled up the car outside his house, and found herself studying it curiously. So this was where he lived, and where he had grown up: a buttercup-yellow 1950s bungalow, immaculately maintained with a lush green yard, freshly painted white picket fence, and neatly trimmed oleander bushes in full glorious bloom. The front steps were swept and the windows practically squeaked with cleanliness. The house formed an interesting contrast to his habitually rumpled appearance, although to give Ian credit, she thought, he always smelled of soap and his hair was always clean and damp when he showed up to work in the morning.

  She could almost picture his study inside: the drafting table, the rolls of tracing paper, the neat array of Sharpies and sketchpads. Or did architectural students do everything on computer these days? It occurred to her that she had not asked Ian much about his personal life. She took him for granted, like the gray cat took for granted the bowl of cat food she put out every morning and evening. The thought made her feel slightly guilty, and she turned to him with new warmth as he got out.

  He paused, still holding his car door open.

  "Um, want to come in? I could make lunch. I think there might be some cans of tuna in the pantry, and some leftover cheesecake from Ruby’s."

  She shook her head, although she was tempted to take him up on his offer, even though the menu didn’t appeal to her. There were sides of Ian she hadn't seen yet, and she was curious. At the same time, she mustn’t give him the wrong message. They were friends. Just friends. She was a recent widow, and she must remember that he was her somewhat ec
centric, occasionally annoying employee.

  "Not today,” she said reluctantly. “Thanks for the car and the company."

  "Thanks for the five hundred bucks." Ian straightened and patted his pants pocket. "It should pay for a few of my textbooks." He slammed the car door. "And watch out for the driver's window," he called as she drove off. "It sticks."

  She smiled and nodded, but as she watched in the rear view mirror his long, ungainly figure vanish into the bungalow, she felt another tug of regret. She sighed, and turned the car toward home.

  #

  The next morning, Paisley poured milk on her Mueslix, feeling complacent. She had slept well, with no disturbing dreams. No longer did the sound of drills and hammers fill the air. The early morning was crisp and clear, with baby clouds scudding across a bright blue backdrop. She had a car; no more limping on the long, hot walk to town! Even her voice seemed less hoarse; and, best of all, she had managed to persuade Kevin to visit rehearsal. With luck, the problem of finding a suitable Pirate King would soon be solved.

  True, Ray Henderson had not yet called, but she hadn't really expected him to. She was resigned to the prospect of a short, fourteen-year-old Major General whose voice broke on all the low notes. In community theater, one worked with what one had, and the audience wasn't likely to care.

  By that afternoon, however, her spirits had begun to flag. Rehearsal had begun, and in spite of his promise, Kevin was nowhere to be seen. She dreaded the prospect of begging Nathan Primhurst to take his original part back. The unreliable teenager was insufferably arrogant as it was, and she didn't look forward to his sneer.

  As she issued directions for the final number, the doors at the back of the auditorium banged open and Kevin stood framed in the opening, clad in a leather jacket and tight black jeans, as if showing up for a casting call for Grease.

  Wrong production, she wanted to call. But she didn't have a chance. Thumbs hooked in his pocket, tall and lean, he sauntered down the center aisle, ignoring the curious looks as everyone swiveled to watch. Only Paisley knew Kevin's manner was born of shyness; the effect was of supreme, swaggering confidence.

  "Hey, Mrs. Perleman," he said, stopping in front of her, looking down at her from his five feet eleven inches.

  "You came!" She could not hide her pleasure.

  He shrugged. "I said I would, didn't I? My step-dad needed my help at the winery, though, so this is the earliest I couldn't get here."

  "Not a problem," she said, and thrust a score into his hands. "I forgot to ask: can you sight read?" She didn't have much hope, but his answer surprised her.

  "Actually, yeah," he said, flipping through the pages like as a Vegas dealer shuffling cards. "Four years of piano. Mom said music was a big deal in our family, and that everyone should be able to read sheet music."

  Paisley blessed Kevin's late mother. "Look over "I am a Pirate King for a minute, then we'll run through it with the piano. Don't worry, we can change the key if necessary."

  He nodded, and his dark hair flopped over his forehead. Something about his serious young face and strongly marked eyebrows stirred a memory inside of her. She frowned, while Wanda picked out the tune of "I am a Pirate King" with one gnarled finger.

  "Got the melody?" Paisley asked when Wanda finished.

  "Yeah, I've heard it before. I saw the play when I was a kid."

  "Good. Let's run through it again, aloud this time."

  Kevin cleared his throat, and shuffled his feet. As the opening piano notes rang out, a surprisingly robust baritone burst out of his slim frame. His chin went up and he seemed to transform into another person, bold and mature.

  His leather-clad back was toward the rest of the auditorium, so he wasn't aware of the growing cluster of actors, but when the notes died away and the cast began to applaud, he whirled around. His face turned beet red.

  "Well done!" Shirley emerged from their midst, slapped him approvingly on the back, and shooed the other actors onstage. "Okay, kids. Go ahead and get in your positions, just as we blocked it earlier. Chloe, you take Kevin backstage and help him find his costume."

  As they shuffled away, Shirley came up to Paisley, beaming. "Way to go," she said, lowering her voice only slightly. "You've pulled a rabbit out of the hat."

  "I don't know yet," Paisley murmured. It was too soon to relax; there were still too many things that could still go wrong. "He's got talent, you can see that at once, but he's awfully shy."

  "Shy? Did you see that entrance?" Shirley rubbed her hands. "Just wait until he gets up on stage. He'll steal every scene. Why don't you come over to the shop after practice, and we'll celebrate?"

  "Maybe we should save our celebration for opening night."

  "Come on over anyway. I have something I want to talk to you about."

  As Shirley headed away, Paisley realized her friend was nearly bursting with excitement, and it was not just because of the addition of Kevin to the cast. What was it?

  #

  After rehearsal, girls surrounded Kevin like fans besieging a rock star. Some had been in the audience the Starbucks open-mic night. Kevin's shyness appeared to be rapidly melting away, and Paisley congratulated herself. Bringing her young neighbor into the production would be good for him as well the play. Win-win.

  "So you'll do it?" she asked, shouldering through the group to pull him aside.

  He nodded, not seeming to mind the interruption. What a polite kid, she thought. What a shame that Steve always seemed to be so hard on him.

  "Yeah, I guess so," he said. "I mean, I'll be in the play if you want me to. But everyone else already knows their parts. I don't want to ruin everything by forgetting my lines, or hitting the wrong notes."

  She nodded. There was a lot to learn in a short time. Then she remembered Chloe's suggestion. "I've already got a few kids coming over to my house for extra singing lessons," Paisley told him. "Why don't you come too? You'll catch up in no time."

  His eyes lit up, but he hesitated. "I don't know. Finances are kind of tight right now, with Steve expanding the winery, and all. He might not want to pay for lessons."

  Paisley thought of Steve's gleaming new Audi and the custom oak barrels recently ordered from France. Her mouth tightened. "Don't worry, I won't charge you for the lessons. Just study the score tonight and come to my house tomorrow after rehearsal, okay?"

  "Why?" His eyes met hers with unaccustomed frankness, and again she was struck by a nagging sense of something familiar about him. "Why are you willing to do all that for me, Mrs. Perleman? Free lessons, giving up your time...."

  "Because we need you. And I like you."

  He regarded her with an odd look on his face. "Um ... Mrs. Perleman, maybe I ought to tell you...."

  "Call me Paisley."

  "Um…."

  She interrupted before he could back out. "Tomorrow, seven o'clock sharp. Bring the sheet music with you."

  #

  Shirley met Paisley at the door of the book shop and led her to an apartment upstairs. The living room was overcrowded and homey, stuffed with furniture not quite old enough to qualify as antique. After installing Paisley in a 1950s wingback armchair reupholstered in a loud floral fabric that didn't match the rest of the decor, she settled herself on the facing sofa. "A little bird told me your boyfriend went to the Berkeley historical library last weekend," she said, with a shrewd look.

  Paisley felt disappointed. Was that was what Shirley was excited about? A new tidbit of gossip? "First of all, Ian's not my boyfriend. Second of all, who told you that he drove to Berkeley?"

  "I told you, I know everything that goes on in this town." Shirley kicked off her shoes and curled up her legs like a preteen at a pajama party. "That's why I wanted to ask you if that old rumor is still going around."

  "What old rumor?" Paisley said cautiously.

  "You know. We talked about it before, a long time ago. I think I know what you're up to. You're looking for the jewels that Esther Perleman supposedly brought over from Warsaw
before the second World War."

  When her mouth stopped hanging open, Paisley struggled to sit up straighter in her seat. "How did you know?"

  Shirley looked smug. "Come on, I told you that there isn't anyone in this town over a certain age that hasn't heard that old story. Jonathan and his younger cousin, Sarah, used to brag about it at school. I used to spend Saturday mornings with them digging in the back yard for Great-Aunt Ruth's jewels with our shovels and plastic buckets. That is, until we got bored and went home. So when you started asking questions about the family's past and enlisted Ian to help you do research, I knew there was only one thing you could be looking for."

  Paisley kicked herself. "Was it really that obvious?" Ian had guessed what she was after too, she remembered ruefully. . .almost before she was aware of it herself. So much for secrets.

  "What else would have brought you here? You could have recuperated from your injuries anywhere. It would have saved a lot of time if you'd come to me for information, Paisley. Why bother sending Ian all the way to Berkeley?"

  "But I didn't!"

  "I told you, I have a whole collection of that stuff in my back room, gathering dust. Better than the Berkeley library, I'll bet. Come downstairs, and I'll show you."

  Still barefoot, Shirley led her back down to the dimly lit bookshop and flicked on a light switch, illuminating the rows of shelves. "There," she said, waving her hand toward a rack of dusty books in the back. "It's in there somewhere. I'd have looked it up for you, but I haven't had time. To be frank, if I wasn't so grateful with you for helping with the play, I'd be insulted you didn't ask me for help sooner."

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she pulled out a stack of books. Paisley joined her. For an hour they went through the titles until finally Paisley held up a large leather-bound book with lettering in a strange alphabet she had seen before. She felt a stab of excitement.

  "Hey, look at this one. It's written in Polish." Paisley remembered the aerogramme Ian had found. The words in the book were also heavily sprinkled with Ws, Ys, and Zs.Shirley plucked the volume from her hand and nodded with satisfaction, handing it back. "This is the one I thought you might be interested in. Jonathan's father sold the family's old books just before he passed on, but no one wanted this collection of biographies because it wasn't in English. There might be some pictures in here you'd be interested in. There are more famous Poles than you might think."