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  “Nah,” Max said. “The pillowcase and the book vendor aren’t on swell terms. They seldom speak and that’s only when they’re passing each other in the hallway or something.”

  “But that could be their cover,” I said.

  “They don’t need a cover when they believe they’re the only people here,” she said.

  “Come on.” Grandpa waggled two fingers. “Get your phone out so we can look at those photos.”

  I scooted the chair over and put the phone on the worktable. As I pulled up the photo gallery, Grandpa moved to look over my shoulder and Max came around the other side.

  The first one was of an emerald and diamond Art Deco bangle with black stones which could’ve been jet or onyx. It was a gorgeous piece, but even after enlarging the photo, I couldn’t see a maker’s mark. Max said she believed it was Van Cleef & Arpels.

  Photo number two was a closeup of an intricately carved emerald and diamond ring. Had I not read the description of the ring in the newspaper, I’d have thought the carved stone was jade rather than emerald. That only served to show that I didn’t know much about jewelry. The article had proclaimed the ring to be a J.E. Caldwell & Co. ring worth over twenty-two thousand dollars.

  In the same photo with the ring was the Tiffany bracelet. Again, I could see no manufacturer’s mark or serial number or anything, but I recognized—and still loved—the piece.

  The next photograph showed the Cartier dress clips. They, too, were identifiable from the photo in the newspaper, and one was open so we could see the manufacturer’s name on the inside. Also in this photo was a brooch that was face down upon the table, and when we enlarged the photo, we could see BVCCELLATI inscribed on the clasp.

  “Buccellati,” Max breathed.

  “Who’s that?” Grandpa asked.

  “An Italian jewelry designer. Aunt June discovered his boutique in Milan in 1922.”

  “We have what we need.” Grandpa fished his phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling the police.”

  Max and I listened while he called the police department. He asked for the officer whose name was given in the newspaper as the person in charge of the investigation. The officer was off duty, but the dispatcher said she'd call him immediately.

  Grandpa took a seat at the worktable while I got up and paced. It seemed like forever, although it couldn’t have been more than five minutes, until his phone rang.

  He answered. “Yes, this is Dave Tucker.” He explained that we’d taken photos of some jewelry that we believed to be the stolen items in question. The officer asked for our location, and Grandpa told him. When Grandpa placed his phone into his pocket, he said, “Officer Cranston is on his way.”

  Officer Cranston looked to be in his early forties, had sandy hair, blue eyes, and a serious expression on his face. After introducing himself, he said, “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  I pulled up the images on my phone and handed them to the officer.

  “Where did you take these?” Officer Cranston asked.

  “Upstairs at Janice’s Jewelry,” I said. “We had our suspicions after I found a bracelet there the other day. This evening when the smoke alarm went off, we went inside and while Mrs. Meacham went for a battery, we took these to see if the pieces were the same as the ones in the paper.”

  “Why didn’t you alert the landlord? Do you believe she’s culpable?”

  “No, sir, I don’t.” I bit my lip. “I was worried I’d be wrong and look like a fool.”

  “All right. Would you open your email account please? I want to email your photographs to myself.”

  I did as he asked, and he took my phone, entered his email address, and sent himself the photographs. Then he deleted the photos from my phone.

  “You don’t need those images on your phone,” he said. “Too incriminating should someone else see them. I’m going to use them to get a search warrant. In the meantime, I want you folks to go on home.”

  “All right.” Grandpa Dave shook the officer’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  “W-will Janice know...this was...us?” I asked, as I put Jazzy into her carrier.

  Officer Cranston shook his head. “We’ll say only that we received an anonymous tip. Mr. Tucker, we have your cell phone number from where you called the station. I’ll let you know when we have the suspect in custody if it will ease your minds.”

  “Yes. Please do that,” Grandpa said.

  I turned to look back at Max as Grandpa ushered me out the door. “Goodnight.”

  She waved.

  The officer said, “Goodnight. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

  GRANDPA DAVE WENT HOME with me and Jazzy to await Officer Cranston’s call. That man had been wrong when he’d said everything would be fine. Everything was not fine. He got the search warrant, his officers went over every inch of Janice’s shop, and they found nothing. Not. A. Single. Piece. Of. Stolen. Jewelry.

  { }

  Chapter Nineteen

  A

  fter Grandpa left, I got ready for bed even though I knew sleep would elude me. I felt as if I’d lost my balance and was about to fall...unsettled, ready to reach out and grasp at a safety net that wasn’t there. Even though I realized it was illogical, I worried that Ford or Guy had followed me home and was waiting outside to come in and shoot me the way Mark Tinsley had been shot. Was this how it had happened to Mark? Had he discovered the stolen jewelry and confronted Janice? Had she then shot him? Or had Guy—her other boyfriend and partner in crime—killed him? Or what about Ford? Did he hollow out books so that he and Janice could transport the stolen jewelry in them undetected?

  Someone had to have called Janice before the police returned with the search warrant and warned her that the stolen jewelry was about to be seized. That’s what made me believe Ford might be Janice’s partner. He’d been there when Grandpa and I had taken the photos. Grandpa had tried to assure me that maybe Ford hadn’t seen anything, that he’d only been aware that we’d gone inside the shop with Mrs. Meacham to make sure everything was all right. But the fact remained that Officer Cranston’s team hadn’t found any stolen jewelry in the shop. And I couldn’t imagine Mrs. Meacham would’ve been the one to alert Janice...unless the landlord had called her tenant as a courtesy to tell her what had happened.

  I heard a noise outside and a scream escaped my throat before I realized I was making a sound. I wanted to see what it was, but I was afraid to go to the windows. Finally, not knowing was too unbearable, and I went to peep out the side of the living room window. The neighbor’s dog was on the porch, tail wagging. Normally, I’d give the spotted hound a treat—I kept a box of dog biscuits for him—but not tonight. Tonight, I was too scared to open the door.

  I finally went to bed, but I left a light on in the living room and one on in the hallway to make any would-be intruders think I was either not alone or awake and alert enough to call the police. I didn’t get much sleep, but when I slept, I had fitful, disjointed nightmares: images of Ford with his arms folded as he glared at me; Janice’s look of panic when she saw me trying on the Tiffany bracelet; Guy brusquely passing me on the stairs on his way up to Janice’s shop; Sabine, the psychic, talking about secrets; and George Meacham telling me about riding the Birmingham Special to Bristol with his sticky-fingered little brother.

  I was glad the next morning when Jazzy woke me with her sandpapery tongue on my forehead.

  RATHER THAN BUTTERFLIES in my stomach, I felt as if I had a belly full of hatching chicks, all pecking and scratching and fluttering to escape their shells as I walked into Shops on Main. I was glad I didn’t encounter anyone on my way into Designs on You and could quickly get inside and close the door behind me.

  I was disappointed that Max wasn’t inside waiting for me. I put down Jazzy’s crate and let her out into the atelier. Then I said as loudly as I dared, “Max! Max, where are you! I need to see you now!”

  My summons went unanswered, so I busied myself working on the bridesmaids’ musli
ns. I’d been working for about forty-five minutes when the door between the atelier and the hall leading to the kitchen opened. I stopped sewing and faced the door.

  “Good morning.” Ford was smiling. From where I sat, the smile looked like the hungry snarl of a wolf. “I wanted to check on you after last night’s excitement.”

  “I’m fine,” I said quickly. Then attempting to control my shaking voice, “Th-thank you.”

  “No problem. I hope you stay that way.”

  I raised my chin, determined not to cower before him. “What do you mean?”

  “You need to be careful and think about things you’re getting involved in. The next time a smoke detector goes off, it might not be a false alarm.”

  What did he mean? Was he threatening to set fire to my shop or something? I can’t show weakness. I can’t let him know how afraid I am.

  “Even if it hadn’t been a false alarm, I’d have wanted to be there to help Mrs. Meacham and Janice,” I said. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “That depends on the level of risk. Had Mrs. Meacham opened the door to leaping flames, we’d have all been wise to evacuate the building. Don’t you agree?”

  “You’d have simply let your books burn?” I asked.

  “Better to lose some books—or jewelry—than a life.”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “Just be careful.” With that, he pulled the door closed.

  I listened as he went into the kitchen and then, moments later, back down the hall. I still couldn’t decide if he’d come to issue a warning or a threat.

  WHEN MAX APPEARED A short time later, I demanded to know where she’d been.

  “Didn’t you hear me calling you this morning?”

  Although Max was an ethereal being, I could’ve sworn her body stiffened and her face tightened. “I was under the impression that I was a friend, not a servant.”

  I closed my eyes, mortified at my behavior. “You are. I’m sorry, Max. I’m just freaking out.” I explained to Max that Officer Cranston had phoned last night to let us know that the search of Janice’s shop hadn’t turned up the missing jewelry. “Apparently, Janice—or someone—took it and hid it elsewhere.”

  “Nothing? They found nothing?”

  “Not a single piece...of stolen jewelry at least. Did you see Janice return or someone else go into her shop last night?”

  “No,” Max said. “It takes a lot of energy to be present here. I was gone as soon as you and Dave left. I didn’t even try to watch the police search because I thought the case had been solved and that we were finished.”

  I apologized to Max again and stood. I held my arms out to hug her, and then I remembered I couldn’t.

  She smiled sadly. “It’s the thought that counts, chum.”

  “I’m scared,” I admitted.

  “I know. I’m frightened for you.”

  “You remember Ford standing there staring at us last night?”

  Max nodded.

  “He came in this morning to tell me to be careful and aware of the situations I get involved in.”

  “Who unlocked the shop to allow the police inside?” Max asked. “Was it Mrs. Meacham or Janice?”

  “Officer Cranston didn’t say. Why?”

  “If it was Janice, she’d have had the opportunity to hide the jewels before they got here, so I don’t think they’d have involved her. It must’ve been Mrs. Meacham.”

  “You don’t think she’s involved?”

  “I can’t imagine she would be. However, people can surprise you.”

  “Should I ask her who let the officers into the building?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Ask the officer, if you ask anyone. I have to agree with Ford on one thing—be careful. Don’t trust anyone here until this case—especially Mark’s murder—is solved.”

  MAX WATCHED AFTER THE Thin Man at the worktable while I sewed bridesmaids’ muslins. When I had a customer, I’d pull the door up behind me and greet them in the reception area. By the end of the day, I was able to complete two more muslins. I felt confident I could finish the last one on Monday and get the women scheduled for their fittings. After that, the only delay would be waiting for the fabric to arrive, and it should be here within seven to ten days.

  Near the end of the workday, I went upstairs to make sure Jason was still coming to dinner. When I knocked on the door of his studio, he said he’d just been coming down to see me.

  My heart sank. He wasn’t coming.

  “What may I bring?” he asked.

  I smiled, my heart soaring again. He was coming. “I don’t need for you to bring anything.”

  “But I’d feel like a bum if I didn’t bring something. How about dessert?”

  “I never turn down dessert,” I said.

  After talking with Jason, I stepped back into the hallway to see Ford coming out of Antiquated Editions.

  “Do you have exciting plans for the weekend?” Ford asked, with a glance at Jason’s door.

  “Nothing too extravagant,” I said. “How about you?”

  “Extravagance isn’t my forte either,” he said.

  I nodded toward Janice’s door. “It appears Janice got a jump on all of us and started her weekend early.”

  “You think so?”

  “That’s how it looks,” I said.

  “Ah, but things are not always what they appear to be...are they?”

  I BUSTLED AROUND THE kitchen putting the finishing touches on the salad and checking the rolls I had in the oven while the lasagna was cooling on a trivet on the countertop. I half wished Max could be here to help me navigate this date. On the other hand, she’d undoubtedly wind up making me say something I’d regret.

  I started to light the white taper candles Mom kept on the sideboard in case the power went out, but I was afraid that would make it appear that I was trying too hard. I also hoped Jason didn’t read anything into the fact that our rolls were plain old yeast rolls rather than garlic bread. No, I wasn’t anticipating a goodnight kiss...not really...but I didn’t want to have dragon breath either.

  Being afraid Jason and I would find conversation awkward or stilted—or that I would anyway—I’d bought some conversation cards and placed them at the side of the table. There were questions such as “what song did you hate when you were in your teens?” and “what was your favorite toy as a kid?”

  The doorbell rang, and I smoothed out the skirt of my pink, off-the-shoulder A-line dress. It was one I’d made from a late-1950s pattern. I wore flat sandals to make the look more casual.

  I took my time walking to the door. I didn’t want Jason to think I was nervous. Fine. I didn’t want Jason to know I was nervous.

  He was carrying a bakery bag and a bouquet of white lilies. “Hi, there. You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I bit my tongue just in time to avoid saying so do you. But he did. He wore jeans and a navy plaid button-down shirt that really brought out the color of his eyes. “Please come in.”

  Jason handed me the flowers as Jazzy wound around his ankles. “Oh, hey, Jazzy.” He grimaced at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to bring anything for her.”

  “Trust me. She doesn’t need anything, except maybe a chin scratch.” I put the flowers on the island and retrieved a vase from under the sink.

  The timer sounded to let me know the bread was done.

  “If you’ll point me in the direction of an oven mitt, I can get those out while you arrange your flowers,” Jason said.

  I handed him the oven mitts that were hanging on a peg to my right. As he took out the bread, he commented on how great everything smelled.

  “I’m glad.” I placed the flowers in the vase before filling it with water. “I hope the food tastes even better than it smells.” I set the vase in the center of the table.

  Jason moved the vase slightly after we’d taken our seats. “I hope you don’t mind, but I want to be able to see you.”

  I laughed. “I don’t mind at all.” I nodded t
oward the bakery bag he’d left on the island. “What did you bring for dessert?”

  He shook his head. “It’s a surprise. Just don’t eat so much of the main course that you don’t have any room left.”

  “I’ll try, but lasagna is a favorite.”

  “It’s a favorite of mine too.”

  “What are your other favorite foods?” I asked.

  “It would be less time consuming to ask what I don’t like.” He chuckled. “Lima beans...boiled cabbage...turnip soup.”

  “I’ve never tried turnip soup.”

  “Neither have I. It just sounds like something I wouldn’t like.”

  I laughed.

  We both filled our plates and were eating when Jason nodded toward the box of cards. “What’s that?”

  I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. “It was...they’re...conversation cards. I was afraid we’d run out of things to talk about.”

  “Am I that boring?” he asked.

  “I was afraid I was the one who’d be less than stellar company. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Why’s that?”

  I didn’t dare tell him about the whole jewelry fiasco from the night before, not at this stage in our relationship. He might think I was a snoop or a gossip or a troublemaker. And, truthfully, I might be all of those things, but I felt like I merely wanted Mark Tinsley’s killer brought to justice and to be able to feel safe at Shops on Main.

  So I answered, “I’m anxious about getting Heather’s bridesmaid dresses finished.”

  “When is the wedding?”

  “In two months.”

  “Then don’t you have plenty of time?”

  I inclined my head. “Yes and no. I’ll feel better when I get the muslins completed and the first fittings done. Then when the material arrives, I can sew up the dresses using the muslin patterns. It’s all downhill after that. I’ll call the women in for their second fittings and make any alterations.” I sipped my soda. “I suppose the main thing is that these are the first bridesmaids’ dresses I’ve ever done. I want Heather to be happy with them.”