“Oh, Chess is just gonna have an absolute fit,” her sister sighed.
“But you’re going out tonight,” Stella reminded her. “You can make all kinds of magic happen, I bet. Anyway, don’t get too far ahead of yourself, we still don’t know if Natalya’s going to be in the picture.”
Because she might be in jail,
Stella thought darkly, wondering how she would explain
that
to her sister.
Chapter Twenty-two
Stella had jotted down the name of the jewelry store where Benton had done his shopping, and it was easy enough to find, just a couple of blocks from the drug deal she’d interrupted yesterday. As she cruised around the block looking for a parking place, Stella kept her eyes out for thugs who looked like they’d been imported from the city, but the streets were empty except for a few midday shoppers.
Hawthorn Jewelers was a sleepy affair, with its old-fashioned sign hanging over the door, but its windows were full of beautiful rings and pendants and watches. Expensive, classy stuff, at least to Stella’s eye.
The gentleman behind the counter was bent over a watch on a square of dark velvet, doing something to the case with a tiny tool. When the bell attached to the door jangled, he pushed his loupe up onto his forehead and gave Stella a ready smile and hopped off his stool.
“May I help you?”
“Mr. Hawthorn?”
“Oh no, my dear, I’m Fred Nandedkar, but my dad started Hawthorn Jewelers in 1954 and it’s been in the family ever since.”
“So nice to meet you. I’m Alana Parch-Javetz.” She shook the man’s hand and found it warm and pleasant.
“What can I do for you today, Ms.… uh, what was that again?”
Stella smiled. “Please, just call me Alana. I’m here because I’d like to surprise my brother and his wife with an anniversary gift.”
“Oh, delightful, just delightful!” Fred said, his entire face lighting up as though Stella had suggested the most fabulous and original idea. “We have lovely sterling frames, all manner of crystal accessories … so many things … Can you tell me what the couple might like?”
“Well, you see, I came here because Benton bought Natalya a ring from you just last year, a special piece, and I thought you might remember them, maybe she pointed out something she liked…?”
A surprising change came over Fred’s face. The florid good cheer drained away, leaving him looking crestfallen and chastened. “Oh, dear … that would be Natalya Parch?”
“Yes—yes, exactly.”
“Well, I don’t know how to tell you this, Ms.… I mean, Alana. It’s certainly—well, it’s not my place to conjecture, of course, but Ms. Parch returned that ring last week.”
“She
did
?”
“Oh, indeed, yes. We have a generous trade-up program, you see, where fine gemstone pieces can be exchanged for items of greater value. The customer just pays the difference. In fact, I have the ring right here, I’ve already got a customer interested in it … such a gorgeous piece…”
He rummaged under the counter and pulled out a tray of glittering rings. Stella knew instantly which one had been Natalya’s: Nestled in the center of the tray, among all the solitaires and eternity bands and three-stone rings, was the flashiest ring she’d ever seen. The heart-shaped ruby was large and perfectly clear, and the diamonds had a thousand-megawatt sparkle. Fred picked it up and tipped it this way and that, under the lights, sending brilliant beams to every corner of the shop.
“Did Natalya say … I mean…”
Instead of answering, Fred frowned and set to vigorously polishing the band with a cloth, and Stella realized he would never stoop to conjecture about a customer.
“I’m sorry. I just meant—did she already choose something new?”
“Well, that’s just it, you see. I’m afraid that our policy does not allow a refund, and Ms. Parch is … considering her options, at the moment. She has a generous balance here in the shop, and of course it is my hope that she and—”
He blushed so furiously that Stella actually felt bad for him.
“That she will come back and choose something more to her liking,” Fred finished in a rush.
Cash. So Natalya had come back hoping to get cash for her honking engagement ring. Could be innocent—after all, what was she going to do with a piece like that after the relationship ended?—but it was also rather curious, seeing as she’d come in only days before Benton’s death.
Stella sighed. It just could never be easy. An hour earlier she’d been trying to strong-arm Gracellen into allowing Natalya and her boy into her heart and home. Now the woman’s innocence was more uncertain than ever.
“Is there something I could show you … for
you,
Alana?” Fred had returned the tray under the counter and regained his composure. “With your lovely coloring and that red hair of yours, you really ought to be in sapphires.”
Before Stella could politely decline, he’d pulled out another tray with a flourish. His hand hovered over the gems for a moment, and then he plucked one decisively from its slot.
It was an earring—a twinkling oval sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds. Fred turned it this way and that, nestled in his palm, catching the light—one of the most beautiful things Stella had ever seen. It was set on a delicate white gold post, perfect for her pierced ears, and when Fred offered it to her, she couldn’t resist. She picked it up between her thumb and forefinger and rested it next to her cheek, peeking in the mirror he gave her.
He was right—the color was perfect for her. The blue was deep and clear, like a moonlit night over Prosper, and the diamonds’ sparkle seemed to reflect in her eyes, making them seem greener than usual. “They’re beautiful,” Stella said wistfully.
“One carat each in the center stone, point-two-five carat total diamond weight. Those are near-flawless diamonds, by the way, VVS clarity. A beautiful piece that would be cherished by many generations.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. If I had something like this I expect I’d want to be buried in them.”
Fred laughed heartily, and Stella decided she liked him. She handed the earring back. “Just out of curiosity, how much are these?”
Fred consulted a tiny tag tucked into the tray, squinting at the numerals. “One thousand seven hundred and thirty dollars.”
Stella nodded. She hadn’t really expected a bargain, and though she’d been tempted for a moment—it being her birthday and all—there were a lot of other things that she could do with that kind of money. Pay Potter’s Auto to get her Jeep out of hock, for one. Add it to her carpet fund, for another—the carpet in the bedrooms of her house had not been changed since Noelle was a little girl, and it showed.
“Well, I sure do appreciate your time.”
“Come back and see us again sometime. And if you, ah, should happen to see Natalya, do let her know that we’ve received some lovely new pieces.”
* * *
Stella sat in
the Subaru for a moment, thinking. It was nearly six o’clock, the springtime sun still high above the horizon as people strolled past, enjoying the evening.
Smythe was a nice town the way that Prosper was a nice town—there was nothing really exceptional about it. No historical significance or architectural marvels. No garden club had busted its butt beautifying the public spaces, and no wealthy benefactors had left fortunes for fancy renovations, but the citizens of the town were doing their part in small ways, tending front lawns and sidewalks, setting out pots of flowers, freshening up paint, and polishing brass.
The hospital complex where the surgery center was located was a recent appendage, much as the Prosper Office Park had been built at the edge of town in the eighties, a clumsy addition at odds with the rest of the town’s spirit. Prosper’s office park remained largely vacant, the hordes of high-tech businesses who found themselves itching to settle in the heart of Missouri having never materialized, to the consternation of the chamber of commerce. St. Olaf’s, on the other hand, appeared to be thriving. With the money it brought into the community, it might make the difference for Smythe’s future, allowing it to attract even more business and becoming, perhaps, an attractive commuter town for Madison residents who couldn’t tolerate the hustle and bustle.
If it turned out that Natalya wasn’t a murderer—and if Gracellen and Chess could be talked into inviting the couple out to stay until they got on their feet—Stella figured there would be things they would miss about Smythe. Sure, Natalya was a recent transplant, but surely her nearly two years in the Midwest had endeared the place to her. Stella didn’t know much about Russia, but she imagined lines of freezing women in black coats and woolly scarves and fur-lined hats, waiting for hours in snowy cobblestone streets for a string of fish or a loaf of stale rye bread.
Sure, she’d seen the CNN folks talking about commerce coming to Russia, technology and capitalism and so forth, and she was willing to believe that there were people driving sports cars and opening nightclubs and building banks all over the place. In her experience, though, the ladies who raised the kids and kept the houses and took care of the elderly were the last to benefit from an influx of any kind of good luck. She’d had too many clients whose husbands received windfalls only to spend them on mistresses or fast cars or wide-screen televisions.
Had Natalya had an experience like that with Luke’s father, whoever he was? Had he left her pregnant and alone in some tiny grotto to fend for herself and her baby? Stella could understand how that might leave a lady feeling unrepentant about any manipulating and tricking she had to do to support her child after that, how such a lady might figure that the male gender owed her big-time. A mail-order wedding might look mighty appealing to such a woman, what with its clearly laid out expectations, its mutual benefits.
Could a woman like that—a user, an opportunist—ever again feel real love?
Not your business,
Stella’s conscience chastised her. She wasn’t here on a matchmaking or even a match-un-making mission.
Her phone rang. Speak of the devil—the display read
BENTON PARCH
, and for a moment Stella had the jarring sensation of being summoned by the dead. But of course it was Natalya’s, and now that Benton was a corpse and hence unable to pay any of his bills, presumably it would soon be cut off.
“Hello?”
“Stella? You are coming home soon?”
Was it Stella’s imagination or was there a new opaqueness in Natalya’s voice? Had Fred, perhaps spurred by Stella’s visit, given her a call to try to talk her into one of his expensive trinkets—and mentioned the visit from Benton’s sister-in-law?
Natalya was a shrewd woman. Stella had no doubt she would figure out instantly that “Alana” was really Stella … and draw further conclusions from there.
Like the possibility that she was under suspicion, for instance.
“Yeah, sure … soon. Ish. I’m, um, I’m following up on something out, ah, out of town a ways.”
“What is this you are following?”
Stella’s mind raced trying to come up with a convincing yet innocent possibility, but she stalled. “Uh … I’d rather finish following it up and then tell you about it.”
“Okay.” Natalya sounded displeased. “I am hoping you are coming home before dinnertime so I can cook for you something before I am going to have late dinner with Chip.”
“Oh, I already ate. Anyway, you don’t have to cook for me, I can take care of myself, and Chip gave me a key. I can let myself in and watch some TV or something.”
“Oh.” Natalya’s disappointment seemed to deepen. Was she hoping to have a little one-on-one time with Stella—and if so, why? Stella wasn’t naive enough to think she was looking forward to another knitting lesson; the only thing Stella could figure out that would inspire this sort of urgency would be if Natalya’s self-preservation instincts had been piqued.
Could the woman be planning something even more dramatic than a heart-to-heart? If she’d already killed once, would it bother her terribly to kill again—especially if she was convinced that Stella was threatening the future she had so carefully built?
“Did you have … something special in mind? You and Chip?”
“No, not special. Sometimes we like the Thai food, sometimes we are trying new things. Chip is big eater for skinny man. Is lucky.”
“Well … tell you what. Don’t plan around me. I’ll come by when I finish up, but I won’t expect you to be waiting up for me or anything.”
Natalya was clearly not happy to leave things loose, but Stella hung up after a cheerful signoff. Let Natalya wonder; if she was considering anything cagey it was better not to let her get the upper hand in advance. Meanwhile, Stella figured it was time to do a little further research into whether Natalya could have pulled off Benton’s demise in the first place.
Ordinarily she’d get Chrissy to come over and prowl the Internet for her, but Chrissy was undoubtedly out with her secret lover.
Besides, Stella had a better source than the Internet for what she needed to know.
Chapter Twenty-three
Doug was not happy to see her.
Stella stepped to the side of the front door after she rang the bell. The easiest trick in the world—any eight-year-old could have managed it more nimbly than she—and yet Doug fell for it, leaning out into the dusky evening with some sort of sandwich in one hand.
Stella stepped smoothly in front of him and basically startled him back into the house, pulling the door shut behind her and giving him a gentle shove with her palm on his chest.
“Why don’t you stop right about there,” Stella said, as he stumbled backward. “I thought I told you to get rid of those ugly-ass girl-pants.”
Doug looked down at his drawstring hemp trousers as though surprised to discover them slung low on his hips, under the sort of faded river driver shirt that Stella’s dad had worn on winter weekends to fix his truck.
“Yeah, those,” Stella sighed. “Look, this is just pathetic. I’m going to have you write down your address and then I’m going to have JC Penney send you a pair of pants. All’s I ask is you take a picture of yourself in them and text it to me.”