Blood Rubies (3 page)

I couldn't think of a reply, so I stayed quiet. I wasn't so sure I wanted to do business with him.

“Enough work for today,” Heather said, her tone issuing a challenge.

Jason didn't look up or reply.

“Jason? It's time for us to go. Chuck and Sara await.” She smiled in my direction. “The wedding is in five days, this coming Saturday, and folks are starting to arrive. Chuck is Jason's best friend—his best man. He and his wife got in today, and like most of us, they're staying at the Pelican. Who wouldn't want to take an extra few days in Rocky Point, right?”

“At least March seems to going out like a lamb,” Ana said. “Some years, people might be arriving in a blizzard. Or trudging through mud. I remember one year—”

Ana broke off as Heather gaped at something behind us. Her jaw hung open. She took a step back as her already pallid complexion turned paper white. Ana and I spun around.

A good-looking man about my age, maybe a few years older, strolled toward the island. I hadn't heard the porch door open or close. Seemingly, he just appeared out of thin air. It was eerie. He had light blue eyes and longish blond-brown hair, and he was shorter than Jason by half a foot, and far stockier. He didn't look fat, though; he looked strong.

“Hey, Ana!” he said, smiling. “Heather. Jason.”

“Peter!” Ana said, rushing toward him.

He hugged her. “Hey, sis!”

“Peter,” Heather said, turning the word into a plea.

“Nice to see you, Pete,” Jason said, joining Heather at the island. “Let's go, babe.” Jason touched her elbow, and she scurried from the room. He followed her with a swagger, pausing at the threshold to look back at Peter. “Quite a coincidence, your showing up this week.”

“Didn't you think I'd come to cheer Ana on?” Peter asked. “Come on! It's not every day she films a pilot for a TV show.”

Jason shook his head, communicating contempt. “You're not fooling anyone, Pete.”

Peter spread his hands, palms up. “You've got it all wrong, friend. I'm here to celebrate.”

“Bad idea, dude. Bad karma. It's time to be on your way.”

“Thanks for the tip. I think I'll stay a few days, though.” Peter said something that sounded like
Simyet blezh de cevyo
and grinned.

“Family above all,” Ana translated, looking from Peter to me to Jason, then back to me. “Our family motto, inherited from our Russian forefathers.”

“That's right,” Peter said. “Words to live by.” Peter placed his arm around Ana's shoulders, and squeezed.

When Jason didn't comment, Peter's grin broadened. “You're staying at the Pelican, right? Me, too. I'll probably see you around.”

Jason glared at him for a few seconds, then marched out. The screen door slammed. No one spoke.

“Why are you staying at a hotel?” Ana asked. “I have room here.”

“Too much activity going on, what with the TV shooting and all. Plus, they have a killer gym at the Pelican. You know me. I need my workouts.” He squeezed her shoulder again and picked up a glass of lemonade. “I'll be here every day, though, clapping like a crazy man, watching my beautiful sister work.”

Ana stared at him, trying to read between the lines, perhaps.

After a few seconds, I became uncomfortable witnessing their unbroken silence and walked to the French doors, looking past a small whitewashed gazebo, past the rambling roses not yet in bud, past the feathery grass border, to the ocean, wishing I were somewhere else, anywhere else. I could faintly hear the waves crashing against the boulders. Ana's yard looked like it belonged in an article about dream locales, the ones that promise memory-laden lazy days and soul-searing romantic nights. Empty promises, usually.

“As you might have gathered, Josie,” Ana said, “this is my brother, Peter, up from Boston.”

I turned to face them. Ana was smiling, patting her brother's arm.

“This is Josie Prescott, Peter. I've told you about her.”

Peter gave a two-finger semisalute. “Hey.”

“Nice to meet you.” I returned to the island and slid my empty glass onto the counter. “Thanks for the lemonade. I've got to get back to work.” I headed for the living room. “See ya!”

As I stepped onto the porch, I heard Ana say, “Tell me the truth, Peter. What are you doing here?”

I closed the door, whispered, “Whew,” and walked slowly to my car.

Timothy sat on a director's chair, drinking Coke from an old-fashioned small green bottle. The yellow-haired man pushed a large black crate up a ramp into an 18-wheeler.
OSCAR'S MOVIE RENTALS
was stenciled on the side.

“So what do you think of your first television role?” Timothy asked as I drew near.

“I think I'm lucky the star of the show and her director are so talented.”

“You're too modest! You have a flair, Josie. The camera loves you.”

Timothy was a diplomat. I'm old enough to know that the camera doesn't love me. It doesn't even like me much. I don't have good angles. I don't have a best side. I look like what I am—a pretty enough woman with a too-round face, chin-length nothing-special brown hair, a wide mouth, and big brown eyes. For Timothy's purpose, though, I didn't have to look good. My job was to help Ana shine, and if I excelled at that, from his perspective, I was a star.

I extended a hand for a shake. “Thanks, Timothy. I'm glad you got usable footage.”

I was behind the wheel, latching my seat belt, when Peter strode down the driveway. Ana hurried after him, then stopped short of the street, letting him go, her eyes shadowed with uneasiness.

 

CHAPTER THREE

I peered under the photocopier and spotted the missing pink felt mouse right away. Hank, Prescott's Maine Coon cat, had batted it across the office, and when it disappeared under the machine, he got upset and started mewing and pacing, agitated.

“I see it, Hank!” I told him.

He meowed imperatively, unimpressed. He wanted his mouse and he wanted it now.

“Can you reach it?” Gretchen asked.

“I think so. Hank must have put some English on it—it's in the far corner and upside down. Let me try the yardstick.”

She handed me the old wooden ruler we kept nearby for just this purpose. I waved it back and forth along the carpet. On my third pass, the mouse came flying out, and Hank leaped on it like a mountain lion attacks a deer. He picked it up in his mouth and shook his head so the little mouse rattled, then pranced away, his upset already forgotten.

“I could make a little skirt,” Cara, our grandmotherly receptionist, said. Seeing our bewilderment, she pointed to the gap. “You know, for the bottom of the machine, to stop Hank's mice from running underneath. If you're all right with double-stick Velcro, Josie, I could attach it that way.”

“You're a wonder woman, Cara! Sure, go for it! We'll have the best-dressed photocopier in Rocky Point.”

The wind chimes Gretchen had hung on the front door years earlier jingled, and Ana walked in.

Seeing me kneeling on the floor, she laughed. “I bet there's a story here!”

I stood up and brushed a few dusty bits from my khakis. “Caught in the act of rescuing our cat's favorite toy.” I introduced her to Cara and Gretchen. “What can we get you? Coffee? Tea?”

“Nothing, thanks. Do you have a minute to talk gifts?”

“Always. Have a seat. Or—if it's private, we can go to my office.”

Ana sat down at the guest table, as stylish and put-together in jeans and a mint green sweater as she'd been earlier in the day in her on-air outfit. “It's not the least bit private. Or rather, it's top secret until Heather and Jason's wedding, then it's not. Here's the deal—I got them something from their registry, which is fine, but I've been racking my brain looking for a gift that's more, I don't know, personal. Hearing Jason talk about chess sets, well, it got me thinking. Any ideas on how to merge that interest with something art deco, which is Heather's style?”

“Maybe. Gretchen, would you see if we have any art deco chess sets in stock?”

She started tapping code words into the search function in our database.

Reacting to Ana's surprised expression, I added, “I told you we were a full-service house.”

“That's great! I spoke to my dad, by the way, coordinating our schedules. If it's not too late, you can come by my house around five thirty tomorrow afternoon and pick up the Spring Egg snow globe.”

“Perfect.” I swiveled to face Cara. “Would you put that in my calendar?”

She nodded as the printer nearest Gretchen's desk whirred to life. Gretchen glanced at the one-page printout, then handed it over. I thanked her and scanned the list.

“It looks like we have two sets in stock, one decorative glass from France, circa 1928, and one Bakelite, circa 1935. If you'll wait here for just a minute, I'll get them.”

Ana glanced at her watch, a gold and diamond bangle. “Oh, God! It's nearly four. I'll need to stop back tomorrow. I'm supposed to meet Ray about the dessert display for Heather and Jason's wedding at four-fifteen.”

“That's fine. Anytime.” I stood up. “I'm meeting my boyfriend, Ty, at the Blue Dolphin at six this evening. If you're still there, maybe you can join us for a drink.”

She said she would, thanked me, said good-bye to us all, and left.

“She's so pretty,” Gretchen said.

“Elegant,” Cara agreed.

“Nice, too,” I grinned, a cocky one, excitement bubbling to the surface. “And she owns a Fabergé egg that we get to appraise!”

*   *   *

I stood under the dome-shaped hammered-copper awning that shielded the Blue Dolphin's entryway waiting for Ty. I saw him as soon as he turned onto Bow Street, and I smiled. When he spotted me, he smiled back. I loved his rugged looks. He was tall, about six-two, and well-built, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His brown hair was cut short. Since taking a job as a training supervisor with Homeland Security, he spent most of his time outdoors, and his skin had weathered to a warm nut brown. He was smart and wise and fun and funny. He was also compassionate and tender. I adored him.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.

“Hey, handsome.” I went up on tiptoe.

He opened the heavy wooden door, and we entered a special, rarified world. The Blue Dolphin was housed in a curved brick building that had been designed in 1740 to fit into the narrow rounded corner lot.

We greeted Frieda, the hostess, and waved hello to Suzanne, the manager.

“Is Ana Yartsin here?” I asked Frieda.

“No, she left about an hour ago. Sorry.”

“That's okay,” I said.

“Did you want to get seated now?”

“Thanks,” Ty said. “We'll have a drink first.”

We headed into the lounge, a cozy room with bay windows overlooking the Piscataqua River. On most days, you could see across to Maine. Jimmy, the bartender, was filling a silver-colored martini shaker with gin and chatting with a couple sitting at the bar. Ty and I made a beeline for my favorite table, in a corner by the window.

“Hey, Josie!” Jimmy called. “Hey, Ty. Be right with you.”

Jimmy served the martinis, then came to us. He had red hair and freckles and a ready smile. He'd been one of the first people I'd met when I'd moved to Rocky Point nearly a decade ago, and one of the most welcoming.

“I'll take a watermelon martini,” I said.

“And I'll try an Effinghamburgherbrau.”

“You got it,” Jimmy said, flipping cocktail napkins onto our table with his signature flair, as if he were skipping rocks.

When our drinks arrived, I clinked Ty's glass. “Here's to silver light in the dark of night.”

“And to us.”

“I love you, Ty.”

“I love you, too, Josie.”

I looked out the window. The river glittered as if someone had sprinkled sequins across the water. “Look what the sun is doing.”

Ty followed my gaze. “Sparkly.”

“Like me!”

He smiled, but before he could reply, a woman called my name. I spun around and saw Heather and Jason settling in at a table near the entry.

I waved hello. “Hi, there! Small world, right?” I introduced Ty.

Heather greeted him warmly. Jason looked bored, raising his eyes from his smart phone to say hello, then looking down again.

“Jason and I decided to sneak off for some one-on-one time.”

Jimmy approached to take their order as Peter walked in.

“Uh-oh,” I whispered. “Trouble's at the door.”

Peter stood by the entrance surveying the lounge. He paused when he saw Heather, then continued his canvass. He smiled at me and nodded. I nodded back but didn't smile.

Ty took in the scene at a glance. Before he'd taken his big-cheese job at Homeland Security, he'd been Rocky Point's police chief. “Who is he?”

“Peter, Ana's brother.” I repeated what Ana told me about his relationship with Heather, and their breakup, while surreptitiously watching the minidrama unfolding in the lounge. Peter slid onto a barstool at the far end of the bar, apparently ignoring everything and everyone except Jimmy, the bartender—except his eyes weren't on Jimmy; they were on the mirror, where he had a full view of the lounge. From the angle, I could tell he was watching Heather.

“I can't tell if he's a gnat or a stalker,” I whispered.

“That distinction rests in his intention, whether he intends merely to irritate or to interfere.”

“What should we do?”

“Nothing.”

“What should Heather do?”

“Short term, leave. Long term, get an order of protection.”

“Will that work?”

“Maybe.”

“How could Peter possibly think Heather would find this behavior attractive?”

“I don't think he's doing it to attract her. I think he's doing it to piss off Jason.” Ty nodded in Jason's direction. “Look.”