There was a silence. When Helen spoke, her voice was unsteady and I could hear the pain in it. “China, please don’t tell Caitie about this yet. We’re not ready to make a general announcement, but I think you’d better be prepared, since Kevin and Caitie are close. She’ll have to know.” She cleared her throat. “Kevin has a brain tumor. We’re taking him to MD Anderson next week for surgery.”
I gasped, struggling for words, although there’s nothing you can say in a situation like this. I managed, “Oh, Helen, that’s . . . that’s terrible! I am so very sorry!”
MD Anderson is the University of Texas’ cancer center in Houston, and one of the very best in the country. But a brain tumor! Kevin is a bright and talented kid, not just in music but in math, and a wicked sense of humor lurks behind that nerdish look of his. If I had invented a first boyfriend for Caitie, he would be a lot like Kevin.
“Please keep me posted,” I added. “And let me know when you decide to get the word out.”
“It’ll be after the surgery,” Helen said more briskly. “We’ll know more then. Right now, the challenge is to keep from being overwhelmed. We’re doing this one step at a time, as we see what’s next. And hoping for the very best outcome, of course. We have a great team of doctors, and they’re optimistic. We’ve caught the tumor early and we’re all hopeful.”
“Of course,” I said emphatically. “Thank you for telling me. Please let me know when it’s time to talk to Caitie about this.”
After I hung up, I sat there for a moment, struggling with my feelings. Kevin’s family was close-knit and loving and his grandmother was a nurse. It wouldn’t be easy, but whatever came, they would be holding hands all the way through, and the rest of us would be holding them in our hearts. When something like this happens, we’re all part of the family.
And then, worriedly, I thought of Caitlin. She had already lost far too many of the most important people in her young life: her mother, her father, and her beloved aunt Marcia, who had taken her in and cared for her after her parents died. And then died, too, of cancer.
This wasn’t going to be easy for Caitlin. Or for any of us.
• • •
HELEN had remarked on Jessica’s persistence, which was why I wasn’t surprised when the next telephone call came from Jessica herself. She covers local crime for the Enterprise, and we have connected several times on stories she was writing. She has a serious nose for news and she knows that Sheila and I are good friends.
“Do you know what’s going on with Chief Dawson?” she demanded, without any introductory pleasantries. She likes to catch people off guard.
“Hello to you, too, Jessica,” I said pleasantly. “Why? Is something wrong with the chief?”
“EMS took her to the hospital this morning.”
“Gosh,” I said innocently. “That’s terrible! Did you ask at the hospital? I hope she’s okay!”
“Nobody would talk to me over there.” Jessica sounded disgruntled. “I was hoping you could tell me, China. What is it? What’s going on?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Wish I could help but I can’t. If you find out anything, will you let me know?” I said good-bye, feeling pleased with myself for answering Jessica’s questions without telling an actual lie. As I ended the call, my eye was caught by the photograph on the bulletin board. Even though Ruby had been positive that Lori had nothing to do with it, it wouldn’t hurt to check.
But the lunch hour was more hectic than usual and I didn’t see Lori until mid-afternoon, when she came downstairs to get a quick sandwich between classes. When I pointed to the photo and asked if she had put it there, she shook her head.
“No, sorry,” she said. “Wasn’t me. Maybe Ruby? She opened the shops this morning.”
“She says it wasn’t her.” My voice sounded a little uneven, and I cleared my throat. And then, because I knew I shouldn’t put her on the spot, I added, “Just one of life’s little mysteries, I guess.”
And the bell dinged, of course, cheerfully agreeing.
• • •
AT four, Ruby and I left Jenna in charge of the shops so we could go upstairs for the meeting with Professor Vickery. I didn’t know the professor, so I had taken a moment that morning to peek at her bio on the university’s website. She had earned her PhD in the textile arts program at Ohio State, and had been teaching courses in historical textiles for twenty years. She had written several papers on lacemaking, so if anybody could tell us anything about the lace, she was certainly the one.
Professor Vickery, a small, slender woman with attractively graying hair and dark-rimmed glasses, arrived a few minutes after four, and we introduced ourselves. Christine—she asked us to call her that immediately—took one look at the collection of lace items we had laid out on the table and exclaimed, “Oh, what a treasure!” She looked from one of us to the other. “Who does it belong to? Where did it come from?”
“It belongs to China,” Ruby and Lori said together.
“We found it on a top shelf when we were cleaning out the storeroom yesterday.” I nodded toward the door at the back of the room. “There’s no telling where it came from or how long it’s been there.” I added, “The flower on the lid looks like it’s hand carved.”
“Queen Anne’s lace, isn’t it?” Christine asked. “Fascinating. You know the story behind the name of that flower?”
“I’ve heard that it was named for one of the two Queen Annes of England,” Ruby offered.
Christine nodded. “Some say that, yes. Others say that it’s named
