I expanded my search and found a picture of Jeff Applewhite taken about a year before his disappearance. He seemed to me like an average-looking guy. Late twenties, scruffy dark hair in need of a wash, messy beard, big eyes in a thin face with prominent cheekbones.
What importance did Jeff Applewhite, with or without the Blackstone necklace, have to Helena Sanchez? Her reaction indicated that the name meant something to her.
If not Helena herself, maybe she knew it meant something to her sister, Tina?
That was only one question.
The big one was: Did Helena die because of it? And if so, why?
I crawled across the bed, upsetting Charles, and reached for my bag. I pulled out the photocopy of the withdrawal slip.
Jeff Applewhite had withdrawn The Celestine Prophecy from the Lighthouse Library. It was due to be returned on May 25, 1995. If at that time the library’s withdrawal period was the same as it is now, three weeks, he would have taken the book out on May 4.
The party at Rachel’s had been on April 30.
What had Jeff done in the four days following the fateful party? Other than visit the library to check out a book?
What day had he disappeared? Rachel said he hadn’t shown up to work the morning of May 3.
Was it possible Jeff Applewhite had stolen an incredibly valuable diamond and planned to skip town with it, with or without an unknown girlfriend, but he stayed long enough to drop into the library and sign out a book? Charlene and I had found the volume in the library’s box of damaged books in the town basement, so he must have returned it.
That made absolutely no sense.
I had to call Detective Watson. He might not be aware that the date on the withdrawal slip was the day the book was due back, not the day it had been taken out.
I climbed out of bed with a sigh and walked across the room to the phone. It rang as I put my hand on it, and I jumped.
“Hello?”
“Lucy. I hope I’m not calling you too late,” Watson said.
“No. I’m still up.”
“I have a library question, and CeeCee’s not home yet.”
“Shoot,” I said before thinking maybe that was a poor choice of words.
“In 1995, how long could you take a book out of the library?”
I laughed. “Good question. Such a good question, I was about to phone you with the answer. Three weeks. Meaning Jeff Applewhite took out The Celestine Prophecy on May fourth.”
“Four days after the disappearance of the Blackstone necklace and two days after the disappearance of Jeff Applewhite himself.”
“Right.”
“I have to wonder,” Watson said, “if a man who’s in illegal possession of a multimillion-dollar necklace has the concentration to be thinking about reading.”
“I was thinking much the same thing.”
“Good night, Lucy.”
“Good night, Detective.”
The following morning, I told Bertie what I’d learned about Jeff Applewhite and the Blackstone necklace and the Rajipani Diamond.
She let out a sharp puff of air, leaned back in her chair so far the springs squeaked, and said, “My goodness.”
As I always did when I came in this room, I studied the painting hanging on the wall behind Bertie’s desk, showing a woman doing a downward dog on the beach as the sun rose behind her.
“Twenty-five million dollars,” she said at last. “For a necklace.”
“Hard to believe, I know. Not just a necklace, but one that originated with some minor Indian prince. Have you read The Moonstone?”
“Long ago. The Moonstone of the title is a jewel, right?”
“Right. An extremely valuable jewel people from India have come to England in search of, with the intention of returning it to their idol from which it was stolen.”
“You’re thinking international criminals took the Blackstone necklace?”
“Not at all. I’m pointing out the coincidence, that’s all. It’s quite likely Jeff Applewhite stole it that night, probably with no idea of what he was going to do with it, maybe even as a prank. Very funny. Ha-ha. Sounds like the type of thing the people who hung around Rachel in those days might have done. Then people of the sort who do know what to do with something like that found out about it and took it off him, either before or after he left Nags Head. He’s probably at the bottom of the ocean. But that’s nothing but conjecture on my part. Perhaps I’ve read too many mystery novels.”
“One can never read too many mystery novels,” Bertie said.
“What’s of interest to us—to the police, I mean—is what Helena Sanchez knew about Jeff and why that information might have gotten her killed. I asked Rachel if Helena had been at her party, and she said no, she didn’t associate with Helena, but it was possible Tina was there. Tina and Rachel were friends when Rachel was in her wild period.”
“You want to talk to Tina?”
“If you don’t mind?”
“It’s Monday and we’re usually slow here on Mondays. Ronald’s off today, but I can watch the desk for a while.”
“Thanks, Bertie. I’ll try not to be too long.”
“Are you going to phone and let her know you’re coming?”
“I never like to do that. Always better to catch people off guard, I’ve found. I’ll try her house first. If she’s at work or out, I’ll have to call and arrange a time.”
“I don’t like how experienced you’re getting at things like this.”
“Believe me, Bertie, I don’t like it either.”
I didn’t call ahead, and I did find Tina Ledbetter at home. She opened the door a crack and peered out at me. “Yes?”
“Hi! I was here the other day with the police. Do you remember me?”
“Yes.”
“Great! I was hoping you had a few minutes to talk to me?”
“What about?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? I could hardly come straight out and accuse the woman of stealing a necklace twenty-five years ago. “Does the name Jeffrey Applewhite mean anything to you?”
She stared at me. I studied her face intently. Not a flicker of emotion crossed it. “Never heard of
