He pouted.
“Lucy!” my mother said. “Is everything all right? It’s early for you to be calling.”
“Couldn’t be better, Mom.”
“This is rather sudden,” she said when I’d given her my news. “You’ve only known him for a year.”
“A year’s a long time, Mom. Didn’t you and Dad know each other for all of six weeks before you decided to get married?”
“That was different.”
“It sure was. I’m thirty-three. You were seventeen.”
A long silence came down the phone line. I waited. I often wondered if Mom regretted her sudden, impulsive, too-young marriage. I’m the youngest of their four children, and for all the years I’d been growing up, my parents’ marriage had not been a good one. They didn’t fight—at least not in front of the children. Neither of them ever stormed out or threatened a divorce, but they barely spoke to each other and rarely went anywhere together unless it was to an event for Dad’s law firm or a party at the country club where they were members. Things had come to a head last summer, and they’d been on the verge of separating, but they’d worked things out and agreed to give it another try. When I’d last seen my parents in February at Josie’s wedding, they’d seemed genuinely happy in each other’s company.
“You’re right, dear, as you usually are,” Mom said at last. “If this is what you want, and if this is the man for you, I wish you both all the happiness in the world. Now, when are you coming to Boston? You’ll be married at the club, of course. I’ll call today and have them pencil in a suitable date, and then you and I can meet with the wedding planner.”
Josie’s wedding had been in danger of being taken over by strong-willed relatives. I was determined that was not going to happen to me. Which meant, I knew, I had to nip Mom’s plans for a big Boston country club wedding with all her friends (and some of her enemies) as guests in the bud.
“Connor’s family’s in Nags Head,” I said. “My friends are here, and my coworkers, plus Aunt Ellen, Uncle Amos, and Josie. This is where I live now, Mom. We’re having the wedding in Nags Head.”
She hesitated and then she said, “An excellent idea, dear. A beach wedding would be nice, but you know what’s best for you. Your father and I will want to come down as soon as possible to give you and Connor our congratulations in person. Will you let me know what a good time would be?”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said.
Sam Watson came into the library shortly before closing. I guessed he was here to let us know what he’d learned from Lucinda, and I could barely contain my impatience as I finished showing an elderly man how he could take out books on the e-reader that had been a birthday present from his grandchildren. I helped the last of the day’s patrons check out their books, listened to Mrs. Peterson’s complaints about the summer science camp she’d sent Dallas to (“Not up to our standards, Lucy”), and tried not to tap my foot while Mr. Snyder untangled Charles from his lap. At last they were gone. I slammed the door and firmly locked it.
Charlene, Ronald, Charles, and I followed Watson into Bertie’s office. First thing this morning, Ronald had told Charlene, in great dramatic detail, about the events of last night, and she’d proclaimed herself highly disappointed to have missed it. Bertie leaned back in her chair, Charlene took the visitor’s seat, and Ronald and I stood against the walls. Charles assumed his favorite position on top of the filing cabinet. His intelligent amber eyes narrowed, his ears stood at attention, his tail flicked slowly back and forth.
“First things first,” the detective said when he had our attention. Which hadn’t been hard to get. “My congratulations, Lucy.”
I blushed, twisted the ring on my finger, and said, “Thank you.”
“Lucinda Lorca,” he went on, “has been assigned a lawyer. The lawyer advised her not to say anything to us, but she has chosen to disregard that advice. Perhaps she needs some soul cleansing, but that’s not up to me to say. In April 1995, she had a boyfriend by the name of Jeff Applewhite.”
“So I was right,” I said.
He smiled at me. “As you so often are, Lucy. Applewhite was a drifter, younger than her by a couple of years. He did odd, unskilled jobs on small construction sites or at home renovations, stayed in one place for a while, and then moved on. She was a librarian. Her first marriage had recently ended, and she was bored and restless. She was afraid, she says now, of getting old without having had any adventure in her life.”
“Tell us about the necklace,” I blurted out, “What happened to the necklace?”
“All in due time, Lucy. All in due time. Now remember, what I have to tell you is what she told me. We have a heck of a lot of digging to do to get to the truth of what happened.”
“Understood,” Bertie said.
Ronald, Charlene, and I murmured our agreement. Charles flicked his tail.
“Applewhite got the idea in his head to steal the Blackstone necklace. Where that idea might have come from, I can only speculate. Lucinda had gone with him to at least one of the parties at Rachel’s house. She’d heard about the necklace. She would have had some idea of its value. She told me that night at Rachel’s was one of the best nights of her life. All those people simply having fun without worrying about tomorrow. No serious jobs, no families, no responsibilities. Rachel herself with all that money and nothing to spend it on other than having a good time.”
“That’s sad,” Bertie said. “Rachel was lucky: she found out in time that, despite appearances, that’s no life.”
“Whether taking the necklace was Lucinda’s idea or Jeff’s
