Читать книгу Outlaw's Honor - B.J. Daniels - Страница 7
ОглавлениеDARBY CAHILL ADJUSTED his Stetson as he moved toward the bandstand. The streets of Gilt Edge, Montana, were filled with revelers who’d come to celebrate the yearly chokecherry harvest on this beautiful day. The main street had been blocked off for all the events. People had come from miles around for the celebration of a cherry that was so tart it made your mouth pucker.
As he climbed the steps, Darby figured it just proved that people would celebrate anything. Normally, his twin sister, Lillie, attended, but this year she was determined that he should do more of their promotion at these events.
“I hate it as much as you do,” she’d assured him. “But believe me. You’ll get more attention up there on the stage than me. Just say a few words, throw T-shirts into the crowd, have some fry bread and come home. You can do this.” Clearly, she knew his weakness for fry bread as well as his dislike of being the center of attention.
The T-shirts were from the Stagecoach Saloon, the bar and café the two of them owned and operated outside of town. Since it had opened, the bar had helped sponsor the Chokecherry Festival each year.
He heard his name being announced and sighed as he made his way up the rest of the steps to the microphone to deafening applause. He tipped his hat to the crowd, swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “It’s an honor to be here and be part of such a wonderful celebration.”
“Are you taking part in the pit-spitting competition?” someone yelled from the crowd, and others joined in. Along with being bitter, chokecherries were mostly pit.
“I’m going to leave that to the professionals,” he said, reaching for the box of T-shirts, wanting this over with as quickly as possible. He didn’t like being in the spotlight any longer than he had to. Also he hoped that once he started throwing the shirts, everyone would forget about the pit-spitting contest later.
He was midthrow when he spotted a woman in the crowd. What had caught his eye was the brightly colored scarf around her dark hair. It fluttered in the breeze, giving him only glimpses of her face.
He let go and the T-shirt sailed through the air as if caught on the breeze. He saw with a curse that it was headed right for the woman. Grimacing, he watched the rolled-up T-shirt clip the woman’s shoulder.
She looked up, clearly startled. He had the impression of serious dark eyes, full lips. Their gazes locked for an instant and he felt something like lightning pierce his heart. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Rooted to the spot, all he could hear was the drumming of his heart, the roaring crowd a dull hum in the background.
Someone behind the woman in the crowd scooped up the T-shirt and, scarf fluttering, the woman turned away, disappearing into the throng of people.
What had that been about? His heart was still pounding. What had he seen in those bottomless dark eyes that left him...breathless? He knew what Lillie would have said. Love at first sight, something he would have scoffed at—just moments ago.
“Do you want me to help you?” a voice asked at his side.
Darby nodded to the festival volunteer. He threw another T-shirt, looking in the crowd for the woman. She was gone.
Once the box of T-shirts was empty, he hurriedly stepped off the stage into the moving mass. His job was done. His plan had been to have some fry bread and then head back to the saloon. He was happiest behind the bar. Or on the back of a horse. Being Montana born and raised in open country, crowds made him nervous.
The main street had been blocked off and now booths lined both sides of the street all the way up the hill that led out of town. Everywhere he looked there were chokecherry T-shirts and hats, dish towels and coffee mugs. Most chokecherries found their way into wine or syrup or jelly, but today he could have purchased the berries in lemonade or pastries or even barbecue sauce. He passed stands of fresh fruit and vegetables, crafts of all kinds and every kind of food.
As he moved through the swarm of bodies now filling the downtown street, the scent of fry bread in the air, he couldn’t help searching for the woman. That had been the strangest experience he’d ever had. He told himself it could have been heat stroke had the day been hotter. Also he felt perfectly fine now.
He didn’t want to make more of it than it was and yet, he’d give anything to see her again. As crazy as it sounded, he couldn’t throw off the memory of that sharp hard shot to his heart when their gazes had met.
As he worked his way through the crowd, following the smell of fry bread, he watched for the colorful scarf the woman had been wearing. He needed to know what that was about earlier. He told himself he was being ridiculous, but if he got a chance to see her again...
Someone in the crowd stumbled against his back. He caught what smelled like lemons in the air as a figure started to brush by him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the colorful scarf wrapped around her head of dark hair.
Like a man sleepwalking, he grabbed for the end of the scarf as it fluttered in the breeze. His fingers closed on the silken fabric, but only for a second. She was moving fast enough that his fingers lost purchase and dropped to her arm.
In midstep, she half turned toward him, his sudden touch slowing her. In those few seconds, he saw her face, saw her startled expression. He had the bizarre thought that this woman was in trouble. Without realizing it, he tightened his grip on her arm.
Her eyes widened in alarm. It all happened in a manner of seconds. As she tried to pull away, his hand slid down the silky smooth skin of her forearm until it caught on the wide bracelet she was wearing on her right wrist.
Something dropped from her hand as she jerked free of his hold. He heard a snap and her bracelet came off in his hand. His gaze went to the thump of whatever she’d dropped as it hit the ground. Looking down, he saw what she’d dropped. His wallet?
Astonishment rocketed through him as he realized that when she’d bumped into him from behind, she’d picked his pocket! Feeling like a fool, he bent to retrieve his wallet. Jostled by the meandering throng, he quickly rose and tried to find her, although he wasn’t sure what exactly he planned to do when he did. Music blared from a Western band over the roar of voices.
He stood holding the woman’s bracelet in one hand and his wallet in the other, looking for the bright scarf in the mass of gyrating festival goers.
She was gone.
Darby stared down at his wallet, then at the strange large gold-tinted cuff bracelet and laughed at his own foolishness. His moment of “love at first sight” had been with a thief? A two-bit pickpocket? Wouldn’t his family love this!
Just his luck, he thought as he pocketed his wallet and considered what to do with what appeared to be heavy cheap costume jewelry. He’d been lucky. He’d gotten off easy in more ways than one. His first thought was to chuck the bracelet into the nearest trashcan and put the whole episode behind him.
But he couldn’t quite shake the feeling he’d gotten when he’d looked into her eyes—or when he’d realized the woman was a thief. Telling himself it wouldn’t hurt to keep a reminder of his close call, he slipped the bracelet into his jacket pocket.
* * *
MARIAH AYERS GRABBED her bare wrist, the heat of the man’s touch still tingling there. What wasn’t there was her prized bracelet, she realized with a start. Her heart dropped. She hadn’t taken the bracelet off since her grandmother had put it on her, making her promise never to part with it.
“This will keep you safe and bring you luck,” Grandmother Loveridge had promised on her deathbed. “Be true to who you are.”
She fought the urge to turn around in the surging throng of people, go find him and demand he give it back. But she knew she couldn’t do that for fear of being arrested. Or worse. So much for the bracelet bringing her luck, she thought, heart heavy. She had no choice but to continue moving as she was swept up in the flowing crowd. Maybe she could find a high spot where she could spot her mark. And then what?
Mariah figured she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. Pulling off her scarf, she shoved it into her pocket. It was a great device for misdirection—normally, but now it would be a dead giveaway.
Ahead, she spotted stairs and quickly climbed a half dozen steps at the front of a bank to stop and look back.
The street was a sea of cowboy hats. One cowboy looked like another to her. How would she ever be able to find him—let alone get her bracelet back given that by now he would know what she’d been up to? She hadn’t even gotten a good look at him. Shaken and disheartened, she told herself she would do whatever it took. She desperately needed that bracelet back—and not just for luck or sentimental reasons. It was her ace in the hole.
Two teenagers passed, arguing over which one of them got the free T-shirt they’d scored. She thought of the cowboy she’d seen earlier up on the stage, the one throwing the T-shirts. He’d looked right at her. Their gazes had met and she’d felt as if he had seen into her dark heart—if not her soul.
No wonder she’d blown a simple pick. She was rusty at this, clearly, but there had been a time when she could recall each of her marks with clarity. She closed her eyes. Nothing. Squeezing them tighter, she concentrated.
With a start, she recalled that his cowboy hat had been a light gray. She focused on her mark’s other physical attributes. Long legs clad in denim, slim hips, muscular thighs, broad shoulders. A very nice behind. She shook off that image. A jean jacket over a pale blue checked shirt. Her pickpocketing might not be up to par, but at least there was nothing wrong with her memory, she thought as she opened her eyes and again scanned the crowd. Her uncle had taught her well.
But she needed more. She closed her eyes again. She’d gotten only a glimpse of his face when he’d grabbed first her scarf and then her arm. Her eyes flew open as she had a thought. He must have been on to her immediately. Had she botched the pick that badly? She really was out of practice.
She closed her eyes again and tried to concentrate over the sound of the two teens still arguing over the T-shirt. Yes, she’d seen his face. A handsome rugged face and pale eyes. Not blue. No. Gray? Yes. With a start she realized where she’d seen him before. It was the man from the bandstand, the one who’d thrown the T-shirt and hit her. She was sure of it.
“Excuse me, I’ll buy that T-shirt from you,” she said, catching up to the two teens as they took their squabble off toward a burger stand.
They both turned to look at her in surprise. “It’s not for sale,” said the one.
The other asked, “How much?”
“Ten bucks.”
“No way.”
“You got it free,” Mariah pointed out only to have both girls’ faces freeze in stubborn determination. “Fine, twenty.”
“Make it thirty,” the greedier of the two said.
She shook her head as she dug out the money. Her grandmother would have given them the evil eye. Or threatened to put some kind of curse on them. “You’re thieves, you know that?” she said as she grabbed the T-shirt before they could take off with it and her money.
Escaping down one of the side streets, she finally got a good look at what was printed across the front of the T-shirt. Stagecoach Saloon, Gilt Edge, Montana.
* * *
LILLIE CAHILL HESITATED at the back door of the Stagecoach Saloon. It had been a stagecoach stop back in the 1800s when gold had been coming out of the mine at Gilt Edge. Each stone in the saloon’s walls, like each of the old wooden floorboards inside, had a story. She’d often wished the building could talk.
When the old stagecoach stop had come on the market, she had jumped at purchasing it, determined to save the historical two-story stone building. It had been her twin’s idea to open a bar and café. She’d been skeptical at first, but trusted Darby’s instincts. The place had taken off.
Lately, she felt sad just looking at the place.
Until recently, she’d lived upstairs in the remodeled apartment. She’d moved in when they bought the old building and had made it hers by collecting a mix of furnishings from garage sales and junk shops. This had not just been her home. It was her heart, she thought, eyes misting as she remembered the day she’d moved out.
Since her engagement to Trask Beaumont and the completion of their home on the ranch, she’d given up her apartment to her twin, Darby. He had been living in a cabin not far from the bar, but he’d jumped at the chance to live upstairs.
Now she glanced toward the back window. The curtains were some she’d left when she’d moved out. One of them flapped in the wind. Darby must have left the window open. She hadn’t been up there to see what he’d done with the place. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know since she’d moved most everything out, leaving it pretty much a blank slate. She thought it might still be a blank slate, knowing her brother.
Pushing open the back door into the bar kitchen, she was met with the most wonderful of familiar scents. Fortunately, not everything had changed in her life, she thought, her mood picking up some as she entered the warm café kitchen.
“Tell me those are your famous enchiladas,” she said to Billie Dee, their heavy-set, fiftysomething Texas cook.
“You know it, sugar,” the cook said with a laugh. “You want me to dish you up a plate? I’ve got homemade pinto beans and some Spanish rice like you’ve never tasted.”
“You mean hotter than I’ve ever tasted.”
“Oh, you Montanans. I’ll toughen you up yet.”
Lillie laughed. “I’d love a plate.” She pulled out a chair at the table where the help usually ate in the kitchen and watched Billie Dee fill two plates.
“So how are the wedding plans coming along?” the cook asked as she joined her at the table.
“I thought a simple wedding here with family and friends would be a cinch,” Lillie said as she took a bite of the enchilada. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sweet and then hot bite of peppers before all the other flavors hit her. She groaned softly. “These are the best you’ve ever made.”
“Bless your heart,” Billie Dee said smiling. “I take it the wedding has gotten more complicated?”
“I can’t get married without my father and who knows when he’ll be coming out of the mountains.” Their father, Ely Cahill, was a true mountain man now who spent most of the year up in the mountains either panning for gold or living off the land. He’d given up ranching after their mother had died and had turned the business over to her brothers Hawk and Cyrus.
Their oldest brother, Tucker, had taken off at eighteen. They hadn’t seen or heard from him since. Their father was the only one who wasn’t worried about him.
“Tuck needs space. He’s gone off to find himself. He’ll come home when he’s ready,” Ely had said.
The rest of the family hadn’t been so convinced. But if Tuck was anything like their father, they would have heard something from the cops. Ely had a bad habit of coming out of the mountains thirsty for whiskey—and ending up in their brother Sheriff Flint Cahill’s jail. Who knew where Tuck was. Lillie didn’t worry about him. She had four other brothers to deal with right here in Gilt Edge.
“I can see somethin’s botherin’ you,” Billie Dee said now.
Lillie nodded. “Trask insists we wait to get married since he hopes to have the finishing touches on the house so we can have the reception there.”
Trask, the only man she’d ever loved, had come back into her life after so many years that she’d thought she’d never see him again. But they’d found their way back together and now he was building a house for them on the ranch he’d bought not far from the bar.
“Waitin’ sounds reasonable,” the cook said between bites.
“I wish we’d eloped.”
“Something tells me the wedding isn’t the problem,” Billie Dee said, using her fork to punctuate her words.
“I’ll admit it’s been hard giving up my apartment upstairs. I put so much love into it.”
“Darby will take good care of it.”
She couldn’t help shooting a disbelieving look at Billie Dee. “He’ll probably just throw down a bedroll and call it home. You know how he is. Have you seen what he’s moved in so far?”
Billie Dee gave her a sympathetic look. “I know it was your baby, but once you took out your things, it didn’t feel so much like yours, right?”
Lillie nodded. “Still, it was my home for so long. I thought maybe Darby might need my help decorating it.”
The cook laughed. “I’d say ‘decorating’ is probably the last thing on his mind. So how is the new home?”
“Beautiful. Trask is great about letting me do whatever I want. But it still isn’t like my apartment. I put so much of myself into that place. I miss it.”
“And you will put so much of yourself into your home with Trask. It’s going to take time. How long did it take you to get the apartment upstairs to your liking?”
“Years.”
“Exactly.” Billie Dee studied her for a moment. “You aren’t gettin’ cold feet about the weddin’ and marryin’ Trask, are you?”
“No.” Lillie shook her head adamantly. “Never.” She thought of the day when she and Trask would have a family and she wouldn’t even be working at the bar anymore, but pushed that away. “I guess change is hard for me. I feel like I’m giving up the bar even though I’ll still be half owner and still work until the babies come.”
“Babies?”
“I’m not pregnant yet but Trask and I want a big family.”
“So who is coming to your weddin’? I’m still waitin’ for you to introduce me to some big, strong Montana cowboy,” Billie Dee joked as she had often before. “I want one like Trask.”
“Who doesn’t?” Lillie said with a laugh. Trask was handsome as the devil, sweet, loving, wonderful. “Guess I’ll have to rope you up one.”
“I can do my own ropin’, thank you very much. Just point me at one.”
“You have someone in mind?”
“Might. Ain’t tellin’.” She gave Lillie a knowing wink.
“By the way, speaking of handsome cowboys, where is Darby? I thought he’d be back by now from the festival.” She’d barely gotten the words out when they heard a vehicle pull up under the tree next to the building where Darby always parked. A few moments later, her brother came in the back door, took a whiff and said, “Billie Dee’s famous enchiladas.”
She and the cook both laughed. “Don’t worry. We left plenty for you and our customers tonight.”
Darby tossed his hat onto the hook by the back door and hung up his keys on the board along with the extra keys to the bar and the upstairs apartment. Not that Lillie would need to use the spare key. She still had an apartment key on her keychain. She just hadn’t used it.
“I was just asking Billie Dee if she’d seen what you’ve done with the apartment,” Lillie said.
Her twin brother scoffed. “If you’re so curious, go on up. But I warn you, you won’t like it.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a firm believer in less is more.”
She groaned. “You haven’t done anything.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I have a bed, chest of drawers, the lamp you left me, the television you left me and a chair I bought for myself.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s all I need, little sis.” As he took off his jean jacket and hung it, Lillie heard something make a clinking sound in one of the pockets. He heard it too and reached into the pocket to pull out his cell phone and shove whatever had “clinked” deeper into the pocket.
He really was handsome, she thought as she studied her brother. A real catch for some woman. The problem was Darby. She got the feeling he was open to a relationship, but that he hadn’t found a woman who interested him.
The cook motioned toward the stove. “Help yourself. But I thought you would have eaten at the festival.”
“Wasn’t hungry,” he said, his back to them as he pocketed his phone and went to the stove to fill a plate.
Both women looked at him in stunned silence, then at each other. Darby was always hungry. He stayed too busy to gain weight, but there was never anything wrong with his appetite.
“You didn’t even have any fry bread?” Lillie asked. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
He shrugged, still not looking at them.
She felt a stab of guilt for making him go to the festival. In truth, she could have covered it. But she thought he ought to start doing it since she didn’t know how long she would be able to. She and Trask were planning to start a family right away.
“That was the only thing I was looking forward to,” he said. “But the line was too long.” He looked away.
Lillie wondered what her brother was leaving out. He never missed a chance to have fry bread. “But otherwise everything went all right?”
“I said a few words. Tossed the T-shirts into the crowd and got out of there before I had to take part in the pit-spitting contest,” he said as he stabbed a bite of enchilada. He mugged a face at her. “Did you know they were going to try to rope me into the pit spitting?”
She laughed. “No, but I would have paid money to see that.” Still as she studied her twin, she got the feeling something had happened to upset her usually unflappable brother. She and Darby had always been close. They’d shared the same womb. But she couldn’t put her finger on what it was about him that made her think he wasn’t telling her everything.
“Did you run into our brothers while you were there?” she asked.
“Didn’t see Hawk or Cyrus, but Flint was walking around looking like a Western lawman,” Darby said.
“He is a Western lawman,” Lillie said of her brother Sheriff Flint Cahill, the black sheep of the family. Flint had always played by the rules, while the rest of them had never minded bending the rules or the law. Now he followed the letter of the law. Needless to say, they often butted heads over it—especially when he arrested their father on those occasions when Ely came out of the mountains and had too much to drink.
“Hawk and Cyrus stopped by earlier,” Billie Dee said as she got up to put her plate in the dishwasher. “They said they were moving cattle today and skipping the festival and all that craziness. I asked if they were going to the dance tonight. No surprise, they weren’t.”
“They are going to stay old crotchety bachelors forever at this rate,” Lillie said, and then she saw that her brother had stopped eating. He was picking at the spicy pinto beans distractedly, frowning as if his mind was miles away. Or maybe just back downtown where the festival was still going strong.
Lillie felt worse about making him take care of their promotion at the Chokecherry Festival. Now something was bothering him that hadn’t been this morning before he’d left.
“Is everything all right?” she asked bringing him out of his trance.
Darby smiled, complimented Billie Dee on the food and dug back into his meal before he said, “Couldn’t be better.”
But she sensed that wasn’t true. Something was definitely different about him.
* * *
SINCE HE AND Lillie had traded shifts today, Darby had the rest of the day off. He almost wished he was working though. At least that would help keep his mind off the woman at the festival.
“Thanks for dinner,” he said to Billie Dee as he put his plate into the dishwasher. “You sure you can handle it tonight without me?” he asked his sister.
“It will be slow with everyone at the festival and street dance,” she said. “I’ll probably close early, but thanks for the offer. What are you going to do the rest of the day?”
He shrugged. “Probably just take it easy.” Retrieving his Stetson and jacket, he headed upstairs, glad his sister hadn’t asked to see what he’d done with her old apartment. As he unlocked the door and looked around, he admitted there wasn’t much to see.
When it had been Lillie’s, the place had such a homey feel. Now it was anything but. He’d bought a bed, taken his chest of drawers from his room at the ranch, complete with the stickers from his youth on the front, and found an old leather recliner at a garage sale.
Other than that, the apartment was pretty sparse. Fortunately, Lillie had left the curtains, the rug on the living room floor and a couple of lamps, along with a television. The place was definitely nicer than the old cabin he’d been living in before, so it was just fine with him. More than fine. He’d never needed much for creature comforts.
As he closed the door behind him, he felt bad though. He’d have to be a complete fool not to know that Lillie was dying to help him “decorate.” He cringed at the thought. She’d fuss and bring in plants he’d forget to water, a bunch of pillows he wouldn’t know what to do with and knickknacks he’d end up breaking. No, she had her big house on the ranch to do her magic on. He wouldn’t bother her. At least that would be his excuse.
He hung up his hat and was about to do the same with his jean jacket when he remembered the bracelet. Taking it out, he turned it in his fingers. It was fancy looking enough. Heavier than it appeared too, the surface buffed to a rich patina. He brushed his fingertip over the round black stone on one side of the wide cuff bracelet. Probably plastic, the whole bracelet no doubt made out of some cheap metal and not worth anything. Otherwise why would the woman have to resort to stealing?
As he started to put it down, he noticed that the clasp was broken. It must have happened when he’d pulled it from her arm. With a start, he remembered the tan line on her wrist, a wide white patch of skin where her bracelet had been as she was hurrying into the crowd. Surprised, he realized this was a piece of jewelry she wore all the time. If it was nothing but cheap costume jewelry, then it must have sentimental value. He frowned, as curious about the bracelet as he was the woman who’d worn it.
His mind whirling, he looked at his phone to check the time. The local jewelry store was still open. If he went the back way and entered the store from the rear, he could avoid the crowds still on the main street.
There was, of course, a temptation to look again for the woman. But he told himself that she wouldn’t have hung around. After what happened, wouldn’t she be worried that he’d alert the sheriff about her?
Now that he thought of it, why hadn’t he? What if she’d been picking pockets all day at the festival? He let out a groan, realizing that he’d been so captivated by her that he hadn’t even thought about reporting her.
He didn’t think she would try to pick anyone else’s pocket after what had happened with him. More than likely, she’d expect him to notify the sheriff. If he was right, there would be no reason to look for her in the crowd because she would have left, thinking the law was looking for her.
Darby knew he was making excuses for not notifying his lawman brother. He’d been embarrassed by the whole incident. And yet he was still curious about the woman who’d worn the bracelet. Still curious and still shaken by the effect she’d had on him for that second when their eyes had met.
The piece looked unusual enough, he told himself. The fact that it must have been a favorite of hers piqued his interest even more. He stuffed the bracelet back into his jacket pocket and, Stetson on his head, headed for the door.
* * *
THE ELDERLY JEWELER put the loupe to his eye and slowly studied the bracelet Darby had handed him. “You say you picked it up at a garage sale?”
He wished now that he’d come up with a better story. “In Billings.”
“Interesting.”
Darby waited as jeweler John T. Marshall went over every square inch of the bracelet. “It’s just costume jewelry, right, John?” No answer. The piece couldn’t be that interesting, he thought.
John finally put the bracelet down along with the loupe. He shook his head, seemingly unable to take his eyes off the piece. “It’s not costume jewelry. It’s fourteen-karat yellow gold.”
That explained why it was so heavy. With a start, Darby realized it could have more than just sentimental value to the woman. “So what can you tell me about it?”
“The gold alone in weight is worth several thousand dollars, but its real worth is that it is a rare piece of vintage Roma jewelry.”
“Roma jewelry?”
The jeweler nodded. “I’ve only read about it. This type of cuff was once made for the whole family including men and children, and was usually worn in pairs, one on each wrist. This bracelet is definitely rare.”
“You’re saying it’s old?”
“In this country, most surviving pieces date from 1900 to 1930.” He picked up the loupe again to look at the round black stone at the center. “The Roma almost always used synthetic stones because of the difficulties of verifying a gemstone’s authenticity, unlike real gold, which cannot be faked easily.”
“So the stone is what? Plastic?”
“In this rare case, a valuable gemstone—onyx. This is an amazing find. I’ve never seen any original Roma jewelry before. It’s quite remarkable.” He picked up the bracelet again and began to point out the designs on it.
“Look at this profiled face of a beautiful woman, possibly a Roma queen.”
“What exactly is Roma?” Darby asked.
“Often called Gypsy jewelry. The word Gypsy is a misnomer though. The Roma were called Gypsies because they were believed to have come from Egypt. But they were actually part of an ethnic group whose ancestors left India a thousand years ago. Many of them still called themselves gypsies, though many Roma consider it a derogatory term.”
Darby thought of the woman he’d seen at the festival. Was she Roma?
The jeweler was still inspecting the bracelet with a kind of awe. “Flowers and stars are common, along with a horseshoe for luck. It is always worn with the horseshoe up so the luck doesn’t spill out.” He traced a finger over one of the designs. “The filigree is so delicate.” He met Darby’s gaze. “I’d say this bracelet is worth from ten to twenty thousand dollars.”
Darby was taken aback. He’d almost thrown the piece away. Worse, he hadn’t picked it up at a garage sale. He’d torn if off a woman’s wrist—admittedly she was trying to pick his pocket at the time, but still...
“And you say you paid fifty cents for it? The person who sold it must not have known its real worth.” John shook his head. “If you’re interested in selling this piece—”
“No,” he said quickly. “If it’s that rare, I think I’d like to keep it. But I do want to get the clasp fixed.”
The jeweler nodded. “I don’t blame you. It will only take a minute.”
Darby stepped to the back of the shop to watch as John worked. He couldn’t believe this. He’d really thought the jeweler would tell him it was nothing but junk. He thought about the woman who’d been wearing it and found himself even more intrigued.
“It’s a shame how much of this jewelry has been lost,” the jeweler was saying as he worked. “Much of it was melted down in the Great Depression, even more recently with the price of gold up like it has been. For the wearer, the jewelry was like a portable bank account.”
So why hadn’t the woman sold it if her situation was dire enough that she had to steal? Or was it possible that, like him, she’d underestimated its value since maybe she’d stolen it herself?
“You are wise to keep this,” John was saying. “According to superstition, Roma jewelry is very good luck to have, but bad luck to sell. You wouldn’t want to sell off your good fortune, now, would you?”
