The Jewels of Sofia Tate (20 page)

“It's okay,” Garnet reassured her.

Gerdie shook her head. “No, it's not. Stan was right about one thing: I was gullible and a fool in so many ways. I almost let him get away with theft. He took your silver angel, Elizabeth. And your jewellery. He took the entire box from your dresser. And the box with your financial information. He told me it was for safekeeping while you were in the hospital.”

“Can she get it back?” Dan asked.

Gerdie nodded. “I told the police. They'll get it back. They're also going to have the bank go over all the accounts. And there's a chance he may have tried to draw up a forged will.”

“A forged will?” Elizabeth made a clucking sound. “He would never have succeeded. My will is safe with my lawyer.”

“I did manage to get this.” Gerdie reached down for her purse and pulled out a yellowed envelope and handed it to Elizabeth.

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked.

“The letter we've been talking about. Stan found it in Clara's attic. It might explain a few things.” Gerdie gave a devious smile. “I pinched it from him last week after we'd had an argument. You see, I was starting to suspect that he wasn't the man he pretended to be.”

Elizabeth's eyebrows knitted together. “Oh? What made you think that?”

“Things just weren't adding up. A few weeks ago he told me that you'd given him this letter and asked him to help you, but he didn't know where to begin. He thought that maybe I would know some places to look. I wasn't to tell a soul, though, not even you since, he said, you had sworn him to secrecy and he didn't want to let you down. I believed him at first.”

Gerdie reached for a tissue and blew her nose.

“But a few days ago, I overheard him on the phone when I was watching TV at his apartment. I knew he was having money problems. He had gambled and lost, and had gone on a spending spree days earlier, buying
that BMW and who knows what else, the swindler.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I heard him say that soon he would be inheriting some money and that he would have more than enough to pay his debts. When he got off the phone, I asked him who had died.” Gerdie pursed her lips at the memory. “He got angry and called me a snoop. He blasted me for eavesdropping and told me to mind my own business. And so I did. I took the letter from his desk on my way to the bathroom. I didn't trust him anymore and meant to talk to you about it once you recovered. Of course, I didn't let on that I didn't believe him.”

Elizabeth sighed and patted her friend's hand. “I'm afraid I also fed his bad habits.” All eyes now turned to her. “You see, I trusted him, too, especially at first. I had no reason not to. So when he told me he was having some financial difficulties and asked me for money, well, I gave him some to help him out. It was only small amounts at first — a thousand dollars here, two thousand there. He always promised to pay it back soon and at first he did. Not all of it, but most. But it never seemed to be enough. He kept wanting more and the amounts kept increasing.

“Then the last time ...” Elizabeth paused. “The last time he asked for fifty thousand dollars in cash. He said it was for a friend who was sick and needed special
treatments at a clinic in Mexico. It was a lot of money but I was a silly old fool and agreed to help. I took the money out of the bank and Stan came for it, and ... ” Her hand went up to her forehead and touched the faint yellow bruise. “Now I remember. I asked him who the friend was. Stan gave me a name but I was beginning to wonder if he was lying. When I asked him more questions, he became defensive and asked me if I didn't trust him. I told him no, it wasn't that. I was just curious about who the money was for. Well, he became angry, accusing me of reneging on my promise. He called me 'cheap' and said that if I couldn't find it in my heart to give money for a dying friend, then I was just a selfish old woman who hoarded all her money. I don't remember anything else after that.”

“He never got the money, Elizabeth,” Garnet said. “I found it in your purse when I was looking for a key. My mother brought it back to the bank.”

“Well, thank goodness for that.”

Elizabeth held up the yellowed envelope and gazed at her name on the front of it. Carefully, she pulled out the letter, unfolded it, then, lightly with her fingertips, touched the words that Albert had written with his own hand so many years ago. She sighed, then began to read out loud:

18th August, 1942

My dearest Elizabeth,

If you are reading this letter, then the worst has happened. I shall never see you again on earth but in God's heavenly kingdom. I am entrusting this letter to Charlie in the hope that at least one of us will return. Only God knows if that is to happen.

Since my father has passed on and so have I, there is something you must know. My father prepared a place for the treasure I once spoke of that belonged to my mother and her mother before her. That is what he was speaking of before his death.

Behold the angel. The princess watches over. Have faith, Elizabeth, more precious than gold refined by fire. In time you will discover the key that leads to the cross. Believe like Thomas. In doing so, you will discover the priceless heirloom, worth more than you could ever imagine. I cannot say more lest this
letter should fall into the wrong hands (by this I mean the enemy who killed my grandfather).

Remember, my sweet, darling Elizabeth, that I shall always love you. Though our time was short, you will be forever in my heart. Be happy and may God grant you a long and wonderful life.

Until we meet again, with all my love, Your Albert

Elizabeth closed her eyes and tears began to roll down her cheeks. She set the letter on the tray and pulled off her glasses to wipe her tears away. Garnet felt her throat tighten and Dan looked down at the floor.

Gerdie began to cry. “I'm so sorry,” she said softly.

Elizabeth said nothing at first, lost in her thoughts, but after a few moments she put on her glasses and cleared her throat. “Albert told me his father's pet name for his mother was 'Princess.' It's engraved in my locket. What he wrote here was his way of trying to provide additional clues, most of which I think you two have already uncovered. “But this part here ...” She pointed to a line in the letter.

“Where?” Garnet asked, leaning in to see.

“These words: 'Believe like Thomas.' Reginald mentioned something about Thomas, too, but I don't understand. If he meant Thomas in the Bible, he was a doubter until Jesus proved to him that he was alive.” Elizabeth looked around at everyone as though she expected an answer, but no one had any to offer. “Just what does this cross look like?” she asked.

“I should have brought it with me,” Garnet said. “It's made of wood and has a silver Jesus nailed to it. It's nice, but I don't know why it's so important. I didn't see any markings on it or anything.”

“Where is it now?” Elizabeth asked.

“After the police were done, I locked it back into the iron box in the mantel and took the key,” Garnet said, patting the front pocket of her jeans. “I can get it for you, if you want.”

“Maybe we should look up the story of Thomas and see if we can figure anything out,” Dan suggested, looking over at Garnet.

“Sure,” Garnet mumbled. She gave a quick shrug and glanced away.

Elizabeth observed the exchange between the two. “Not to worry. There's really no rush. The doctor told me this morning that I'll likely be going home in a couple of days. We can see to it then.”

“A couple of days? That's great!” Garnet exclaimed.

“The sooner, the better,” said a voice from across the room. Elizabeth's roommate had just hobbled back in. She was fully dressed and her overnight bag lay packed and ready to go on her bed. “I'm going in a few minutes and though I'm sad to abandon my new friend, I'm very happy to leave here.” Anna poured herself some water from the plastic pitcher and raised the cup in their direction. “Cheers. To our health and to going home.”

“Cheers,” Elizabeth replied, raising a cup of apple juice.

The women smiled at each other, then Elizabeth turned her attention back to Garnet. “I've been meaning to ask you, dear, did your mother ever have any luck finding her father?”

“Sort of. She found out he's dead,” Garnet replied. She decided not to add the part about him being a criminal.

“Oh, I'm sorry. That's too bad,” Elizabeth said. “What did you say his name was?”

“I don't know if I ever did, but it was Serge St. Jean.”

“Serge St. Jean,” Elizabeth repeated and frowned. “Hmm. That name sounds oddly familiar. Was he from around here?”

But before Garnet could answer, Anna began to cough and sputter as she choked on her water.

“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked with concern.

Anna nodded. Her face was red but she managed to get her cough under control. “I'm fine,” she said weakly and cleared her throat. “It's just ... that name. I haven't heard it in a very long time.”

“That name?” Elizabeth said.

Anna nodded.

“You mean Serge St. Jean? You knew him?” Garnet felt as though the floor was about to open beneath her.

“Yes, I knew him,” Anna said, her French accent suddenly more pronounced. “Serge was trouble. Only trouble.”

“He was my brother,” Anna explained. “Or should I say, my half-brother. He was older than me and, as my mother often said, was a lot like our father. A charmer, especially with the ladies, but a drunk, always getting into fights and very difficult to get along with, especially if you had to live with him. He had a crazy obsession to get back something he believed belonged to our family.”

“What was it?” Garnet asked, stepping closer.

“Some jewels. Sapphires and diamonds or something.” Anna waved a disinterested hand. “It is a long story that goes back to our family in Russia.”

“Russia?” Garnet said.

Elizabeth's eyes widened behind her gold-rimmed frames. “Do tell us.”

Anna sighed. “As I said, it is a long story. I can't even say how much of it is true, since it was Serge who told me most of it. It all began with my father's sister,” she said, sitting down on a chair next to the bed. The colour had drained from her freckled face and her wrinkles had suddenly become more pronounced. “She was engaged
to be married to an aristocrat in Russia. But a few days before the wedding was to take place, she took off with a man who worked for a local jeweller. Together, they stole some jewels that belonged to my family and fled the country. My grandfather, the Count Mikhail Ivanov, and my father, Aleksei, vowed to get the jewels back, as they were said to be more valuable than anyone could ever know, but sadly, they never saw them again. My grandfather was killed in Russia in 1917, at the time of the Revolution, and my father had no choice but to flee the country with Serge, who was seven years old at the time. Serge, or Sergei, as we used to sometimes call him, had lost his mother five years before.

Anna folded her hands in her lap. “When they arrived in France, my father changed his name to sound more French — from Aleksei Ivanov to Alexandre St. Jean. He met my mother and they married. I was born the following year. Soon after, we immigrated to Canada and settled in Montreal. Unfortunately, it did not go well, as my father did not like to work, especially to work hard. I don't remember much about him but I do remember that he had a temper, especially when he drank, and he moaned to my mother that, if he only had the jewels that were rightfully his, how much better off we all would be. My father's health declined and he passed away in 1925.”

Anna paused, staring straight ahead, as though the years were rushing up to meet her. Garnet waited with the others for her to continue, and soon realized she was holding her breath.

“My mother found a job as a housekeeper for a wealthy family in Montreal. She worked there by day and as a seamstress at home in the evenings, so we had enough money to get by. Serge quit school and worked at odd jobs, but he spent almost everything he earned on himself, especially on drink. He had a very bad temper and I didn't like it when he was home. Neither did my mother. He was almost eighteen when my mother ordered him to leave, and thankfully he did. We lived the next few years in peace, poor as we were, especially during the Depression, when my mother lost her job as housekeeper. But we got by together, doing whatever work we could find and sharing an apartment above a store with another family.”

“Did you ever see Serge again?” Garnet asked.

Anna nodded. “Once. It was the winter of 1939. He had come back for a visit, and was in a particularly good mood, even though I could smell the whisky on his breath. He said that he knew where the jewels were, and that if I helped him, they would be ours, and we would be rich. 'Oh yes,' I said to him and laughed to his face. 'We will be rich. And how will we get these
precious jewels? Steal them?' It was too preposterous to even consider. But he looked at me and I knew that he was quite serious. He waved his finger at me and said, 'Don't you laugh. Don't you know that whoever possesses those stones will receive divine favour? They will bring us the success that is rightfully ours and that we deserve. It's not stealing if they are ours to begin with. Are you in or not?'

“But I never trusted Serge. And I didn't believe in fairy tales. He thought that I was still a naive child — someone he could use for his scheming and who would help him with his plans. I imagine, with the people he associated with, he couldn't trust his cohorts either. I said no.”

“So what did he do?” Garnet asked.

“It was strange. He seemed unnaturally calm. I remember stepping away from him, afraid that he might strike me, but he didn't. He said to me, 'You will regret this. When I find those jewels they will be all mine. And you will have nothing.' Then he left.”