“Come on, Rupert. Finish your breakfast, there’s a good boy, and then we’re going for a lovely walk into town to see your friend Ray.” Rupert gave her his best corgi grin and then returned to his bowl. Half an hour later, they were on their way.
The trees were silhouetted black against a grey sky heavy with the threat of rain, and a light mist skimmed the tops of the mountains that cradled the town. As they reached the bend in the road and crossed the bridge, Charlotte paused for a moment to look at the river, now so choked with leaves that it could barely flow. As the first drops of rain spattered down, they moved on and soon reached the Upper Crust Bakery. She left Rupert waiting under the protection of the green and white striped awning while she popped in for a pastry. Once they were on their way again, the white police station adjacent to the town hall came into view. Charlotte opened the door
and Rupert bounded in, wagging his tail in greeting to the receptionist, who waved them through.
The duty room was quiet on that Saturday morning, as Ray came out of his small office and reached out to take her coat. Charlotte set her bag down and unclipped Rupert, who sniffed his way around the office, making sure everything was just as he’d left it.
“I brought you a cherry Danish from the bakery,” she said, holding out a little brown bag.
“Oh, great. I need that. Can I get you a coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
“How was the get-together last night?” he asked as they walked to the coffee station. He held up a dark French Roast coffee pod, she nodded, and he slipped it into the machine. The coffee brewed and he handed her the cup before she replied.
“It was fine,” she said carefully. “I finally met Lady Deborah. I’d been a little nervous about that, so it was good to get it over with, finally. She was asking how we keep fit around here. I told her about the swimming pool, and she said she might try it. Who knows? Maybe I’ll see her at aquafit one of these mornings.”
Ray smiled as he broke off a piece of his pastry. “It’s great that you’re planning to get back to the swimming.”
“Ray,” Charlotte began, “I’ve come to ask a favor of you. I’m hoping you can look after Rupert on Monday. We have to go into the city.”
His eyes narrowed. “We?”
“Aaron and I. We need to look at some special fabrics. Well, I’ve probably got enough on hand, but Aaron’s getting a little restless, and a trip into the city is just what he needs. The new actress playing Juliet doesn’t want to wear the costume Lauren tried on. Actors can be very superstitious, so I’ve given Aaron the opportunity to design and make one for her. He’s beyond keen.”
At the mention of Aaron’s name, Ray seemed to relax a little and agreed to look after Rupert. “He’ll have to stay at home, though, and I’ll look in on him at lunchtime. The Albany crew are still around, and it wouldn’t look good to have him here.”
“I think it would look very good to have him here, but never mind. He’s happy at home.”
They sipped their coffee as they chatted about ordinary, everyday things, and then Charlotte pulled a sketchbook out of her bag.
“About that ring we found in Lauren’s room,” she began. “Do you still have it?”
“I do. It hasn’t been determined yet who owns it. We’re working out the best way to ask Brian about it. That’s going to need a sensitive approach, and we haven’t spoken to him yet.”
“I wonder, would it be all right if I made a sketch of it? I’d like to get something like it as a costume piece for Lady Capulet. Would you mind?”
She had thought all night about the ring she’d seen on Lady Deborah’s finger, and although she couldn’t
have explained why she was reluctant to tell Ray about it, she just wasn’t ready to.
He disappeared into his office and returned with the red Garrard box. She opened it, held the ring between her thumb and forefinger, and studied it. It looked exactly like the one she’d seen last night. She opened her book and began to sketch.
“Why don’t you just take a few photographs?” Ray asked.
“I’m a designer, so I sketch,” she replied. “Sketching makes you examine things closely in a way taking a photograph doesn’t. With a sketch, I can capture the detail I want, and anyway, it’s fun.” The pencil made soft, whispery sounds on the paper. Her hair fell over her face as she sketched with light, swift, sure strokes.
He watched her until the phone ringing in his office summoned him. A few minutes later, he returned, and her heart pounding, but with a steady smile, she held up the box to him.
“Here you go, Ray. Thanks so much.” She turned to Rupert. “Well, we’d better be off and leave Ray to it. Come on, let’s be having you.”
They waved good-bye, and she and Rupert walked slowly home. She couldn’t believe what she’d just done—she’d actually taken the ring. She kept putting her hand in her pocket and wrapping her fingers around it, constantly reassuring herself it was still there. She’d find a
safe box for it when they got home and, later, work out a plan to replace it in the Garrard box.
But what if Ray discovered it was missing between now and when she could put it back? What had she got herself into? Technically, she supposed she’d stolen it. And why? All she could think of, the only way she could justify it was that there’d been a murder, and for some reason she couldn’t begin to explain, even to herself, she wanted in on it.
The Trailways bus meanders through upstate New York, picking up and dropping off passengers in small towns, until it reaches Kingston. From there, after a short break, it departs for New York City.
So on a cold Monday morning, at a few minutes to seven, Charlotte and Aaron waited at the Walkers Ridge bus stop by the village green, and as the bus barreled over the bridge, they flagged it down. They scrambled aboard into the welcome warmth and, as the only passengers, chose seats at the front across the aisle from each other.
“Now remember, Aaron, you’ll have a budget of one hundred dollars and about an hour to shop,” Charlotte said. Aaron laughed, his friendly, open face alight with pleasure.
“You sound just like Tim Gunn on
Project Runway
,” he said.
Charlotte ignored the remark and continued. “And don’t worry about pattern paper or trim. We’ve got plenty of that in our stock room.”
We’ve got lots of fabric there, too
, she thought,
but what the hell
. She then leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and let the rhythm of the bus gently rock her into a light sleep. About twenty minutes later, the bus pulled into Kingston, where they got off and changed buses. A few more passengers were on board the second bus, but Charlotte and Aaron still managed to find individual seats. As they sped along the New York State Thruway, the rural, woodsy landscape gradually gave way to an urban, built-up environment, and eventually the distinctive skyscraper skyline of Manhattan loomed into view. Passengers stirred in their seats and started gathering up their belongings, in preparation for arrival at the Port Authority Bus Terminal.
They strolled down Eighth Avenue, past coffee shops and stores selling cheap souvenirs, luggage, and scarves. The sidewalk was crowded with determined New Yorkers bustling about their business. Although this was the heart of the fashion district, it wasn’t until they turned down West Thirty-Seventh Street that the fashion became apparent. The buildings, most about five or six stories high, featured an occasional ground-floor showroom with sample goods for sale, while window displays on the second and third stories showcased wedding dresses and other formal attire. About halfway down the block, they
entered an ordinary-looking building with very little signage.
“Have you been here before?” Charlotte asked.
“No,” said Aaron, looking around the small space containing a few rows filled with bolts of cloth, and then in a lower tone, he added, “To be honest, I expected a bit more.”
Charlotte laughed. “This is just a taste of what’s to come. There’s much more to it than this. This is just the home-decorating section. Interior designers come here for their fabrics. And I do, too, if I’m looking for a brocade. Heavier fabrics for upholstery and curtains come in very handy for cloaks.”
They had arrived at Mood Fashion Fabrics. Swatches of fabric hung on kilt pins at the ends of the rows of bolts of cloth. The air was filled with that new-clothes smell.
“The fashion fabrics for clothing designers are upstairs,” Charlotte said. “You go up on the elevator to the third floor, and you’ll be amazed at what you see. Take your time. I’m going to leave you to browse whilst I run an errand. I’ll be back in about an hour, and you can show me what you’ve chosen. But don’t ask them to cut fabric until I get back—we’ll make the final selection together.”
She left him to make his way up to the third floor while she trotted the ten blocks north to the diamond district, where the highest concentration of jewelry
retailers in the world bought and sold thousands of cut, uncut, mounted, and loose diamonds every day. She fingered the little box in her coat pocket containing the ring she and Ray had found in Lauren’s room. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to borrow it from Ray, unbeknownst to him, and she had one chance to find out more about it. And then she had to work out how to return it.
She turned onto Forty-Seventh Street. “Consumer Alert. Do not buy from or sell to street solicitors,” said a sign in a metal stand on the sidewalk. She stopped for a moment to admire a window display of loose diamonds on tiny blue velvet cushions. She sensed someone behind her and turned around.
“You want to buy diamonds, lady? Come with me.” A young black man with gleaming teeth beamed at her in the friendliest way.
“No, sorry, not today,” she replied. He moved on up the street, and she walked off in the opposite direction. Both sides of the street were lined with jewelry stores, and spoiled for choice, she eventually stopped in front of one. RJW Jewelers looked as good as any. The window display was filled with earrings, rings, and bracelets in every color and size of gemstone, with generous diamond embellishments. In large letters across the bottom of the window was written, “Engagement Rings.” And the door was open.
A man who appeared to be in his early forties, wearing a black velvet yarmulke over dark, curly hair and a
wrinkled black suit and white shirt but no tie, looked up from a worktable. He set down a tiny tool and stood up to greet her.
“Yes?” he said. “How may I help you?”
“I wondered if you could, well, not give me a proper evaluation, but just tell me approximately what this ring is worth,” she said, holding out Lauren’s ring. He took it from her and then picked up a jeweler’s loupe and held it up to his eye. He then raised the ring to the loupe and studied it for a moment. He slowly lowered both hands, set the loupe on the table, and returned the ring to Charlotte.
“Madam, I’m sorry to have to tell you that the stones are not genuine. Although it’s good work, this is costume jewelry. What my grandfather liked to call ‘paste.’”
Charlotte nodded slowly, trying to work out the meaning of what he had just told her. If this ring was fake, did that mean Lady Deborah’s was real? Possibly. Aristocrats and other wealthy people with precious jewelry often had copies made for insurance or security purposes; the originals stayed in a safe or the bank vault in their velvet bags and embossed leather boxes while the replicas went to the parties, with nobody any the wiser.
“I hope you were not given that ring under, how shall I say, false pretenses, on the understanding or assumption that the stones were genuine?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No, it’s all right. But I think this ring might be a copy of another one. Would
you happen to know who made this? Is there someone in the district who specializes in creating replica jewelry?”
He frowned and leaned toward her but said nothing.
“Well, thank you,” said Charlotte. “I’m glad to know the truth of it, and I appreciate your time and expertise this morning.”
“Not at all,” he said, handing her a business card. “Perhaps you will come back and see me when you are in the market for a gemstone of quality.”
“Yes, perhaps I will.”
He remained standing at his workbench, his eyes following her as she left. He waited for a few moments, and then picked up his telephone.
“An English woman just came into the shop,” he said. “She’s got a ring. I don’t know who she is or how she got it.” He listened for a moment. “No, this is a different woman. In her late thirties, early forties, I would say. Nice looking. Dark hair, cut straight across the forehead and then all one length. She was wearing a blue coat.” They exchanged a few more words and he shrugged, waving a hand in an expressive gesture. “We’re a small community. One hears things. I thought you’d like to know. Not at all. Good-bye for now.”
*
Charlotte returned to Mood to find Aaron waiting for her with several bolts of fabric ready for her approval. “I
chose this pink silk for a bit of lining,” he said, and then held up the end of a bolt of burgundy velvet. “This was my second choice.” He set it down and then pointed to another one with a deeper, richer pile. “That’s the one I really wanted, but it’s more expensive. So I thought this for the overcoat and then this one”—he indicated a lightly patterned one—“for the dress. I’ve priced it out, and we can get it all for under one hundred dollars, but there won’t be much, if anything, for a train.”
Charlotte smiled at him. “Good choices. Let me see your sketch again.” She peered at it and then fingered the fabric for the dress. “Yes, I think this fabric will hold up to your design. But how about this for an idea? We use the lining we’ve got in stock, and with the money saved, you can get the more expensive fabric that is your first choice.”
Aaron shot her a grateful smile.
Charlotte nodded at the clerk, who began measuring and cutting. “Now all you have to do, Aaron, is make it work.”
“The number of times I hear that every day,” sighed the clerk, who folded the fabric and then placed it in a Mood bag.
Back on the street, Aaron looked around, asking, “What do you want to do next?”
“Well, it’s still early, and we’ve come all this way, so I thought we’d treat ourselves to a bit of lunch and then we can either go to the Met and see what’s new at the
Costume Institute—I know a few people there—or we can split up and you can meet up with a friend or whatever, and we can either go home together or if you want to go later, that’s fine. Whatever you want.”
Aaron thought for a moment. “I haven’t made any plans to see anyone, so I’ll just hang out with you.”
“Good. We’ll enjoy ourselves and then take the four o’clock bus home. I’ve left Rupert with Ray, so I don’t want to be late back.”