Her Special Charm. Marie Ferrarella
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proclaimed, could save it for one of his customers, James thought. He wasn’t out here to talk to anyone. Except maybe Stanley.
He didn’t see the woman until he’d almost tripped over her.
Which was highly unusual, given that, as a robbery-and-burglary detective, James was pretty much aware of all his surroundings, even when he was tuning things out. But one minute, there was no one in front of him, and the next, he had to come to a skidding halt to avoid colliding with the short, rounded woman in the soft-blue sundress.
Reflexes honed to a sharp point, James just narrowly avoided running straight into her. Stanley, his five-year-old German shepherd, looked disgruntled as he shifted from side to side, wanting to continue.
The jog was placed on hold. Thrown off balance, the woman sank to the sidewalk right in front of James. His arms went out to break her fall, but he was too late. She was already down. For a second, James was convinced he was going to have to summon an ambulance. People around the woman’s apparent age didn’t fall like that without suffering consequences.
A startled, small cry escaped from the woman’s lips as she met the concrete, but there was no scream, no cry of anguish. There wasn’t even a look of horror flashing across her cherubic face.
Stanley tossed his noble head, barking once, as if to bring James’s attention to the woman on the sidewalk. The dog’s keen brown eyes darted around. Stanley had obviously appointed himself the woman’s guardian until such time as his master helped her to her feet and they could be back on their way.
The woman attempted to rise. “No, wait,” James cautioned, placing a hand on her shoulder, “don’t try to get up.”
She gave him a kindly, if reproving, glare. “I can’t just sit here all day, young man. At my age, it isn’t dignified. Besides, in half an hour I’ll be in everyone’s way.” She extended her hand to him, a patient expression on her face.
He had no choice but to help her up. Placing one arm around her shoulders, he all but lifted her to her feet and was surprised at how light she felt. She gained her feet a little uncertainly, but seemed determined to stand.
James had his doubts about what she was doing. She had to be seventy-five if she was a day. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
The woman waved away his concern. “I’m fine, young man, really. Just a little bruised and winded. And embarrassed,” she added in a lowered tone that ended in a small chuckle.
James stifled the urge to brush the woman off. The last robbery victim he and his partner, Nick Santini, had interviewed was about this woman’s age. The interview had been conducted in a hospital because the woman had suffered a heart attack during the robbery. “No reason for that. I came up on you suddenly.”
She smiled warmly at him. “That you did. I was counting out my change for the newspaper.” She nodded toward the stand at the end of the block, then her bright blue eyes turned toward the German shepherd standing beside him. Stanley was panting audibly, his tongue almost touching the sidewalk. “He won’t bite me, will he?”
For a dog whose mother had been a guard dog, Stanley had turned out to be incredibly docile. “Not unless you’re committing a felony.”
“Oh my, no.” The woman covered her mouth with her steepled fingers, as if to keep her smile from widening too much and splitting her face. And then her eyes took full measure of him. He could almost feel her thinking. “You’re a policeman, aren’t you?”
Since he was wearing sweats that proclaimed a popular line of clothing rather than tying him in with any particular precinct, he was a little taken aback by her question. “How would you know that?”
Her smile was disarming. “Just something about your bearing.” Her eyes swept over him. “I can always tell.” And then, after a beat, she added, “My son Michael was a policeman.”
She said the words with pride. But she’d used the past tense. Though when he was outside the job, he didn’t usually possess any curiosity, James still heard himself asking, “Was?”
She nodded. “He retired.” And then she frowned slightly, but it wasn’t the kind of frown that bore malice or any ill feelings at all. She shivered, as if to throw off her earlier words. “Makes me feel old, saying that. Thought it was bad enough when my husband retired, but now I have a retired son as well.”
Her eyes seemed to delve into his as she spoke. Being a good detective had taught him how to listen, even when there wasn’t anything worth listening to, as this clearly wasn’t. It had no place in the small world around him.
“He lives out in Arizona. Don’t see him and his family nearly as much we both would like. If Michael were here, I would give this to him to take care of.”
She hadn’t hit her head, but maybe the fall had jarred something loose anyway. James hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about. “‘This’?”
“The necklace.”
It was just getting stranger. He shook his head, wondering if she knew Raul. He could leave her at the newspaper stand and Raul could take care of her. He shifted his body, ready to lead her over to the man. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t quite…”
She pointed to the ground. “Right there, at your feet. It’s what caught my attention while I was counting my change. I didn’t see you coming at all.”
Looking down to humor her, James didn’t expect to see anything.
But there is was.
An old-fashioned piece of jewelry from the looks of it. It was attached to a black velvet ribbon that was no longer tied together. Stooping down to pick it up, he held the cameo up to the woman.
“It’s not yours?”
A delicate hand fluttered to her ample bosom. “Oh my, no. Wish it was.” And then she smiled. “My memory’s not that bad, young man. Still remember what happened to me years ago. And minutes ago,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.
Leaning forward, the woman looked at the cameo she’d pointed out. Stanley came forward and did the same, sniffing the piece, or perhaps the black velvet ribbon that was attached to it. James was tempted to ask Stanley if he detected the scent of past owners on it.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” the woman suddenly asked him. “Exquisite, really. And expensive, I’d say. Probably has a history to it. Perhaps a family heirloom.” She raised her eyes to his. “Someone must be very upset about losing it.” She said it as if it were an emphatic statement that left no room for argument. “I’d say the best thing you could do would be to place an ad in the newspaper about it.” She put her hand over his. “It would be the kind thing to do, putting an end to someone’s unrest.”
It might be the kind thing to do, but in his line of work, there was no room for kindness, no time to stop and even notice the roses, much less attempt to smell one of them.
He opened his mouth to say as much.
James couldn’t explain it. If he tried, he was sure whoever he told would think he was crazy. Maybe he even entertained that notion himself, but when the old woman placed her small, soft hand on his, he experienced the oddest sensation of peace wafting over him. Something he was completely unacquainted with, but somehow still recognized.
It was fleeting, but it was there.
He cleared his throat, giving a half shrug. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
She beamed with pride, looking every inch the grandmother than he had never known.
“That’s just what I’d expect an officer of the law to say.” She glanced at the piece, than back at him. “It’s a cameo, you know.”
“No,” he admitted, “I didn’t.” Santini knew his way around jewelry, but he didn’t. The man’s wife demanded a decent piece for every occasion.
“Young