Janet answered, albeit reluctantly, getting out of her chair.
Elisabeth turned off the downstairs lights and started up the rear stairway, which was illuminated by the glow of the moon flooding in from a fanlight on the second floor. The urge to tell Janet about Jonathan was nearly overwhelming, but she kept the story to herself. There was no way practical, ducks-in-a-row Janet was going to understand.
Reaching her room, Elisabeth called out a good-night to her friend and closed the door. Everything looked so normal and ordinary and real—the four-poster, the vanity, the Queen Anne chairs, the fireplace.
She went to the armoire, opened it and ferreted out the suitcoat that was at once her comfort and her torment. She held the garment tightly, her face pressed to the fabric. The scent of Jonathan filled her spirit as well as her nostrils.
If she told Janet the incredible story and then showed her the coat—
Elisabeth stopped in midthought and shook her head. Janet would never believe she’d brought the jacket back from another era. Most of the time, Elisabeth didn’t believe that herself. And yet the coat was real and her memories were so vivid, so piquant.
After a long time, Elisabeth put the suitcoat back in its place and exchanged her blouse and black corduroy slacks for another football jersey. Her fingers strayed to the pendant she took off only to shower.
“Jonathan,” she said softly, and just saying his name was a sweet relief, like taking a breath of fresh air after being closed up in a stuffy house.
Elisabeth performed the usual ablutions, then switched off her lamp and crawled into bed. Ever since that morning when she’d recovered the necklace, a current of excitement had coursed just beneath the surface of her thoughts and feelings. She ached for the magic to take her back to that dream place, even though she was afraid to go there.
It didn’t happen.
Elisabeth awakened the next morning to the sound of her clock radio. She put the pendant on the dresser, stripped off her jersey and took a long, hot shower. When she’d dressed in pink slacks and a rose-colored sweater, she hurried downstairs to find Janet in the kitchen, sipping coffee.
Janet was wearing shorts, sneakers and a hooded sweatshirt, and it was clear that she’d already been out for her customary run. She smiled. “Good morning.”
“Don’t speak to me until I’ve had a jolt of caffeine,” Elisabeth replied with pretended indignation.
Her friend laughed. “I saw a notice for a craft show at the fairgrounds,” she said as Elisabeth poured coffee. “Sounds like fun.”
Elisabeth only shrugged. She was busy sipping.
“We could have lunch afterward.”
“Fine,” Elisabeth said. “Fine.” She was almost her normal self by the time they’d had breakfast and set out for the fairgrounds in Elisabeth’s car.
Blossom petals littered the road like pinkish-white snow, and Janet sighed. “I can see why you like the country,” she said. “It has a certain serenity.”
Elisabeth smiled, waving at Miss Cecily, who was standing at her mailbox. Miss Cecily waved back. “You wouldn’t last a week,” Elisabeth said with friendly contempt. “Not enough action.”
Janet leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I suppose you’re right,” she conceded dreamily. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the moment.”
They spent happy hours at the craft show, then dined on Vietnamese food from one of the many concession booths. It was when they paused in front of a quilting display that Elisabeth was forcibly reminded of the Jonathan episode.
The slender, dark-haired woman behind the plankboard counter stared at her necklace with rounded eyes and actually retreated a step, as though she thought it would zap her with an invisible ray. “Where did you get that?” she breathed.
Janet’s brow crinkled as she frowned in bewilderment, but she just looked on in silence.
Elisabeth’s heart was beating unaccountably fast, and she felt defensive, like a child caught stealing. “The necklace?” At the woman’s nervous nod, she went on. “I inherited it from my aunt. Why?”
The woman was beginning to regain her composure. She smiled anxiously, but came no closer to the front of the booth. “Your aunt wouldn’t be Verity Claridge?”
A finger of ice traced the length of Elisabeth’s backbone. “Yes.”
Expressive brown eyes linked with Elisabeth’s blue-green ones. “Be careful,” the dark-haired woman said.
Elisabeth had dozens of questions, but she sensed Janet’s discomfort and didn’t want to make the situation worse.
“What was that all about?” Janet asked when she and Elisabeth were in the car again, their various purchases loaded into the back. “I thought that woman was going to faint.”
Chastity Pringle. Elisabeth hadn’t made an effort to remember the name she’d read on the woman’s laminated badge; she’d known it would still burn bright in her mind after nine minutes or nine decades. Whoever Ms. Pringle was, she knew Aunt Verity’s necklace was no ordinary piece of jewelry, and Elisabeth meant to find out the whole truth about it.
“Elisabeth?”
She jumped slightly. “Hmm?”
“Didn’t you think it was weird the way that woman acted?”
Elisabeth was navigating the early-afternoon traffic, which was never all that heavy in Pine River. “The world is full of weird people,” she answered.
Having gotten the concession she wanted, Janet turned her mind to the afternoon’s entertainment. She and Elisabeth rented a stack of movies at the convenience store, put in an order for a pizza to be delivered later and returned to the house.
By the time breakfast was over on Sunday morning, Janet was getting restless. When noon came, she loaded up her things, said goodbye and hastened back to the city, where her boyfriend and her job awaited.
The moment Janet’s car turned onto the highway, Elisabeth dashed to the kitchen and began digging through drawers. Finding a battered phone book, she flipped to the P’s. There was a Paul Pringle listed, but no Chastity.
After taking a deep breath, Elisabeth called the man and asked if he had a relative by the name of Chastity. He barked that nobody in his family would be fool enough to give an innocent little girl a name like that and hung up.
Elisabeth got her purse and drove back to the fairgrounds. The quilting booth was manned by a chunky, gray-haired grandmother this time, and sunlight was reflected in the rhinestone-trimmed frames of her glasses as she smiled at Elisabeth.
“Chastity Pringle? Seems like a body couldn’t forget a name like that one, but it appears as if I have, because it sure doesn’t ring a bell with me. If you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll have Wynne Singleton call you. She coordinated all of us, and she’d know where to find this woman you’re looking for.”
“Thank you,” Elisabeth said, scrawling the name and
