Present Day.
James Munro liked to come out early in the morning, when
the city that never slept dozed a little. At five-thirty
in the morning, New York City was a little less. A little
less noisy, a little less traffic and, the elements
willing, a little less sweltering. So far, July had been
merciless.
So he and his dog Stanley went out to jog earlier and
earlier, trying to find some kind of happy medium between
exercising and melting in the heat of the morning. It was
the only time of day when he could make his mind a blank.
To focus on nothing. To keep away the demons that
populated his world.
The air was particularly hard to draw into his lungs this
morning. Just a little farther, he promised himself as he
sprinted from one curb to the next, and then he and
Stanley could turn around and go home.
He'd turn at the newsstand on the next corner. The way he
always did. Raul, the man who operated the tiny stand, was
usually just opening up as he'd make his turn. They had a
nodding acquaintance. More than once, Raul looked as if he
wanted to say something. But the ex-vet, as the sign over
the newsstand proudly 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 men don't usually," the woman replied with a gentle
laugh. Taking the cameo from him for a moment, she turned
it around to examine. "And there seems to be an
inscription on it." Her eyes squinted.
"But it's very faint."
He took it from her and looked at the back of the cameo.
At first, there appeared to be nothing, but when he angled
it just right, the early New York sun bounced off it in a
way that managed to highlight very faint, thin letters.
"From W.S. to A.D.," he read out loud.
He supposed she was right. This was more than just a piece
of junk jewelry. Still, he would have paid it no mind if
the woman hadn't pointed it out to him. His field might be
robbery, but his expertise was the criminal mind. When it
came to things like jewelry, he didn't know costume from
the real thing. That was for someone else to ascertain.
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