The Pandora Box (6 page)

“I am not flustered,” Dee took a deep breath and sat down again. “I just didn’t expect all this.”

“You didn’t expect it?” Hawk seemed dangerously close to the edge himself. “This is a bear of a situation to wake up to! What did you expect?”

“Like I said”—Starr’s voice was like a calming hand on the rising turbulence between them—”a partnership is the only logical answer. We don’t need courts to settle this when we can do the same thing ourselves if we’ll just sit down and be reasonable.”

He cast a warning glance at Hawk, and then continued. “We all want the same thing, don’t we? And we all have something the rest needs in order to pull it off. We’re talking fifty million dollars here. I think that’s enough reason to put our differences aside and cooperate.”

Dee tried to determine Hawk’s nature. He was leaning against the counter with one hand in the pocket of his jeans and the other holding the mug around its sides instead of by the handle, looking back at her with equal scrutiny. He didn’t seem like the swindler type. But then, how many of them ever did? He gave her a certain feeling…almost as if they had met before…but of course, that was ridiculous.

“Let’s have breakfast,” Starr suggested. “I’m starved.”

7

Pandora’s Box

“I was in the mood to look at everything through very serious glasses.”
~
Nellie Bly

An hour later, Dee caught sight of her own reflection thrown back at her from the double glass doors of the First Interstate Bank. She hardly recognized herself. Yellow sundress, large floppy hat and sunglasses, all bought at a local tourist shop. She looked like something out of an old Alfred Hitchcock movie. The young assistant manager, who was accompanied by the effects of overindulgence in aftershave, had a rude glint in his eye when he looked at her.

And he stared at her for entirely too long.

“Well?” Dee lowered the dark glasses and gave him a firm glance. “Did I forget something?”

“Sorry.” He held open the swinging wooden gate that led to the private viewing room. “Have a seat and I’ll bring it in to you. There’s a buzzer on the wall you can ring when you’re done.”

Dee sat down on the smooth oak chair at an equally smooth oak table and did not comment. Young people these days. Entirely too cocky. If she wasn’t trying to keep such a low profile at the moment, she’d—

The door opened, and he stepped back inside to set box number 127 in front of her.

Then he left without a word.

Not until she heard the click of the completely closed door did she dare insert the key. Her heart suddenly began to pound. She lifted the lid to look inside.

There were the ownership papers to
Pandora
, neatly folded and official-looking and already signed over to...nobody. Only a blank line. How could that be? One certainly couldn’t bequeath something to “the bearer,” and any self-respecting notary would never even sign such a document. Not if they valued their license, they wouldn’t. Yet...if she did put her own name in there... At that point, Dee’s eyes fell on what had been laying underneath that document. She knew immediately what it was and couldn’t help a sudden gasp when she recognized the timeworn journal that held the exact location of the diamonds…in code.

Every page was filled with the neat, distinctive handwriting she had already come to recognize as his. There would be plenty of time to examine it more carefully, later. Right now, she could hardly believe she was actually holding these missing pieces of the famous puzzle.

“Thank you, Nels,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure it’s used in the best possible ways, just like you wanted it to be.” An almost physical sense of power swept through her.

At the bottom of the box, she found another large envelope containing five thousand dollars in cash. A stab of guilt penetrated, but she couldn’t think why. Hadn’t the note said it was all hers? Money was not good or bad; it was how one used it that determined that and being a philanthropist was held in very high regard, these days. In fact, hadn’t Nellie Bly herself taken over fifteen years off from reporting to do just this sort of thing after she married her wealthy husband?

That was the logical thing to do with such large sums of money. Besides, Dee felt sure that if she wasn’t that kind of person at the moment, she could easily become one.

Meanwhile, she stashed the envelope into her bulky canvas bag that said
American Originals, Inc
. it. That left only an old passport dated 1959, made out in the name of David Nelson. But the picture was Peterson. A much younger, almost rakish version of the old man, but definitely him. She got goose pimples. Beneath that, there was a black velvet box—the kind that held rings. Opening it, she found herself staring at the most beautiful setting of rubies and diamonds she had ever seen in her life.

They were exactly the way they looked in the research photos she had studied. The gold-work was done with amazing perfection in filigrees and fancy scrolls, on an unusual coat of arms. She recognized that, too. This was part of the collection! An exquisite piece of the Strassgaard family jewels. Just holding it in her hands was...absolutely breathtaking.

If there had been any doubt in her mind that the rest of the infamous collection was truly hidden somewhere along the Russian coast, it left her at that precise moment. She closed the empty deposit box with a decisive click and pushed the buzzer.

This time, it was not the cocky assistant manager who came but a very distinguished-looking older man with long gray sideburns “All finished, Ms. Parker?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.” She had signed in, just as Mr. Peterson had instructed. How he put her name on that signature card she didn’t know. But the old man was ingenious. Dee got to her feet and tried not to walk ahead of him too quickly. She nearly forgot to sign out again, but remembered at the last moment. The man seemed to be scrutinizing her signature as she scribbled it out. Her own nerves playing tricks on her, no doubt.

“Everything all right with Mr. Peterson?”

“As…well as can be expected…considering his condition.” Dee took the sunglasses she had thoughtlessly hooked in the V-neck of her dress and put them back on.

“Good to have family around during trying times.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Give my regards to your sister when you see her again.”

Dee never remembered exactly what she answered to that startling request because it hit her like another deluge of icy water. She didn’t have a sister. And, as far as she knew, Nelson Peterson had no children. It suddenly felt hard to breathe. So she mumbled something non-committal and tried not to rush as she left. Once outside, she practically collided with the assistant manager who seemed to be enjoying a casual smoke next to her car.

“Nice hat.” He dropped the nearly whole cigarette onto the pavement and ground it out with a perfectly polished shoe.

Dee put the car in gear and zipped out of the parking lot.

Once back on the interstate, she let out a long, slow breath. Activities like this were definitely hard on the nerves. But there was a long, five-hour drive ahead to calm down. Which she would need every minute of. Because obviously, she was also going to need every rational thought she could come up with from here on out. For heaven’s sake, her heart was still pounding.

It was nearly midnight by the time she pulled into the alley that fronted Marion’s basement apartment, back in downtown Portland. The lights were out, but she descended the few steps below street-level and rang the bell anyway.

After two more rings, Marion appeared in a hastily-donned bathrobe. Her short, gray-flecked brown hair was already askew from several hours of sleep.

“Well, thank heavens!” The older woman dragged her in. “You know I’ve been trying to call you all day? Why didn’t you answer?”

“I took off without my phone. Must still be sitting on the kitchen counter from the last time I tried to call you.”

“That just proves my point, Dee Parker, there’s more reasons than grief for people to forget things.”

“Well, maybe there is. Except I’m feeling sort of grief-stricken, myself. You wouldn’t believe what happened, Marion.” She sank into the easy chair in the one room studio: the couch having already been unfolded into the bed.

“Out with it, girl. Did you have any trouble springing him?” Marion headed for the kitchenette, filled an electric kettle and plugged it in for tea. “I wonder if it was a good idea to leave him all by himself in a hotel. What if he really does have dementia?”

“I didn’t leave him by himself. Because he...he died yesterday.”

“What?”

“And I have the most awful feeling it wasn’t of natural causes. They had him in the violent ward.” Dee leaned her head back. She had long since removed the floppy beach hat, and her curls were twisted haphazardly up into a clip which she realized was drooping. She unclipped it and twisted it up tight again.

“What happened?”

“Whatever it was, he saw it coming, and”—she kicked her sandals off to prop her feet up on the corner of the bed—”he managed to slip me a note through one of the aides.”

“What did it say...’help?’ And you didn’t get there in time!”

“He said it was all mine. Everything. A...” She sat up straight. “Inside was a deed to a hundred thousand dollar yacht, and...”

“Are you kidding?”

“Fifty million in diamonds.”

“I don’t believe it!” Marion’s mouth dropped open.

“Remember that wild story about those famous jewels that were stolen by Nazis from some wealthy Russian-Jewish family?”

“I remember you said they were inaccessible. Hid on an island off some frozen Russian coast, that’s what I remember. Dee, old people are always shocking anyone that will listen with whoppers like that. Is that the fifty million you’re talking about? Well, I’m surprised at you. You’re a very sensible woman, as a rule.”

“I’m going.”

She gasped. “What—to Russia?”

“Next week, to be exact. And I...I need you to come with me, Mare. Because...well, there’s safety in numbers.”

“Dee Parker! What are you saying?”

“It wouldn’t be much different than the cruise we went on, last year. A real adventure and it wouldn’t even take...”

“But you know I’m not the adventuring kind! I wouldn’t call visiting foreign countries on a huge cruise ship with hundreds of other people around the height of adventure anyway.”

“You loved it.”

“Of course I did. Because it got my mind off Bill, and it was wonderful of you to invite me. Only that’s not the same thing. Why…” The kettle began to whistle, and she went back to the kitchenette to turn it off. “Russia! The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics! The KGB! It’s dangerous over there, don’t you know that? They’re having some kind of—revolution or something. The whole country’s falling apart from what I hear.”

“Mare, listen to me.” Dee breathed in the scent of orange spice tea as it began to waft over the little room. “This could be the adventure of a lifetime. Not to mention the money part. I can’t even imagine fifty million dollars. Can you?”

“Fifty million for a single set of jewelry? He had to be exaggerating!”

“It would be worth it even if it was a million, wouldn’t you say?”

“But he could have dreamed the whole thing up. In the violent ward? He was probably as crazy as they said he was. The whole story was just some figment of his imagination.”

“I checked it out already.”

“Dee, you couldn’t have been to Russia and back in a weekend. Look how long it took us just to get our passports last year.”

“His yacht. Not only is it real, it’s worth a hundred thousand dollars! I actually sat on it this morning. I even have a signed title for it already, five thousand dollars in cash, and...”

“Five thousand dollars!” Marion gasped.

“A pittance compared to what we’re talking about, here.”

“Pittance to you, maybe...”

“I also have a ring that looks like a real czarina could have worn on her finger. Right now, right here in my purse.” Dee snatched up the shoulder bag and fished around for the little velvet box. “There, take a look at that.” Dee flipped open the little spring lid and shoved it off to her.

Marion took it and moved over beneath the light in the kitchen corner as if she were in a daze. “Why, it’s the most...fantastic...beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” She let her breath out slowly. “You better give it back!”

“Who would I give it to? They’re all dead now, Marion, and Peterson gave it to me.”

“I heard getting arrested in Mexico doesn’t hold a candle to getting arrested in Russia.” She murmured, almost to herself.

“Who said anything about getting arrested?”

“Believe me, it could happen.” Marion finally tore her gaze away from the glittering jewels and handed the ring back. Then she got their tea. She put a heaping spoon of sugar into her own cup, stirred briskly, and then carried Dee’s (without sugar) over to her. She sat down on the edge of the bed, all without saying a single word.

Dee could see her mind was already racing.

“It’s not like vacationing in Hawaii, you know,” Marion was still on the same track. “They say that whole country’s run by the mafia now.”

“Who says?”

“I think I heard it on the BBC. That’s the only news I trust any more. Anyway, you can’t just”—she blew warm steam away from her cup and sipped—”get off the plane with a suitcase full of picks and shovels and start digging.”

“We’re not going by plane.”

“We’d still have to go through customs.”

“Not necessarily. We’re taking the boat, Marion. My yacht!”

Marion looked up from her contemplation as if she hadn’t heard right. “By ourselves? We could both be killed!”

Dee set her tea on the coffee table. “Have you ever known me to jump into an assignment without figuring things out to the last detail? Look at the lengths I went to just to meet Peterson in the first place.”

“This is way beyond pilfering information for a three-part scandal piece for the
Columbia Herald
, Dee. I’m telling you, we could both be killed!”