The Sapphire Pendant (14 page)

“Because he’s my boss.”

“He made you call him that?”

Freda shook her head, disappointed. “You young people throw away simple traditions. Sure, he wanted me to call him by his first name. He said it made him feel funny to be called Mr. Preston, but that’s just too intimate for me. Next thing I know, I’ll forget my place and start treating him like a son.”

“Does he call you Freda?” She assumed so, since he called his assistant Glenda.

“No. He calls me Ms. Rose.” She grinned with pride.

In spite of herself, Jessie grinned back.

When Freda left, Jessie took off her shoes and closed the door. Then she did what she always did in the presence of a new bed: she ran and jumped on it. She sunk into the soft cotton blankets and sighed. She buried her head in the feather pillow and relaxed on the sheets. She rolled on her side and studied her new surroundings. The room was painted a soft yellow and whispered kind words about its owner, murmuring of the care with which the room was prepared. A sturdy sleigh bed filled the room, facing a green couch covered with a cream cashmere throw. There was also a bookshelf with an assortment of hardcover and paperback books. She sat up and let her feet sink into the plush carpeting, as if she were barefoot in a valley.

Jessie stood and began unpacking, but soon abandoned the activity to glance out the window and look at the forest. She opened the window and rested on the windowsill. She had to give him credit. It was a lovely place, and he had finally acquired the trees he had loved since childhood.

She sat on the couch, and a fresh pine scent engulfed her while the cushions wrapped their arms around her, as if in welcome. She closed her eyes. She could stay in the room all day and think about a perfect tennis game, running along the beach, Kenneth…

Her eyes flew open. Where had that come from? This was all a farce—the room as well as the reason she was here—and she couldn’t forget that. She stared at the pillow she was hugging and pushed it away. She rubbed her arms as if trying to rid herself of an annoying perfume. She went back to the bed and quickly finished unpacking, then went downstairs.

Chapter 11

“Hello?” she called.

“We’re in the kitchen,” Freda said.

Since Jessie had forgotten where the kitchen was, she ended up in the living room and then the dining room before reaching the kitchen. There she found Ace eating her breakfast and reading the classifieds while Freda washed dishes. The kitchen smelled of ginger muffins and strawberry marmalade.

Freda glanced at her. “Finally found us, huh?”

She laughed at herself. “Yes, thank goodness.”

“Uncle’s house really isn’t that big once you get used to it,” Ace said.

“I’m glad.”

Ace studied Jessie for a moment. “Uncle Ken said that you and I are going to do a lot of fun stuff today.”

Jessie took a seat. “Yes, we are.” She eyed the muffins in the middle of the table, hesitated, then grabbed one. She cut it in half, spread some marmalade on top, and took a bite. “Oh, Freda, this is delicious.”

Freda laughed. “Don’t give me the credit. I didn’t make them.”

“You must tell me the name of the bakery where you got them,” Jessie said, taking another bite.

“They aren’t from a bakery. Mr. Preston made them this morning.”

Jessie nearly choked; the delicious muffin had suddenly become a hard stone in her throat. She was enjoying something that Kenneth had made? She finally swallowed after two attempts. “He probably used a box recipe.”

“Nope. It’s the old Preston recipe,” Freda admitted. “He won’t tell it to me, no matter how I try to trick him.”

“He made it just for me, because it’s my favorite,” Ace said, licking her fingers.

Jessie put the rest of the muffin down, losing her appetite. This profile of Kenneth didn’t fit her perception, and it annoyed her. He was a jerk, not an uncle who woke up early to make muffins for his niece before he left for work, not a man who offered his housekeeper respect by addressing her by her surname, not a guy who remembered the favorite cookies of a girl he once knew.

“Well, I’ve got to go and run some errands,” Freda said, taking her purse and coat from off of the table. “I’ll see you two later.”

They said their good-byes, then Ace asked, “Are you and Uncle Ken friends?”

No, we are enemies who have agreed not to stab each other all summer
. “Sort of.”

“He wasn’t very happy to see you last time. Did you just return to town or something?”

“No. It’s just the way we are. We pretend not to like each other, but way deep, down we did…do.”

“Oh.” She adjusted her cap. “That makes sense. Do you know if he has a girlfriend?”

“Why do you want to know?”

She touched the marmalade on her plate with the tip of her finger. “Can you keep a secret?” She sucked her finger.

Jessie crossed her heart and held up her hand. “Definitely.”

Ace smiled at the solemn gesture. “I’m hoping to convince Uncle to let me stay with him, so I figured I have to get her to like me, just in case they get married or something.”

“Why do you want to stay here? You have a father.”

Ace took another swipe of the marmalade.

“Isn’t he well?”

Her eyes slid away. “No. No, he’s…he’s sick, so I need to find a new home.”

“What does he have?”

Ace swirled her finger on the plate, spreading the marmalade around. “Will you get mad if I don’t tell you?”

Jessie rested her arms on the table. “No, I just thought that perhaps I could find someone who could help.” She lifted the girl’s chin. “I used to know your father when he was young.”

Her expression became guarded. “It’s weird to imagine Dad young. Did you like him?”

Jessie chewed her top lip. Eddie Preston. She remembered a young man with his brother’s arrogance and his mother’s good looks. No, she hadn’t liked him. But honesty wasn’t necessary right now. “Let’s just say I’m happy he had you. Because if I hadn’t known your father, your uncle might not have let me have the job.”

Ace nodded her head, and her face relaxed. “So do you know?”

“Know what?”

She sighed dramatically. “If Uncle has a girlfriend.”

“No, I don’t.” Jessie’s head began to pound as an icy fear crept over her. She hadn’t even thought about that. What if he had a girlfriend that he was already considering taking to the charity ball? She would never have the guts to steal a man from another woman, even for a bet. Besides, how could she compete with the type of woman he liked? What about the two women at his office?

“Hello?” Ace snapped her fingers in front of Jessie’s face. “Are you all right?”

Jessie shook her head like someone who had been hypnotized. “Sorry, I was just thinking of…”
My stupidity
. “No, I don’t think he has a girlfriend. If he did, everyone would know about it.”

“Why?”

“Because a lot of women want to marry him.”

Ace nodded. “Yeah. Uncle is a good guy and he’s rich. It always helps if a guy’s rich.”

Jessie decided to switch the topic. “So, Ace, what’s your real name?”

“Syrah,” she grumbled. “Alias Shiraz. As in ‘Try a sparkling Shiraz with wild duck.’” She kissed the tips of her fingers.

Jessie smiled. “It is unusual, but it has a certain flair. Do you mind if I call you Syrah? I like it better.”

She shrugged. “No, I don’t mind. So what do I call you?”

“You can call me Jessie.”

Syrah bit into her muffin. “Do you mind if I call you Aunt Jessie, sort of like you were family or something?”

“No, I don’t mind.”

Syrah adjusted her cap. “So what do we do first?”

“What do you like to do?”

“I like to play sports and watch TV and go to movies and eat pizza and go out and…”

Jessie held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, okay. I get the picture. I see you also like to read the classifieds.” She gestured to the paper Syrah had tossed under her chair.

“Yeah. I…like to see what people are…selling.”

“That’s nice.”

“Right now I need to find a job.”

Jessie reached for the remainder of her muffin.
Who cares who made it? It tasted good
. She’d insult its creator another time. “What for?”

“So that I can earn my keep.” She picked up her milk. “You know, just in case Uncle gets into a bind. I want to make sure there’s enough money around. I have some left over from my trip, but not enough.”

Jessie folded her arms. “How old are you?”

“Ten.”

“You know, ten’s pretty young to be worrying about taking care of your uncle. He’s a grown man.”

“My dad’s a grown man, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

Jessie paused.
Eddie must be really sick
. That was unfortunate. He had always gotten into trouble, but he had been a healthy kid. Life had a way of knocking you about. “Well, I know for a fact that Kenneth—I mean, Uncle Kenneth—will be able to provide for you.”

“I know, but I need a job,” she said firmly.

“For now, let’s just focus on being a kid, okay?”

Syrah shook her head, her serious eyes determined. “No, you don’t understand. I need to have money of my own.”

Jessie relented. “All right. How about this week, you focus on being a kid, and next week, I’ll help you look for work? Sound good?”

Syrah hesitated, then reluctantly said, “Okay.”

In her room, Syrah grabbed her sneakers and pulled them on. She didn’t need a stupid babysitter, but Aunt Jessie needed a job, and she owed her. She began to tie her shoelaces. Yeah, Aunt Jessie needed a job; too bad it wouldn’t be watching her. She had plans that didn’t include anybody else.

She grabbed a sock from her drawer and turned it inside out, letting its contents fall on top of the dresser. She loved the sound. It was like the pleasant ring of coins falling on a countertop. Sure, she had promised Uncle that nobody’s dog would go missing. She hadn’t lied; she wouldn’t steal pets. Jewelry, however, was another thing completely. The day Aunt Jessie had caught her, she’d been able to hide some stuff in her shoes. Good thing, too. She hated working and ending up with nothing.

She picked up a bracelet, then toyed with a ring. They weren’t exactly beautiful. The bracelet had a bunch of large beads that shook like maracas, and the stone in the ring was kind of small. But since someone had bought them in the first place, they would probably want them back.

She sighed. She couldn’t wait until someone placed an ad in the classifieds, because when they did, she’d be ready.

The day progressed smoothly. Jessie and Syrah played Frisbee in the front yard, ate their way through a pepperoni pizza, then went to the arcade and played games. Towards the evening, Jessie took Syrah with her to the park so Jessie could play tennis with Wendy.

“So who’s this?” Wendy asked, offering Syrah a friendly smile.

Syrah hid behind Jessie and looked at the woman with suspicion. “My name’s Ace.”

“Her real name is Syrah,” Jessie corrected.

Wendy raised a brow. “Like the wine?”

“Yes. She’s visiting her uncle Kenneth.”

Wendy’s eyes lit up. “As in Kenneth Preston?”

“Yes.”

“
Oh, la, la
. I’m impressed. How did you manage that?”

She sent her a warning look. “It’s a long story.”

Wendy turned to Syrah. “Well, any relative of Kenneth’s is a friend of mine.”

The girl didn’t smile.

Undeterred, she leaned towards her. “How would you like to have a do—?”

“She’s not interested,” Jessie cut in.

Wendy gave her a classic French shrug. “It was worth a try.” She handed Jessie a book.

Jessie read the title. “
How to Flirt?
”

“It works. That’s how I got Bruce.”

They turned to the man flexing his muscles for a passing female jogger.

Jessie looked at the cover and frowned.
Which means it doesn’t work properly
, she thought.

* * *

“Your friend seems okay,” Syrah said as they returned to the house.

Jessie smiled at the grudging respect in her voice. “Yes, I like her.”

She took off her hat and wiped the lip with her hand. “Is she married?”

“No, but she has a boyfriend.”

She put the cap back on. “And you want a boyfriend too?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Why do you say that?”

“Because she gave you that book.”

“She was trying to be funny.”

“Oh…” Syrah considered the statement, then her face spread into a grin. “Oh, I get it. You like Uncle.”

She shook her head. “That’s not it at all. She just wants…she…well. Don’t worry about it.” She tugged on her wet shirt. “I’d better get showered. I’m all sweaty. Your uncle should be home by now.”

Syrah watched Jessie open the door. “I can help you if you want.”

“I am not interested in your uncle.”

“Fine. Why don’t you come up to my room and play a game, or, um…we could watch TV or something. You don’t smell that bad.”

“Thanks, but I’d prefer not to smell at all. I feel grimy.” She went inside.

In a perfect world, she would have entered the house and had the opportunity to shower and change. Then, completely refreshed, she would greet Kenneth. But it wasn’t a perfect world. She entered the house with a sticky T-shirt, with her hair plastered to her head, and she saw Kenneth sitting with a woman that put sugar to shame.