“What are you thinking?” Lines in his forehead had deepened. “I don’t like your expression.”
“Just…” She drew a deep breath. “I must be on your suspect list, too. That hadn’t occurred to me.”
“You’re not,” he said shortly.
“Why not? Fifteen-year-olds are capable of doing terrible things.”
“They are. You?” He shook his head. “You take care of people. You’d never knowingly hurt someone.”
She should have been reassured, but for some reason that stung. “I’m not a saint, you know.”
He gave an odd, gruff laugh. “You’re the only person I know who’d take offense at being described as caring.”
“It’s just…” Why had that bothered her? “I’m more than that. I get mad, I dislike some people, and, yes, there are times I resent feeling responsible for everyone else!”
“I know all that, Beth.” He reached across the space between their lawn chairs and gripped her hand.
She looked at his hand, so much larger than hers, the fingers thicker, his skin darker. His touch felt good—warm and secure. Beth felt a tiny, worrisome stir of arousal.
“Do you?” she said bitterly, wrenching her hand free. “That’d be a first.”
Oh, what was wrong with her? Pity parties were meant to be private. And this was stupid, anyway. She loved her family and chose to take care of them. Sure, it would be nice if, just once, someone tried to take care of her, but, honestly, she’d be so confused she’d be bound to turn it around in no time.
“Beth, I see more than you think I do,” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “Forget it, okay? Let’s do what we’re here for.”
Watching her, he didn’t move for a minute. Finally, he shook his head and began to dig through the belts and scarves at the bottom of the box before lifting an odd lumpy item out. “What…? Oh, it’s one of those things filled with rice or beans that you can warm in the microwave.”
“Do you suppose they rot eventually?” she said dubiously.
He turned it. “I don’t see any blood on it. As far as I’m concerned, we can throw it away.”
When she pointed, he carried it across the garage and dropped it in a cardboard carton labeled Toss.
When he came back, Tony said, “Let’s look through the jewelry box and not worry about untangling chains or tarnish. Okay?”
She nodded. He located a large plastic bin and dragged it over to use as a table. Beth set the jewelry box on it, took out the tray and put it aside, but Tony didn’t make a move.
Seeing her surprised glance, he said, “None of the jewelry will mean anything to me. This job is yours. Tell me if anything that she often wore is missing or there’s something that surprises you.”
Beth nodded. She picked out the lump of chains that looked like a heap of snakes. Most, from the way they’d blackened, appeared to be sterling silver; a couple might be gold. Pendants…oh! She remembered that tiny bird. And the pearl, which was attached to one of the gold chains.
“I think… Dad bought her that. Their first Christmas together?”
She kept going. Lots of earrings. It would take work to pair them up again. Most were costume jewelry, nice enough that Emily might like them or they could be donated to the thrift store. The pearl necklace… I might keep, she thought, now that I know she didn’t choose to leave us.
In the bottom, amidst a jumble of bangle bracelets, a silver charm bracelet and bead necklaces, she found the other diamond earring. The setting and post could have been silver, except they hadn’t tarnished at all.
She squinted at the back, looking for a stamp. “I think this is white gold, or even platinum.”
“We need to have a jeweler look at them,” he said, taking the one from her and fishing for its mate. “Once we know more, I can ask your father about them.”
Beth dug deeper, setting the cheaper stuff out of the way in pursuit of a glint she’d seen. It was a pendant, an even larger diamond set in a swirl of that same shining silver. Except…not silver. The matching, impossibly delicate chain was almost weightless draped over her hand.