Jennifer Greene - Sparkle

Enough speeches. Poppy couldn’t wait any longer to push the lid off her box. Hearing the whole story had almost made her believe the contents would be gorgeous…but no.

She’d seen all this cheap-looking crap on Maude Rose a zillion times. There were a couple of rings as big as her knuckle, earrings so heavy they’d tear out an earlobe. One bracelet looked like a cuff worn by a prisoner in a state pen, and a whole bunch of sparkly, glittery pins shaped like bugs and reptiles.

If it would save a puppy’s life, Poppy would happily walk down a street naked. It wasn’t as if she had any reason to be invested in appearance issues, with her looks. But man, it would have to be Halloween—and she’d need a snootful of Jack Daniel’s—before she’d ever wear any of this stuff.

“You’re sure this isn’t junk?” she insisted. “It’s hard to believe any of this is worth last year’s newspaper.”

“Some of it is definitely worthless. But not all.”

“But…” Poppy glanced at Bren, who finally couldn’t resist opening her box either. The jewelry was all different, but the array of dazzling sparklers in Bren’s box looked as if it came off the same Cracker Jack assembly line. Tasteless, bulky, big stones in an array of eccentric and crazy-shaped bracelets and brooches and rings.

Although Poppy normally couldn’t imagine having anything in common with the pastor’s wife, the two women shared a mirrored look of helplessness and humor.

“I think,” Bren confessed, “that I’m just too stunned to say much of anything.”

“If I might offer some advice,” Cal said, “I suggest that both of you take these things immediately to a jeweler to have them appraised. And then take them straight to a lockbox until you’re certain what you wish to do with them.”

“For my part,” Bren said, “I want to give them to a charity—”

“And of course you can do whatever you like,” Cal said. “That’s not my business. But I’d ask you to remember Maude Rose’s wishes. Most of her life, she felt trapped. She had to do things she never wanted to do. Because you were good to her, she wanted you to think about something you really wanted in your life that you never thought you could have. And to use the value of the jewelry for something that you really, really wanted.”

Poppy stood. She felt odd, as if she’d been slapped by a kiss. Not that there was anything bad about this unexpected windfall, but it was still a shock. She needed some time to wrap her mind around this whole goofy thing. Bren Price looked as if she couldn’t come up with anything more to say either.

Cal had a few more lawyer things to rant about before they could leave. “I need you both to sign some papers before you take the boxes. And I want to give you both a key to her apartment. The rent’s paid through the end of the month, and then—unless one of you wants the place—I’ll get a Realtor to do something with it. Until then, though, ladies, don’t be foolish. Get yourselves to a reputable jeweler as soon as you have a chance. And keep this to yourselves until you do.”

The women walked through the vestibule and out the front door at the same time. Once in the fresh air, Poppy took a healthy gulp of oxygen. Bren, quiet as the breeze, took a long second to catch her breath, as well.

“I just can’t seem to believe this,” Poppy said bluntly.

“Me either.”

“I can’t possibly go to a jeweler right now. I’ve got a whole day of work scheduled.”

“So do I. My husband doesn’t even know where I am. I can’t just disappear for another couple hours, not right now.” Bren added, “I keep thinking this is some kind of joke. That in another minute or two someone’s going to tell me the real punch line.”

“I have no use or interest in her apartment. But I’ll check it out as soon as I can get some free time. I don’t know if there are things to be cleaned up or if she has any personal, private belongings still in the place.”

“The same problem occurred to me,” Bren agreed. “I don’t like the idea of going through her personal things. But it just seems…respectful…to have someone who cared about her do the job. Assuming it hasn’t already been done.”

Poppy wouldn’t have used the word respectful, but she felt the same. “I don’t care if you do it or I do.”

“Same here.”

Neither seemed willing to push the other to a decision. They stood on the porch for a while longer until the awkward silence between them stretched like a too-taut rubber band. Poppy couldn’t think of anything to say to the other woman. It just felt weird leaving her, almost as weird as the impossibly strange last hour they’d just spent together.

Craziest of all—even kind of funny—was that Maude Rose must have thought the two were similar if she’d chosen them out of the whole population in Righteous to give her special legacy to. Poppy felt as much in common with Bren as a can of peas and had no doubt the other woman felt the same way.

“Well,” Bren said finally, “I have to get going. I’m sure you do, too, Poppy. Good luck to you.”

“Same back.”

And that was that, Poppy thought. She stashed the infamous box on the passenger seat of her mint-green VW and headed out of town—which only took a couple of minutes. Righteous was built in the curl of a hillside, with three main streets curved in a semicircle. Past Cal Asher’s office and the short sweep of stores, came the Baptist church, then Righteous Academy—a parochial high school—and then zip. Open road.

Two miles out of town, tucked in a nest of curly maples, was the sign for Critter Care. Web’s house stood a few hundred yards beyond the clinic. He could have walked to town, but the nature of the property made the place look secluded and protected.

Conscience nagged at her—the attorney was probably right about her needing to see a jeweler or at least to put the jewelry in some kind of protective place. But when Poppy climbed out of the car, she just felt stubborn about the whole thing. You couldn’t drop a bomb on a woman’s head and expect it to gently sink in. At least, nothing ever sank into her head that easily. She needed a few minutes to take it in, think about what it all meant. Besides which, she was already twenty minutes late for an appointment with Bubba.

An extraordinary number of dogs in Virginia were named Bubba. This one happened to be a thirteen-year-old black and tan with a really mean case of arthritis.

Heaven knew where the receptionist was—Lola Mae seemed to need a cigarette break every fifteen minutes—but Web was bent over the front desk when she charged in. Typically he looked as if he’d just wakened from a tryst with a lover—his jacket was wrinkled, his shock of dark hair rumpled, his chin haphazardly shaved. He shot her one of those God’s-gift-to-women grins. Poppy didn’t waste time taking offense, because Web couldn’t help looking like a George Clooney clone.

“It’s been hell on wheels around here since you left, Poppy. So what was the deal with the lawyer?”

“I can’t wait to tell you. It was just unbelievable.” But she could see at a glance there was a crying cat and a bluetick hound waiting for him, and her plate was just as full. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

She headed straight in, past the reception desk. Her two rooms were off the left, with an outside entrance. Four years ago—after his second divorce—Web had plucked her from a life of misery behind a desk in an insurance office and conned her into being a part-time groomer for him. He’d kept adding hours as the clinic grew and her skills with it. Heaven knew, she had no formal education or training the way he did, but she’d long felt secure that she was a valued part of the clinic team. Primarily she focused on grooming, training and rehab—and jumping in whenever they had a difficult critter to handle. She loved the tough ones. And Web kept raising her salary, until she didn’t have time to spend the salary she had.