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Vivi looked dubious. “Well, possibly. But we certainly can’t put Lucia’s intaglio writing table in a safety-deposit box.”
The three of us regarded the graceful and ancient little table in question for a thoughtful moment.
“Should we just leave it here for now? And get an alarm?” Nell suggested.
Vivi shrugged. “Seems pointless. The house is empty. The whole town knows it.”
“Let’s at least buy a plastic tablecloth,” I said. “Something truly hideous. I’ll take the bronze. You take the picture frame, Nell, at least until we come up with a better plan. Put it up on your wall with a photo of all of us with Lucia in it. Let it hide in plain sight. Lucia can help protect it for us.”
That attempt at brisk practicality petered out quickly into another sad silence. Vivi rolled onto her back again. I slid my hand into my sister’s long, silky mane.
“She was our bedrock,” Vivi said softly.
“No, she gave us our bedrock. We can’t ever lose it,” I told her, trying to believe it. “We always will. We’ll build our lives on it. That was her gift to us. And we’ve got each other. Another gift. Sisters.”
Predictably, that set us all off once again
The doorbell jangled in the middle of the fresh sobfest, making us all jump and sniffle anxiously into our soggy tissues.
“Oh God, no,” Nell whispered. “Not another condolence call. Please, no. I just can’t. Check out the peephole, but don’t make a sound. We’re not even here.”
I slowly rose to my feet and peeked out the peephole. A young man in a uniform stood there, holding a box and an electronic signing tablet.
“It’s a delivery guy,” I told my sisters, mystified.
“More flowers?” Vivi asked.
“No, it’s a smallish box.” I pulled the door open. “Yes?”
“Special hand delivery,” the guy said, in a bored voice. “From Baruchin’s Fine Jewelers. For Lucia D’Onofrio.”
“She died a few days ago,” I told him. “Today was her funeral.”
The guy blinked, his mouth dangling, his eyes blank. This scenario was not covered by the set of simple and limited flowcharts in his head.
I took pity on him. “I’m her daughter,” I told him. “I’ll sign for it, if you want.”
“Just a second. Lemme call my boss.” He turned away as he made the call, and muttered into his phone. He turned back and passed me the tablet, eyes downcast. “Sorry for your loss,” he mumbled as I signed my name.
I nodded and shut the door, examining the small box. “Baruchin’s Fine Jewelers since nineteen thirty-eight,” I read off the front. “Weird. Who wants to do the honors?”
Vivi and Nell exchanged nervous glances.
“I’m not in the mood for surprises right now,” Vivi said, her voice small.
Nell let out a shaky breath. “Go for it, Nance,” she said. “Open it up.”
I pried open the seals. Inside the box were three small identical leather boxes. I flipped open each box, laid them out in a row. We leaned over and gazed at their contents, awestruck.
A gorgeous Renaissance-style pendant was inside each box—each one unique, each one adorned with different gemstones. One featured sapphires, one rubies, and one emeralds. They were luscious. Extravagant. Exquisite.
The three of us turned away and sobbed for several minutes.
Vivi dragged a crumpled tissue out of her pocket and honked into it. “She was going to give them to us on her birthday,” she said, her voice thick with tears.
“Our birthstones,” Nell whispered. “Like when she gave us the earrings, that Christmas two years ago. I would bet money that those gems are absolutely real. They look like Renaissance jewelry. Something Lucretia Borgia might have worn.”
Vivi pulled out her phone, plugging in the info from the delivery. “Baruchin’s,” she said, frowning down as she scrolled. “Yes. This jeweler specializes in reproductions of historical jewelry, among other things.”