The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [64]
He knew at once that something terrible had happened. Her eyes were tired pools of gray shadow in her colorless face and she just stood there as if she had suddenly found herself in the wrong place.
“Gut evening,” he said politely. “How can I help?”
Her face blushed a fiery red. “I need money,” she blurted, thrusting out her hand and showing him the diamond.
Zev drew an astonished breath. Even without his jeweler’s glass he knew he was looking at a stone of fine quality and at least four carats. He glanced at her again quickly, but she had wrapped her shawl around her hair, half hiding her face.
“Where did you get such a stone?” he demanded suspiciously.
“I … it was my grandmother’s,” Missie mumbled, wishing she hadn’t come, but she had to get the money, she just had to.
“This is a fine stone, worth a lot of money. Why are you not taking it to a smart jeweler’s uptown? For sure they’d give you a good price.”
“I … because I can’t,” she said, placing both hands on the counter for support. “Don’t ask me why, I just can’t.”
“It’s because you have stolen it, the diamond!” Zev shouted angrily. “You bring such goods to my shop to get rid, and then I’m in jail … that’s it, isn’t it?”
Missie’s colorless face became transparent and her violet eyes grew dark with fear. “Stolen?” She gasped. “Oh, no! No, I swear to you it’s not stolen!”
“Then how only would you get such a diamond?”
“I told you the truth,” she said shakily. She knew she was going to cry and hid her face despairingly in her hands. “My grandmother is dead,” she said, sobbing. “And I need money to bury her so she won’t have to go to a pauper’s grave. But even to do that, I wouldn’t steal.”
Zev stared at her uncertainly. If what she was saying was true, he was sorry for her, but he just couldn’t run the risk of handling stolen property; he had to stay as far away as possible from the police because he had his own secret to hide. Still, her reason for wanting the money was so noble and she looked so sad and young and vulnerable he wanted to help her.
“If you wish the money,” he said more gently, “you must tell me honest how the stone came by your grandmother.” He stared at her bewilderedly as she buried her face in her hands again, sobbing noisily. “Please,” he begged, “in the neighborhood I know everybody’s business. I give you my word, with me your secret is safe.”
Missie lifted her face from her hands and stared at him, wondering if she could trust him. “She brought it with her from Russia,” she said at last.
“Russia!” Now he understood. Many people running to escape had put their savings into diamonds. They were small and easy to hide and could be sold again when they reached the new country. But that meant that she was Russian too!
“Tell me your name?” he asked excitedly in Yiddish, but she just shook her head in bewilderment.
“Your name,” he repeated in half-forgotten Russian, “and where you come from?”
“We are from St. Petersburg,” she said warily. “My name is Missie O’Bryan.”
“O’Bryan? Then your husband is not Russian?”
“My father’s name was O’Bryan. I have no husband.” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. She had forgotten all about her story and now he had caught her out in a lie.
Zev turned away, embarrassed. “Excuse me,” he muttered, “such a personal question I should not ask.”
He picked up the diamond, inspecting it once again. He could feel her violet eyes fixed on him hopefully but he said nothing.
Missie knew he was waiting for her to tell him more, and how could she blame him? Where else would a poor girl like her get a valuable diamond if she hadn’t stolen it? “My grandmother’s name