LITMIR.BIZ

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“You sure you can handle it tonight without me?” he asked his sister.

      “It will be slow with everyone at the festival and street dance,” she said. “I’ll probably close early, but thanks for the offer. What are you going to do the rest of the day?”

      He shrugged. “Probably just take it easy.” Retrieving his Stetson and jacket, he headed upstairs, glad his sister hadn’t asked to see what he’d done with her old apartment. As he unlocked the door and looked around, he admitted there wasn’t much to see.

      When it had been Lillie’s, the place had such a homey feel. Now it was anything but. He’d bought a bed, taken his chest of drawers from his room at the ranch, complete with the stickers from his youth on the front, and found an old leather recliner at a garage sale.

      Other than that, the apartment was pretty sparse. Fortunately, Lillie had left the curtains, the rug on the living room floor and a couple of lamps, along with a television. The place was definitely nicer than the old cabin he’d been living in before, so it was just fine with him. More than fine. He’d never needed much for creature comforts.

      As he closed the door behind him, he felt bad though. He’d have to be a complete fool not to know that Lillie was dying to help him “decorate.” He cringed at the thought. She’d fuss and bring in plants he’d forget to water, a bunch of pillows he wouldn’t know what to do with and knickknacks he’d end up breaking. No, she had her big house on the ranch to do her magic on. He wouldn’t bother her. At least that would be his excuse.

      He hung up his hat and was about to do the same with his jean jacket when he remembered the bracelet. Taking it out, he turned it in his fingers. It was fancy looking enough. Heavier than it appeared too, the surface buffed to a rich patina. He brushed his fingertip over the round black stone on one side of the wide cuff bracelet. Probably plastic, the whole bracelet no doubt made out of some cheap metal and not worth anything. Otherwise why would the woman have to resort to stealing?

      As he started to put it down, he noticed that the clasp was broken. It must have happened when he’d pulled it from her arm. With a start, he remembered the tan line on her wrist, a wide white patch of skin where her bracelet had been as she was hurrying into the crowd. Surprised, he realized this was a piece of jewelry she wore all the time. If it was nothing but cheap costume jewelry, then it must have sentimental value. He frowned, as curious about the bracelet as he was the woman who’d worn it.

      His mind whirling, he looked at his phone to check the time. The local jewelry store was still open. If he went the back way and entered the store from the rear, he could avoid the crowds still on the main street.

      There was, of course, a temptation to look again for the woman. But he told himself that she wouldn’t have hung around. After what happened, wouldn’t she be worried that he’d alert the sheriff about her?

      Now that he thought of it, why hadn’t he? What if she’d been picking pockets all day at the festival? He let out a groan, realizing that he’d been so captivated by her that he hadn’t even thought about reporting her.

      He didn’t think she would try to pick anyone else’s pocket after what had happened with him. More than likely, she’d expect him to notify the sheriff. If he was right, there would be no reason to look for her in the crowd because she would have left, thinking the law was looking for her.

      Darby knew he was making excuses for not notifying his lawman brother. He’d been embarrassed by the whole incident. And yet he was still curious about the woman who’d worn the bracelet. Still curious and still shaken by the effect she’d had on him for that second when their eyes had met.

      The piece looked unusual enough, he told himself. The fact that it must have been a favorite of hers piqued his interest even more. He stuffed the bracelet back into his jacket pocket and, Stetson on his head, headed for the door.

      * * *

      THE ELDERLY JEWELER put the loupe to his eye and slowly studied the bracelet Darby had handed him. “You say you picked it up at a garage sale?”

      He wished now that he’d come up with a better story. “In Billings.”

      “Interesting.”

      Darby waited as jeweler John T. Marshall went over every square inch of the bracelet. “It’s just costume jewelry, right, John?” No answer. The piece couldn’t be that interesting, he thought.

      John finally put the bracelet down along with the loupe. He shook his head, seemingly unable to take his eyes off the piece. “It’s not costume jewelry. It’s fourteen-karat yellow gold.”

      That explained why it was so heavy. With a start, Darby realized it could have more than just sentimental value to the woman. “So what can you tell me about it?”

      “The gold alone in weight is worth several thousand dollars, but its real worth is that it is a rare piece of vintage Roma jewelry.”

      “Roma jewelry?”

      The jeweler nodded. “I’ve only read about it. This type of cuff was once made for the whole family including men and children, and was usually worn in pairs, one on each wrist. This bracelet is definitely rare.”

      “You’re saying it’s old?”

      “In this country, most surviving pieces date from 1900 to 1930.” He picked up the loupe again to look at the round black stone at the center. “The Roma almost always used synthetic stones because of the difficulties of verifying a gemstone’s authenticity, unlike real gold, which cannot be faked easily.”

      “So the stone is what? Plastic?”

      “In this rare case, a valuable gemstone—onyx. This is an amazing find. I’ve never seen any original Roma jewelry before. It’s quite remarkable.” He picked up the bracelet again and began to point out the designs on it.

      “Look at this profiled face of a beautiful woman, possibly a Roma queen.”

      “What exactly is Roma?” Darby asked.

      “Often called Gypsy jewelry. The word Gypsy is a misnomer though. The Roma were called Gypsies because they were believed to have come from Egypt. But they were actually part of an ethnic group whose ancestors left India a thousand years ago. Many of them still called themselves gypsies, though many Roma consider it a derogatory term.”

      Darby thought of the woman he’d seen at the festival. Was she Roma?

      The jeweler was still inspecting the bracelet with a kind of awe. “Flowers and stars are common, along with a horseshoe for luck. It is always worn with the horseshoe up so the luck doesn’t spill out.” He traced a finger over one of the designs. “The filigree is so delicate.” He met Darby’s gaze. “I’d say this bracelet is worth from ten to twenty thousand dollars.”

      Darby was taken aback. He’d almost thrown the piece away. Worse, he hadn’t picked it up at a garage sale. He’d torn if off a woman’s wrist—admittedly she was trying to pick his pocket at the time, but still...

      “And you say you paid fifty cents for it? The person who sold it must not have known its real worth.” John shook his head. “If you’re interested in selling this piece—”

      “No,” he said quickly. “If it’s that rare, I think I’d like to keep it. But I do want to get the clasp fixed.”

      The jeweler nodded. “I don’t blame you. It will only take a minute.”

      Darby stepped to the back of the shop to watch as John worked. He couldn’t believe this. He’d really thought the jeweler would tell him it was nothing but junk. He thought about the woman who’d been wearing it and found himself even more intrigued.

      “It’s a shame how much of this jewelry has been lost,” the jeweler was saying as he worked. “Much of it was melted down in the Great Depression, even more recently with the price of gold up like it has been. For the wearer, the jewelry was like a portable bank account.”

      So

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