The Charm Bracelet (16 page)

Holly made the short walk from Danny’s school towards the store, passing the Christmas shoppers and people lugging fir trees through the streets. Fairy lights were everywhere and people were rushing about trying to get Christmas preparations done. It made her think about her own family festivities when she was a child, when her Dad would finally close the hardware store the night before Christmas.

She had always complained that he should close early like the other shops did on the street, but he would remind her that a hardware store was sometimes the saving grace for someone’s Christmas. Last-minute gifts for a husband or father, light bulbs, fuses, electrical tape: these were the things that held Christmas together, and who was he to deny the public of that.

And he had been right, of course; there were always the late stragglers arriving in a panic because their fairy lights wouldn’t work or they had forgotten to buy a tree stand, or because Uncle Charlie was coming to visit and he’d always talked about wanting a cordless drill.

Finally, around six p.m. on Christmas Eve, Seamus would shut the lights off at the hardware store and walk the few blocks home, where Holly and Eileen would be waiting eagerly for him. The turkey would be resting on top of the stove, flipped over plates covering all the side dishes to keep them warm. Her mother would have a Bing Crosby or Johnny Mathis record on the turntable. All the lights would be dimmed or off, so that their own Christmas tree with its multicoloured lights would cast a warm glow around the small room. They had no fireplace in their house; that had been walled up years ago, like most of the fireplaces in the brownstones on their street. So they would compensate with a trio of candles on a make-do mantelpiece in the dining room. After her dad had gone upstairs to get changed, he would come down in a fresh shirt and tie to carve the turkey. And, even though it was only the three of them, they still all dressed up, and her mother polished the silver and broke out the best china.  After dinner, Holly would be sent to bed, under the threat that Santa might not come if she was up too late. She would hang her stocking with a thumbtack on the only bookshelf in the living room and go up to bed, stopping on each step to plead with her parents to stay up just a bit longer – but the pleading glances never worked.

Then Holly's mom and dad would sit on the tiny sofa, open a bottle of wine and turn Johnny Mathis up a little louder. Holly could hear them from her bedroom, talking and laughing, her father's low rumbling voice giving Eileen a rundown of his day.

Finally Holly would drift off to sleep – then, as soon as the first slice of sunlight hit her bedroom, she would bound downstairs to see what Santa had put in her stocking. There would always be candy and foil-wrapped chocolate, usually a sample bottle of perfume, fancy socks with lace around the ankles, and – at the bottom of the stocking – a big fat orange. At this point, her mom and dad would be sitting on the couch, bleary-eyed, holding cups of coffee, and Bing would be back on the turntable. Finally her mother would let them all eat a hard-boiled egg to tide them through Mass and the three of them would make their way on the snowy, empty streets to the local church, where they would sit through a Christmas Day Mass that was twice as long as a regular Mass, and Holly’s stomach would groan and gurgle with the thoughts of chocolate and candy back home. Sometimes her father would slip her a peppermint, putting a finger to his lips not to tell Eileen, and Holly would gratefully pop it in her mouth and quietly suck it through the sermon.

After Seamus died, they had stopped going to church altogether. Holly had come downstairs one Sunday morning, dressed and ready to go, only to find her mother still in her dressing gown at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee.

‘I just don't feel like going today, do you?’ she had simply said.

At the time Holly had seen it as just another memory of her father that her mother was destroying, another source of comfort her mother had removed. Christmas in the O’Neill household had been different after that.

And Christmas this year would be completely different again. Because, for the first time ever, Holly and Danny would not be going to Eileen’s house in
Queens.

Instead her mother was coming to them.

She still wasn’t entirely sure why she’d suggested to Danny about doing Christmas dinner at their teeny apartment. But when Kate had mentioned that she wouldn’t be going home to Minnesota this year, and was complaining of being at a loose end, Holly had decided for sure that she was going to host a big, old-style Christmas at her house, the kind she’d always wanted. It obviously had something to do with what she’d been feeling lately, about wanting to give Danny something other than just the basics. She wanted to create traditions and memories like her father had done for her.

Eileen had been surprised at first when Holly made the suggestion over the phone the night before.

‘Are you sure? You know I’m always happy to have you and Danny.’

‘I know, but this year I thought that maybe we could do something different. Danny would love it, and Kate would be here too.’

There was a brief silence on the phone. ‘Anyone else?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I suppose I was just wondering if you’d met anyone, anyone interesting?’

Holly groaned. ‘Mom, you of all people should know that’s the last thing on my mind.’

‘Still … ’

‘Still nothing.’

‘OK, well in any case, thank you. I’d love to come. Only problem is, because I thought we were having it at mine, I invited someone. A friend.’

Holly stopped breathing. No, her mother wasn’t seriously … She couldn’t comprehend Eileen seeing another man.

‘I know what you’re thinking and don’t even go there!’ her mother trilled. ‘It’s a girlfriend. She doesn’t have any family left so—’

‘Well then bring her along,’ Holly said before she could stop herself. ‘The more the merrier.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yes, why not?’ Although how the hell
five of them were going to fit in the tiny living space was a mystery. Especially alongside the Christmas tree that Danny had been asking for. He was so excited by the prospect that she couldn’t turn him down.

As Holly pondered over the complexities of fitting guests into her apartment, let alone those related to preparing Christmas dinner, her cell phone rang inside her pocket.

‘Hello?’

‘Ms O’Neill?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is Jessica Edwards calling on behalf of Margot Mead. I’m returning your call from yesterday. You said in your message you’re from Tiffany’s?’

Holly straightened. For some reason Jessica’s tone made her feel as though she should be standing to attention. ‘Not quite, but a lovely man from there pointed me in Ms Mead’s direction.’

‘And this is concerning a piece of jewellery?’

‘Yes.’ Holly went on to explain about the bracelet she’d found, and Samuel’s belief that Margot Mead might be able to help track down the origin of the jewel-encrusted egg charm.

‘Really, I’m just hoping she could give me some more information about the egg charm and where it might have been purchased. The bracelet may even belong to Ms Mead herself, who knows?’ This was a long shot, but Holly was trying to get the assistant on side.
             

‘You do realise that Ms Mead is not a directory service?’ the assistant said snippily, and Holly reflected that navigating the world of the
Manhattan elite was truly like living on another planet. After all, at the end of the day, people are just people, and she was pretty sure that Margot Mead put her pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else.

But all at once, Holly felt sure that –
 whatever her love for jewellery – Margot Mead wasn’t the owner of the bracelet. Even without meeting her, Holly understood that Margot had to be the type of woman who allowed assistants and stylists to dictate the shape and style of her life. A charm bracelet like the one Holly carried in her handbag was too full of whimsy, and too unpredictable, to belong to someone who had a third party do her bidding. She just knew it.

‘Of course I understand that. But I just wondered if she could possibly take a look at the bracelet to see if she recognised it. The egg charm I mean,’ she added. ‘I believe Ms Mead is quite the jewellery connoisseur.’

‘Well, she certainly buys a lot of jewellery, Ms O’Neill.’

‘Please, call me Holly,’ she insisted pleasantly, noting that the invitation to familiarity was not returned.

‘You said that this was found in a jacket where you work?’

‘Yes, I work at a vintage store in the Village. I found it in a Chanel jacket, a lovely one, and really, I just want to return it to its rightful owner. You see, I have one myself and – ’ she automatically jingled her own bracelet at no one in particular – ‘I just figured if I could follow the breadcrumbs, so to speak, it might lead me back to the person who is missing this.’ She chuckled self-consciously. ‘I’m sure you’re thinking I just read too many fairy tales.’

‘No, it’s a nice thing to do.’ Jessica’s voice softened a little. ‘I’m sorry I was rude earlier, I apologise.’

‘It’s no problem, it’s the holidays – everyone is busy. But listen,’ Holly continued, hoping to make the most of the slight chink in Jessica’s armour. ‘Do you think Ms Mead might be able to take a look at it for me?’

‘Well, it’s like this,’ Jessica replied, her brusqueness returning. ‘Margot Mead serves on the board of about thirty different charities in the city. She has something going on almost every night, and barely has time to take a look at her own husband, never mind a … ’ She trailed off and sighed. ‘Wait a minute, did you say it was an jewel-encrusted egg charm?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, it’s the strangest thing, I think I might have come across something like that a while back – at one of our benefits. Like I said, Ms Mead is involved in a lot of charities, benefits, auctions, that sort of thing. And those prizes are often jewellery.’

Holly’s heartbeat quickened. ‘So you’re saying the charm might have been picked up at one of those auctions or given out as a prize?’

Nice prize …

‘Perhaps. Obviously we keep records of such things for tax purposes. Could you possibly email me over a picture of the charm in question and I can see if it rings any bells?’

‘That would be fantastic. Are you sure you don’t want to see it person, though … ?’

‘Believe me, I’ll be lucky if I see the light of day for the next couple of weeks. There’s so much to organise over the holidays this year, a soirée at the Plaza, a cocktail evening at the Four Seasons, not to mention the library benefit … ’

‘OK, I understand. Let me know your details and I’ll send a photo to you as soon as I can.’ Or, more likely, she’d get Danny to do it. But seeing as Jessica seemed to be so swamped with Christmas-related social arrangements, Holly didn’t expect to hear back from her any time soon.

‘I can’t make any promises of course, but if it was given out as one of our prizes, then there is a possibility that we’ll have some more information about it. We rarely keep track of the winners, though … ’

‘Honestly, any help you could give me at all would be amazing. Thank you.’

‘No problem. Where was it that you said you worked?’

‘The Secret Closet, just off Bleecker Street.’

‘Yes, I know the place.’

‘Oh.’ Holly was surprised. ‘Well, perhaps Ms Mead has sent stock our way on occasion? I’d imagine she has an amazing wardrobe – especially with all those charities and the events.’

‘I doubt it. Ms Mead certainly doesn’t need the commission on anything like that, and she takes great pride in her wardrobe.’

‘I’m sure she does.’ With the amount of money she obviously spent on her wardrobe, she wondered if Margot Mead realised the irony of spending money on designers, instead of simply donating that money to the many charities over which she presided. Then again, she sounded like a woman who could probably do both, and still put groceries on the table.

‘You have to look good when you are raising funds for the children in Africa, or clean water in Southeast Asia, or breast cancer or what-have-you … ’

Holly’s ears pricked up. ‘Breast cancer, you said?’

‘Yes, amongst many others.’

She thought again about the pink ribbon charm. Coincidence?

‘Does Ms Mead work on behalf of breast cancer charities regularly?’ she inquired. ‘It’s just that there is another charm on the bracelet …
’

‘Oh, I see,’ Jessica said, when Holly explained her line of thinking. ‘That might narrow the search down a little. I can cross-reference to see if there were breast cancer events or auctions at which that egg charm might have been used as a prize. Leave it with me.’

‘Honestly, I really can’t thank you enough.’

Holly ended the call, new hope in her heart. Margot Mead’s assistant had not only promised to look into the egg charm, but might also be able to give her a lead associated with one of the others.

This, taken with the information Danny had gleaned from the horseshoe, meant that she was getting somewhere. She planned to head down to the gallery at lunchtime to see if she could find out anything more on that end.