The Charm Bracelet (31 page)

Sofia
was already shaking her head. ‘Everything Gennaro does could be considered out of the ordinary.’

Greg winced, feeling sorry for his friend. Based on this woman’s tone, Gennaro was certainly going to have some explaining to do in the very near future.

‘OK, well thanks anyway,’ he said, guessing this conversation was going nowhere. ‘Happy holidays.’

He started to turn away, when suddenly
Sofia spoke again.

‘I wasn’t finished,’ she continued, shaking her head as if to say ‘typical man, refusing to listen.’

‘Oh I’m sorry. That was rude of me. Please go on.’

She sighed. ‘I was about to say that, for instance, the other day out of the blue, Gennaro asked me to pull all of the records for events on every June eighteenth that we had been open. How’s that for random?’

Greg thought of the date, June eighteenth, and knew he’d hit pay dirt. ‘Completely random. I agree.’ And then he broke into a smile. It was the horseshoe charm he had given to his mother, not the
corno
, that had led the woman with the bracelet to the gallery. Or, more specifically, the numbers on the charm, 618 – 18 June.

‘Do you mind if I come in to talk about it? It will just take a moment, I promise.’

Sofia nodded her agreement and held open the door for him as he fixed the bike to a nearby lamppost. ‘He didn’t tell me what I should do with the list when I compiled it,’ she said, as Greg followed her into the darkened gallery. ‘He just gave me a name and a number to call.’

He immediately perked up at this. ‘He gave you a name?’

She nodded as she entered the office of the gallery and rummaged around in a drawer, before taking out a sheet of paper. ‘This is what I pulled,’ she said, handing it to Greg. ‘It’s all names of artists who were featured at gallery events on that date for the past eight years.’

Greg looked at the list, and his brow crinkled in confusion when he didn’t see his own name. ‘Why are there only women listed on this?’

Sofia sighed. ‘Because that is what Gennaro requested. I thought he was looking to expand his little black book, but if it is about what you say, then that makes sense.’

Greg shook his head, not getting it. ‘How so?’

‘Well, you say that there is someone who is trying to find the owner of a bracelet? Obviously, she is looking for a woman, not a man. After all, would
you
wear a charm bracelet?’ Sofia rolled her eyes at having to explain the obvious again.

Greg nodded and couldn’t help smiling at
Sofia’s exasperation. She probably put up with a lot of crap having Gennaro as a boss. But indeed it did make sense.

At the same time, if
Sofia had provided a list of only women to the mystery woman, there was little chance of their paths crossing.

‘You also said you had a name and a number? For the woman you sent this list to?’

‘I have not yet sent it – I have not had the time to send it. I was going to but … ’ She sighed again. ‘It’s right here, written on the top of the page.’

Greg looked and to his relief saw a list of digits handwritten beside the name ‘Holly’. It was a local number, here in
Manhattan.

‘No last name?’ he asked.

This elicited a bitter laugh from Sofia. ‘If she did, I’m sure Gennaro is keeping it to himself, especially if she is attractive … ’

She is
, Greg recalled silently.

He also remembered Gennaro mentioning that he was going to call this Holly to ask her out. So if she did happen to leave a last name, it was probably currently in Gennaro’s possession.

Nonetheless he didn’t need it. Now that he had Holly’s number, all he had to do was call and introduce himself, and explain how he came by it. He took a moment to program the number into his phone. ‘Thanks Sofia, you have been a big help – a really big help,’ he said, buoyed by the new information. ‘In fact,’ he added mischievously, ‘if I were Gennaro, I would tell you to take the rest of the day off.’

Sofia
’s eyes glittered. ‘Can I tell Gennaro you said that?’

Greg laughed as he turned towards the front of the building. ‘Sure. Blame it on me.’

Going back out onto the street, Greg didn’t hesitate in immediately calling the number he had just been given, and was looking forward to speaking with this Holly and retrieving his mother’s missing bracelet. It sounded as if she was a very kind person to have found it and then go to the trouble of trying to get it back to its rightful owner. And how clever of her to try and do so through the charms. Greg was pleased that it had been one of ‘his’ charms that had led her to Gennaro’s and, thus, to him.

He listened as a phone rang on the other end of the line, somewhere in
New York. Three rings, four rings, five rings, no answer. Then a voicemail message came on.

‘Thank you for calling The Secret Closet. Unfortunately, we are unable to take your call at this moment as we are either on the other line, or currently serving customers. Kindly leave a message and we will get back to you shortly. If you are calling to arrange a pick-up or a donation, please call back during the hours of four and six p.m. Thank you once again for calling The Secret Closet.’

‘The Secret Closet?’ Greg muttered to himself as the message ended. Clearly it was the number not for Holly directly, but the number of a store. But what was that on the message about leaving donations? Was she the owner of some kind of charity store? His mind quickly went through the possibilities.

Actually it made sense, Greg thought. His mother routinely donated to charity, and he guessed that would have extended to clothes too. More than once, he’d heard her talk to Maria about sending boxes down to the Sacred Heart. But he’d never heard anything about a place called The Secret Closet.

Greg quickly punched in another number and waited for his call to be answered on Park Avenue.

‘Matthews’ residence,’ said Maria easily into the phone. Greg launched into his line of questioning without delay.

‘Maria, it’s me. Did you happen to send out any of Mom’s old clothes for donation recently? To charity I mean.’

‘Well, yes I did actually,’ she said, confirming Greg’s suspicions. She sounded hesitant. ‘Should I not have? I mean, I remember she put some things aside and asked me to box them up for Father Mike.’

‘Father Mike, from the Sacred Heart?’

‘Yes. And I did box them up, but then with everything … I kind of forgot about them for a while until I discovered them in the front closet recently and remembered her request.

‘How long ago was this?’

‘Um … a couple of weeks ago I think. Why?’ Then her voice changed. ‘Oh no … is that what happened to the bracelet? Did I do something wrong and it got in there by mistake? Oh no … ’

‘Maria, you didn’t do anything wrong,’ Greg insisted quickly. ‘But does a charity store called The Secret Closet ring a bell to you? Is that the place you sent the boxes?’             

‘It doesn’t sound familiar. But your mom donated to a lot of different places. Still, I’m pretty sure I sent that stuff to Father Mike. Do you want me to call … ?’

‘No, it’s fine Maria, thanks. I’ll call you back if I need to.’

Greg was beginning to get a better picture of what had happened. If this Holly person owned or worked for a charity store, then she must have found the bracelet amongst one of Cristina’s donations. He guessed that kind of thing happened all the time, which is why the store had gone out of its way to try and get the bracelet back.

But while everything was beginning to make sense, he still had no idea where to find Holly.

Frustrated, Greg called the number second time, but again it went straight to messages. Damn, maybe they were closed for the holidays? If so, he’d have to wait until the New Year to reach them and get back Cristina’s bracelet – and he really didn’t want to wait. Who knows, by then the store could have given up on finding it and maybe put the bracelet out on sale. If that happened, and it sold in the meantime, there was no chance of finding it thereafter.

Bringing up Google on his phone, he did a search for The Secret Closet charity store. There were a couple of places listed, but they either weren’t charity stores or were based outside of Manhattan. Whereas Greg knew from the number that this place was local. Darnit …

He looked at his watch, not sure what to do next. Karen would be at the townhouse round about now.

So seeing as he was at a loose end anyway, and Maria seemed pretty certain she’d sent his mother’s things to Father Mike and not to that store, he might as well head down to the Sacred Heart and see what he could find out.

A few minutes later, Greg locked the bike and approached the front door of the church. He hesitantly pushed on it and to his surprise it swung open. If there was no service in session, most churches in New York were kept locked now as a safety measure.

‘Hello?’ he called out, feeling a little spooked. The place was cold and dark, and it felt as though someone was going to reach out and grab him. He heard voices coming from out back so he started making his way up the aisle alongside the pews.

Finding the door partially open, he knocked on it. A trim man who looked to be in his sixties turned around. ‘Yes?’

‘Father Mike? You might not remember me. I’m Greg Matthews, Cristina’s son … ’ He trailed off, not quite sure if the priest would recognise him. While he knew his mother and the priest had been friends for what seemed like forever, Greg didn’t know him particularly well, having had little involvement with him over the years.

Father Mike was slim and had thinning brown hair and the kind of leathery skin that betrayed years of smoking and being out in the elements without sunscreen, or a hat.

‘Yes – of course!’ The man’s face lit up. ‘Cristina’s boy, how are you?’ he said pumping Greg’s hand. ‘Please, have a seat.’

He pulled a rickety wooden chair close to his desk for Greg. The desk was littered with clothes and handbags.

The priest smiled. ‘Don’t mind the mess, just going through some donations for the needy.’ He swept everything back into a cardboard box and put it on the floor, before switching on a little electric heater nearby. Greg was grateful for it; it was freezing in the small, dark space.

‘Actually, that’s sort of what I wanted to—’ he began.

‘So how’s everything?’
Father Mike interjected kindly. ‘I spoke to your dad just the other day.’

Greg frowned. ‘You did?’ While his mother had always been a regular churchgoer, he didn’t realise Jeff knew the priest that well too.

‘Yes. He sounded good, well – as good as can be expected, I suppose.’

Greg nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘And how are you Greg? What can I help you with? Did you have a good Christmas? Oh, forgive my manners.’ He jumped up. ‘Can I get you coffee or water?’ he asked and Greg shook his head.

‘No thank you, I’m fine. Those donations,’ he continued, getting to the point. ‘Maria told me she’d sent a couple of boxes down to you lately. Some of Mom’s old stuff.’

Father Mike looked thoughtful. ‘Well, our donations tend to be numerous at this time of year, and there are a lot of boxes coming in, but yes, I think you’re right – I do remember something.’ He smiled. ‘Your mother’s always been a great friend of the church, so generous. Your dad too, of course.’

Greg looked at the box of items that Father Mike had just cleared off the table. ‘Do you go through all of the donations yourself? Check through them, I mean?’

‘Mostly, but not always. I have a lovely volunteer who comes in on Tuesday mornings. She often helps with the sorting and the distribution. Why?’ The priest looked at him quizzically. Then his eyes widened. ‘Oh dear, was there something amongst the donation that your mother didn’t mean for us to have? That happens a lot actually, more than you could imagine – items get mixed up, or the wrong things go into the donation pile.’

Greg quickly told him about the missing bracelet.

‘I remember the bracelet. She never took it off, as I recall.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I can see it in my mind’s eye as we speak. Lots of lovely little trinkets that tinkled as she walked.’

Greg nodded. ‘Yes, and we’re thinking it somehow got mixed up in a donation. The thing is, even though Maria insists she sent the stuff here, the bracelet somehow ended up in a charity store. You mentioned someone helps you with distribution. Do you happen to distribute donations to charity stores?’

‘Well no – the opposite actually. They often pass on clothing that doesn’t sell for whatever reason, usually because it’s in such bad condition that only the truly desperate would want it.’ He looked at Greg. ‘You’re saying the items your mother sent us ended up in a charity store? I can’t see how—’

‘Yes, a place called The Secret Closet. The reason I know is because—’

But Father Mike was shaking his head. ‘My dear boy, The Secret Closet isn’t a charity store, it’s a
vintage
store. Although I suppose that’s a common enough mistake … ’

Greg sat up straight. ‘You mean you know the place?’

‘Yes of course. Carole Greene’s spot. Just off Bleecker Street. I know them well. She and Holly often—’

‘You know Holly too?’ Now Greg was very excited.

‘Why yes, of course. Such a lovely girl. One of the loveliest you could meet actually.’ He looked at Greg and smiled. ‘Well, if Holly and Carole have somehow got hold of your mother’s precious bracelet, then you needn’t worry. They’ll take good care of it for you.’

Greg stood up, feeling elated. ‘The shop’s on
Bleecker Street, you said?’ On the bike, Greg could be there within minutes.

‘Just off it. Three blocks down on the left coming from this direction.’

‘Are they open today, do you think?’

‘Yes, I would think so. Hannukah is over … Carole, the owner, is Jewish,’ he added by way of explanation.

‘Thank you, Father, you’ve been such a great help.’ Greg stuck his hand out. ‘I do remember seeing somewhere in the Village when I did a Google search, but for some reason I thought I was looking for a charity store.’

‘Don’t tell Carole that when you get there – she takes pride in stocking only the very finest!’ the priest joked.

Greg smiled. ‘Thanks again. I’m going to head down there now.’ He was about to turn and go when suddenly he thought of something. ‘I meant to ask, how do you know my folks? Were they part of the congregation here one time or … ’

Father Mike laughed. ‘No, I was a butcher at the A&P down the street from your grandparents’ deli, so I feel like I’ve known Cristina forever. After I got back from
Korea, there were no jobs, so I signed up here.’ He winked. ‘Told everyone I had “the calling”, but the funny thing is, after I started here, I
got
the calling. Toughest job I've ever had.’

Greg decided he liked Father Mike. He was a kind man who probably had lots of interesting stories to tell. He took another glance around the little room, noting the pile of donated clothes in the box, the calendar on the wall with almost every square filled up with an activity or task, the side table covered with cans and dry good
s
presumably for a food drive. Then his desk with the flashing phone messages and papers and cards piled high. ‘Do you think I could come back here someday and photograph you and your office?’

‘Sure,’ The priest was neither surprised nor daunted. ‘Anytime, just stop in, I’m usually free. Unless, of course, I'm counselling someone.’

‘Thank you, I will.’

‘And I’m glad I could help you with your search.’ Father Mike smiled as he walked him to the door. ‘And rest assured that if Holly  has your mother’s bracelet, it really couldn’t be in better hands.’