The Gift of a Charm Page 30

  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 among 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 a 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 round. ‘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 for ever, Greg didn’t know him particularly well, having had little involvement with him over the years.

  Father Mike 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 among 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 someho
w 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. Hanukkah 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 for ever. 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 goods – 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.’

  Chapter 35

  In Greenwich Village, Tasha Geller languished behind the counter of her aunt’s store, twirling her hair, snapping gum and talking on the phone. This job was, like, so easy.

  ‘So what did Dana say then?’ Tasha said to her friend Gretchen. She paused for a moment, waiting for a response. ‘Ugh, what a bitch. I saw she changed her Facebook status to “in a relationship”. I mean, someone should tell her that just because you make out at a party doesn’t mean that you are, like, in a relationship.’

  She laughed at whatever her friend said, and then turned and jumped up to sit on the counter.

  ‘Yeah, it’s OK, a bit boring. It’s my aunt’s store. I really don’t have to do anything and she is, like, paying me ten dollars an hour. Not too shabby.’ A pause. ‘Yeah, I don’t know, some girl quit or something. I can’t remember. Whatever, she’s not working and my aunt needs some help, so I said I’d do it. I don’t have anything else to do. Besides, like I said, it’s not like I really have to do anything. It kinda smells a bit, though.’

  Another pause.

  ‘Just a clothing store,’ she continued. ‘A used clothing store. Beats me, I don’t know why anyone would want to wear someone else’s crap, you know?’ She laughed. ‘Right, like hand-me-downs? I know, gross.’

  Suddenly, Tasha’s attention was turned to the front door as the bell chimed, signalling that someone had just walked in. She rolled her eyes and jumped down from the counter, looking at the customer who had entered, glancing around expectantly. ‘Ugh, Gretch, I have to go. I’ll call you back. There’s someone here and I have to go wait on them … Yeah, OK, call you back. Bye.’

  Tasha placed the phone back on the receiver and looked at the customer.

  ‘Like, hi. Can I, um, help you?’ she said, smacking her gum.

  She wished that the guy would just hurry up and figure what he wanted or needed and leave. She wanted to get back on the phone with Gretchen. They had lots to talk about. ‘Is there, like, something you are looking for?’

  Tasha still didn’t know her way around the store really, but her aunt said that she didn’t need to do much more than man the cash register and make sure people didn’t make a mess of the rails. She figured that if someone came in looking for something in particular, they could find it on their own, and if they couldn’t find what they needed, they could leave. Hopefully promptly and without annoying her too much.

  ‘Actually, yes. I’m looking for Holly?’ The man wore a hopeful expression.

  ‘Um, she doesn’t work here any more. She’s gone.’

  He frowned. ‘What do you mean – gone?’

  Jeez, how much plainer could she get? She meant that Holly didn’t work here now. Adults could be so dumb sometimes.

  ‘I mean, like, she doesn’t work here. She used to, but now she’s gone. Can I help you with something else?’

  ‘Um, well … well, I was looking for Holly because she might be in possession of something that belongs to me, or rather, someone close to me. I’m looking for a piece of jewellery. A bracelet.’

  Tasha snapped her gum. OK, she knew the answer to this. ‘Well, we don’t sell jewellery.’

  The man held up his hands, looking annoyed. ‘No, I’m not looking to buy anything. I’m actually looking for something that was lost, and I think Holly was trying to track down the owner of this bracelet that she might have found. The bracelet belongs to my family.’

  Hearing the buzz of an incoming text, Tasha pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open.

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ she mumbled idly, as she read the message. ‘I don’t think we have a lost and found—’

  ‘No, that’s not what I am saying.’ The man started to raise his voice a little. ‘Are you Carole?’

  ‘No, and she’s not here either.’ Tasha shrugged, and the man now looked as if he was about to explode. Jeez …

  ‘Well, do you think that maybe you could give me another number where Holly can be reached and I’ll get out of your hair? I only have the store’s number.’

  At this request, Tasha’s eyes flew up to meet Greg’s and narrowed.

  She didn’t like the way he seemed to be losing his cool and getting more animated. She might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but kids her age understood the meaning of ‘stalker’ well enough to remember the ‘stranger danger’ lessons taught in childhood.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t.’ Tasha didn’t know Holly from Adam, but she knew that she was doing her a favour. ‘We don’t give out personal information about employees, past or present,’ she added with conviction, sure her aunt would be proud of her ability to confidently assert store policies.

  Greg sighed. ‘Well, is there anyone else I can talk to here, please…? Carole, will she be back later?’

  ‘No,’ Tasha said sharply, looking to the phone. ‘And if there’s a problem, maybe I should just call the police.’

  The guy backed off quickly. A bit too quickly, Tasha noted. ‘No, that’s not necessary.’ He ran a hand through his hair and puffed out a breath. ‘Look, maybe if you could just pass on my information? Here’s my name and phone number. Maybe you could ask Carole to call me when she comes back. It’s really important, so maybe you could be so kind as to pass this along. I really need to talk to Holly.’

  Tasha took the card and glanced at it.

  ‘Sure. Whatever.’

  Greg Matthews, photographer. Stalker, more like.

  When the guy finally backed off and left, she peered warily at the business card. ‘Whatever, you’re a freak.’ Spitting out her gum, Tasha wrapped it in the card and threw it in the trash.

  Just as she reached for the phone, her aunt walked thr
ough the door. Quickly, she moved her hand away. She should at least look as if she was working. She stacked some papers on the counter.

  ‘Hey, Aunt Carole,’ Tasha said sweetly.

  Carole smiled and came round the counter to where her niece stood. ‘How’s it going? Was it busy?’

  Tasha rolled her eyes. ‘Not really. A guy was just in. He didn’t buy anything, though. It was a bit creepy actually. He was, like, looking for Holly or something, like a stalker guy. I told him to scram.’

  Carole frowned. ‘What do you mean, “a stalker guy”?’

  ‘Um, I don’t know. This guy was looking for Holly. He wanted her phone number and stuff, but I told him she wasn’t here.’

  Carole was confused. Could it have been Nick? But Nick and Holly were in touch again so she couldn’t see why he’d be asking for Holly’s number. Her mouth set. She didn’t like the idea of strange men in her store, looking for her friend, let alone looking for personal information.

  ‘Did you tell him that that information is confidential?’

  Tasha beamed. She knew she had done a good job. ‘Yup, and I told him that I would call the police.’

  Carole nodded, but something still felt off, something wasn’t adding up. ‘What else did the guy say? What did he look like?’

  Tasha gazed up at the ceiling. ‘Um, he had dark hair, and he was tall, kinda good-looking, I suppose,’ and Carole thought she was mistaken; it must have been Nick. That is, until she heard the next words out of her niece’s mouth. ‘And he said something about some bracelet or something. I told him that we didn’t, like, sell jewellery.’

  Carole stopped short. ‘He said he was looking for a bracelet … Are you sure?’

  Tasha took a step back at her aunt’s intensity. ‘Um, like, yeah…’

  Carole rushed towards the front door. ‘Which way did he go?’

  ‘Um, I wasn’t really paying attention…’

  ‘Think about it, Tasha,’ Carole snapped, quickly losing her cool.

  Startled, Tasha answered, ‘Like, right, I think?’ She watched her aunt rush from the store and head towards Bleecker Street. She rolled her eyes. ‘No need to get snippy about it.’