The Jewelry Case by Catherine McGreevy Page B

show the others the correct procedure. The other workers seemed to respect him, accepting his corrections with a respectful nod, or a joke, or a high-five. She wondered why this surprised her.
    Then, with a jolt, Paisley realized the answer. Steve Lopez had prejudiced her against him. What had her neighbor said? Nothing specific that she could recall, just vague innuendos about Ian's competence. From what she could tell, though, Ian certainly seemed to know what he was doing.
    Of course, she could be wrong, she reminded herself. No one was more ignorant about such things than she was.
    Paisley's hopes for a peaceful afternoon were soon shattered by the ringing of hammers and whirring of saws, and she developed a pounding headache. Even putting in earbuds and turning up Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries did not drown out the din. Paisley put up with the commotion as long as she could, then fled back to town. Her leg felt better, and she had planned on a walk anyway.
    This time, she was careful to give the grazing cow a wide berth. Walking on the unpaved shoulder of the road, watching for oncoming traffic, she remembered that she should renew her efforts to buying a cheap car to use for the summer. She had cursorily checked Craigslist but hadn't found anything nearby. That was a problem. It wouldn't be practical to walk to town every time she needed a half-gallon of milk.
    Shirley had promised to keep her eyes open. Maybe the red-haired bookseller had heard something. Too bad Paisley hadn't thought to ask for the woman's number.
    As she started puffing up the long, steep hill, a black sports car pulled up next to her and a familiar face looked out. "Hey there. Going to town?" Steve looked fresh and cool in a spotless white shirt, his tanned arm casually propped against the open window frame, his black hair neatly styled.
    Paisley pushed a strand of sweaty hair out of her eyes. He probably had stopped out of pity, but she didn't care. "Hi, Steve." She didn't bother to answer his question, since her destination was obvious. Eyeing the Audi R8, she thought the vineyard must be doing well for Steve to be able to afford such a flashy model.
    "Still no wheels, huh?" His critical tone was that of a Californian who wasn't used to seeing someone actually walk somewhere. His next words proved it. "This isn't New York, you know. No public transportation."
    "Really?" Sarcasm edged her voice. "I guess that explains why I couldn't find the subway stop."
    Without smiling, he leaned over and pushed open the passenger door. "You shouldn't overdo it in this hot weather, not with that bad leg. Hop in."
    She hesitated only slightly. She had been taught not to get in the car with strangers, but, she reminded herself, Steve wasn't a stranger. After all, she had already visited his house and even accepted his invitation to dinner. Besides, her leg was throbbing again.
    "I've been meaning to ask what brought you to River Bend," Steve said as she settled into the soft leather seat with a sigh of comfort. He darted a glance at her dusty sandals, either from sympathy or concern for the immaculate carpet. "This doesn't seem the kind of town that would attract a woman of your, er, cosmopolitan background."
    She shrugged off the attempt at a compliment. "Impulse, I guess," she admitted. "I wanted to check out my inheritance."
    His profile remained focused on the road, but she saw his dark eyebrows glide up. "Inheritance? Oh, you mean Esther's place?"
    She didn't answer right away, for the truth was it wasn't just Esther's house that had brought her. That sharp flash of recognition she had experienced while looking at the photograph had come from something else, something centered in the house but which had nothing to do with paint or floorboards. But she couldn't explain that to Steve, not when she didn't fully understand it herself.
    "I'm not sure what I mean," she said finally, her tone indicating that she didn't want to talk about it any more, and to her