The music seemed very far away. He said, almost mechanically, “Willie was already out that gate when he found the napkin ring buried in a roll in his pocket. He was scared to death of the waiter who’d stolen it so he gave it back to Mrs. Fox-Nugent the best way he knew how. Those are his words, ‘I gave it back the best way I knew how.’ Volanda thinks he threw it over the gate, in which case,” Simon looked around in a near trance, “it’s in this garden somewhere.”
“Young man,” said a voice at his side, “can you tell me about the marble geese at the fishpond?”
“No one can tell you better.” Mrs. Mills smiled and moved away. Simon followed a stout woman with many bangles toward the pond. He began automatically.
“The geese were among the first acquisitions of Mr. and Mrs. Fox-Nugent, who found them in Spain. Originally there were six, but two were damaged in transit from Barcelona. They are believed to be the work of Carlos de Leon, a fourteenth century worker in marble. Also, notice the mosaic around the pool’s edge...”
As Simon talked, other guests gathered and he moved from object to object, hardly knowing what he was saying. Somewhere in these shadowy grounds a little trinket lay buried, trodden deep in the course of decades, proof positive that Willie, in those bewildering words of his, had “never taken it but gave it back.”
Simon herded his group toward Neptune’s grove as a procession of bridesmaids emerged from the side door of the museum, followed by the pretty bride and her father. Simon’s eyes wandered to Neptune looming high above the wall, his harpoon lifted. It was that iron crown backed by the moonlit sky that had guided him to the gate the last two nights.
The ceremony began, and from the back of the crowd where Simon stood, the elderly clergyman’s voice was faint and indistinct. Simon strolled over to the gate and stood looking through its tracery at the shining path across the gulf. He was thinking of Dorothea’s words, “I remember standing on the steps that night listening to the waves.” And as she stood there Willie was wrestling with the waiter and crying.
I gotta just forget the whole thing, Simon thought desperately. I gotta forget it right now and for good.
Suddenly, the bandleader was announcing the bouquet toss. The bride was standing on a chair and a lot of the girls were gathering with much laughing and squealing. The band did a flourish, and whoosh! That great bunch of flowers and ribbons sailed high in the air and landed smack in Neptune’s crown!
There was a burst of laughter and shouting. Like a flash Simon was through the crowd, reaching Neptune none too soon. A couple of kids were already scrambling up on the base.
“Better let me do it,” he said, pulling the children off as some of the other guides converged to ask if he could handle it.
Simon put one foot on the base and pulled himself up by the tail of the dolphin. Then he grasped the harpoon and climbed higher. More laughter and applause; cameras clicked, camcorders whirred, and the band did a drum roll. Simon smiled to himself, enjoying the escapade and wishing Volanda was here to see him being a hero. When he reached Neptune’s shoulder, he hung one arm around the neck and put his other hand up to grab the bouquet. The darned thing was wedged into the crown and he had to get his hand down under it to pry it loose.
Then his fingers touched a small object that rattled.
He froze, suddenly dizzy. He drew a tremendous, deep breath, pulled out the bouquet, and dropped it into the outstretched arms of the bride. She called “Thanks!” and tossed it over her shoulder. There was a laughing scramble and all heads turned to see who’d caught it. Simon put his hand back in the crown and closed his fingers over the object. He dropped it into his blazer pocket and started to descend. A cheer went up as he jumped to the ground and there were joking words of praise and pats on the back. Through a sort of haze he saw Mrs. Mills beckoning to him from the museum door. He made his way toward her, his hand in his pocket, clasping the gritty little thing he’d not yet looked at.
Mrs. Mills said, “Let me see it.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw your face and saw you put your hand back.”
Simon took his hand from his pocket and opened his fingers. They looked down at a rusty little circle embedded with dirty stones. He said, “Is this it?”
“That’s it.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the last room on your tour. As you leave, kindly take the stairs to your right and rejoin the other guests in the garden. Now, please observe the painting directly behind me. It is a portrait in oils of Dorothea Fox-Nugent, founder of this museum. She is wearing...”
Please, please everybody leave and give me a few minutes alone with her.
“...commissioned by her husband for the opening of the museum on her fortieth birthday...”
I want to show it to her and watch that crazy glow around her light up and hear her thank me and tell me where she wants it kept.
“Observe that she is wearing a diamond tiara, necklace, and earrings. This was her favorite jewel and...”
And now she will know that Willie wasn’t a thief, wasn’t a thief, wasn’t a thief...
“Young man,” said a guest, “have I heard correctly that the Copley is on loan from the Museum of Fine Art in Boston?”
Simon answered the question, wild with impatience. He’d been waiting for this moment since Mrs. Mills had told him to put the ring back in his pocket until they could decide what to do with it. “It’s very exciting,” she said, “to have a piece of lost memorabilia show up under such dramatic circumstances. The media will love it. I’ll speak to the board tomorrow.”
And I’ll speak to Dorothea tonight, Simon had thought happily. But would these gabby wedding guests ever leave? Finally, with a pounding heart, he showed the last of them to the door, only to have Mrs. Mills walk though it.
“Simon, I’ve just had the most wonderful idea. Let me tell you about it.”
His heart sank. “Sure, er, why don’t you wait for me downstairs? I should check the rest of the floor before I—”
“Look at her.” Mrs. Mills walked over to Dorothea’s portrait. “She’d be so happy if she knew, wouldn’t she?” Then she took a paper from her handbag and sat down in one of the carved chairs. “I’ve been working on this for an hour and I think it sounds very good. I’ll give it to the newspapers tomorrow.”
Simon stood helpless and silent as she read, “In the year 1925, a few days before Christmas, a cherished keepsake disappeared from the home of Dorothea Fox-Nugent, founder of Sarasota’s famed museum. At the time, Mrs. Fox-Nugent offered a reward of one hundred dollars for its return. The keepsake, a napkin ring, was found yesterday on nearly the anniversary of its loss, on the museum grounds, by Simon Judson, a tour guide there. The circumstances...”
“Simon! You found it!”
Dorothea’s light filled the room dazzlingly. Mrs. Mills, oblivious, of course, went on reading.
“Oh, let me see it!” Dorothea was close at his side, her mist enveloping him. Simon took the little ring from which he’d washed the dirt and held it in his palm. “Yes! That’s it! The dear, dear thing! If only I could touch it! Where did you find it?”
“Simon,” said Mrs. Mills, “you’re not listening to me. Put that away till we can decide where it should be kept.”
“In Neptune’s crown,” said Simon.
“In Neptune’s crown? Of course!” cried Dorothea. “Willie threw it over the gate and it landed in—”
“Neptune’s crown?” said Mrs. Mills. “Don’t be absurd. It can’t be kept there. It should have a very special place. I’d say in this room.”
“She’s right, dear Lettie Mills.” Dorothea floated toward her. “What a good friend she was.”