Light played through the late summer leaves as Penny soaked in the afternoon’s iridescence. Her mind and body were at ease, she was sure, for the first time in her adult life. Even the slightly dragging gait of Jimmy One-Eye, failing to sneak up behind her, couldn’t spoil the moment.
“Jimmy. You have the most ridiculous moniker. Have I ever told you that? Jimmy One-Eye. Just off the top of my head, you could’ve picked something like Jimmy the Monocle, or James and the Giant Patch.”
“Shut up, Penny.” He sighed, heaving himself onto the bench beside her. “I heard you might have some merchandise to move — and no pigs nosing about for it, even.”
“And where, pray tell, did you hear that?”
“I’mma fixer, darlin’. I know folks. I know folks needin’ classy jewelry, as a for instance. I know that nanny gig of yours must’ve bored you straight batty, what with your sordid history.”
Penny grinned. “My sordid past has indeed imbued me with a certain affinity for excitement. Now, I can assure you that I am well and truly retired — but also happen to know a few things. I know you loved stories as a boy; stories full of grand adventures. I remember that big boisterous imagination of yours.” She turned and offered him a rueful half-grin. “I’d like to tell you another one, if you’ve got a little time to listen.”
He feigned impatience, but she could tell she’d tickled his nostalgia nerve. He mirrored her grin. “Listen, you old crone, I got business to handle. If’n I listen to you prattle, it’s just because of pity.”
She laughed. “Always the tough guy, eh Jimmy? It doesn’t matter; you’re going to hear this whether you want to or not.
“Listen, you old crone, I got business to handle. If’n I listen to you prattle, it’s just because of pity.”
“This story starts about a year back. I was having trouble finding straight work after I gave up on lightening rich folks of their worldly burdens, but eventually, I found a job as a live-in nanny for an uptown family. It was fulfilling work and I was comfortable there, but the past always has a way of finding you, doesn’t it?”
When Chester showed up, I’d been the nanny in the Huxley household for about half a year. He came to me with an atrocious piece of costume jewelry. This was noteworthy first for the fact that it was poorly executed — we both know that Chester’s forgeries are the best in the business — but mostly because it was a copy of Mrs. Huxley’s prized sapphire necklace.
Mrs. Huxley had often, and pointedly, allowed me to see her place the necklace in a jewelry box that she prominently displayed on a dressing table, and she frequently bragged of its value.
Her soul was predictably sickened by the assorted afflictions of affluence: in addition to conspicuously showing me her jewelry, she took a miserly pride in explaining that she’d acquired the piece for a pittance from some hard-luck gambler. All perfectly legal, of course! How the necklace came to be in the seller’s possession prior to her purchase wasn’t any concern of hers, you see.
Chester’s visit got me feeling like I might not be in the Huxley’s employ for much longer — anyone with a bit of sense could see Mrs. Huxley’s hamfisted insurance scam being hatched from a mile away. He told me Mrs. Huxley expected the forgery to be delivered a week hence, and it came as no surprise when she dismissed me from her employ shortly after the delivery was scheduled. She’d hired a PI to look into my background, she explained, who’d discovered some of the minor crimes of my youth. Ancient stuff; embarrassing things from when you were still shoplifting from the bodega, Jimmy, but it was enough: she booted me without even a chance to say goodbye to the children. She’s a horrid wench.
Her soul was predictably sickened by the assorted afflictions of affluence
The wealthy never stop being impressed by their own ability to buy their way into and out of any fix. This leaves them blind to the real movers of the world, of course — the droves of everymen blending into the background. Among the Huxley’s faceless serfs was our friend Fitzy; Fitzy the PI, recently retained by Mrs. Huxley to investigate one suspicious nanny. He rang me up to offer his spare room; he suspected I was about to be homeless.
He’s a real pal. Aside from giving me a place to stay, he’d also gone out of his way to do some pro-bono investigation into his employer.
Fitzy discovered that after she’d dismissed me, Mrs. Huxley had moved her necklace into a safe deposit box, and contacted her insurer about purchasing a more valuable policy for it. She’d had quite a scare, you see, upon discovering that her low-birth nanny was a thief and scoundrel. She felt compelled to further protect her property from the scum of the world. She had not, however, deigned to inform the insurance company that the necklace currently resided in a bank vault — or that Chester’s copy was currently sitting on her dressing table. The insurer, none the wiser, scheduled an appraiser to visit the Huxley residence and evaluate the necklace for the new policy.
The appraiser spotted the forgery immediately. And the Huxleys, simply astonished to find a fake necklace in their collection, moved to collect on the original policy. That rogue nanny must’ve fled with their property, out of spite!
Don’t give me that look; everyone has a side hustle nowadays.
Now, this was a valuable contract. As you know, the insurers aren’t going to pay out for a high-value policy without first making an attempt to recover the missing property. You also know that asset recovery specialists must be skilled and knowledgeable in the art of thievery; it wasn’t such an astronomical coincidence, then, that little old Penny lucked into being the contractor the insurers hired to trace the stolen necklace.
Don’t give me that look, Jimmy — everyone has a side hustle nowadays. Anyway, here’s where it gets good: Chester is a proud man, and it pained him to have produced such a pitiful forgery. He wanted desperately to correct the error, but a convincing copy needs to have an original to crib from. I figured I owed him one, right? So I, uh, borrowed the original from the Huxley’s safe deposit box.
Chester needed about a month to complete the copy, so I dragged my feet on the ‘recovery’ while he worked.
The wait paid off. It was beautiful work; synthetic gems, obviously, but it would pass as real except under close scrutiny by an expert jeweler.
After returning the borrowed necklace to the Huxley’s box, I informed the police and the insurance company that I’d traced the necklace, safe and sound, to safety deposit box #2359 at Metropolitan Savings and Trust — a box, coincidentally, registered to the Huxleys. A convenient coincidence, you see, because with the scam collapsing, we didn’t even need a warrant to open the box. A befuddled Mrs. Huxley opened it when the police confronted her, and was simply shocked to discover her missing necklace.
I think I must be getting a bit careless as I age, though. Wouldn’t you know it — I goofed up and returned Chester’s fresh forgery to the Huxley’s box instead of the original. Chester wasn’t displeased by my slip-up, but I suspect his opinion might’ve changed if his work hadn’t passed so easily.
For my effort in tracing the Huxley’s the missing property, I walked away with 20% of the policy’s value and a hearty thanks from the insurance company. The Huxleys were left holding a second fake (which they think is real), and a voided insurance policy. It was such an embarrassing mixup! Mrs. Huxley, dear heart, had forgotten about moving the necklace into the safe deposit box and had somehow placed the costume jewelry copy that she’d had made for her daughter into her own jewelry box.
Jimmy drummed his fingers. “That’s a good story, Miss Penny, but you said you don’t have merch to move. So what’d you do with the real necklace?”
Penny stared into the distance and didn’t speak for several moments. Finally, she said “I’m sure you remember how you lost your eye.”
Jimmy rocked back on the bench. “I remember.”
“You remember, your mom and dad were dressed in their finest, and you, going out with them instead of being left behind with me, with the nanny; instead of being left behind like a child. You talked about it for a week leading up to that party. You were so excited.”
A tear clouded Jimmy’s eye. “I remember.”
“You remember your hard-luck uncle in the hospital, after the accident. He wasn’t there for you. He wasn’t there for your mom. Her necklace, though; he wanted that. Coveted that. He’d lusted after that damned thing since they were children, hadn’t he? Even before it belonged to your mother, when your grandmother told them both stories about her mother smuggling it out of Poland.”
“I remember it all, Penny. I remember the foster homes, I remember you falling in with the grifters and the conmen.
I remember you never left me behind.”
The sun had nearly set, and a soft evening breeze had started to rustle the leaves. The park was nearly empty now, and dusk’s somber embrace beckoned. Penny reached into her bag and drew out a wooden box. She handed it to Jimmy.
He opened it, and his decades of measured wise-guy grit fell away as he saw his mother’s necklace for the first time since the night she died.
She hugged him as he wept, and held him as night fell in the park.