The Lost Years

10

Lloyd and Lisa Scott, a couple in their late fifties, had been next-door neighbors of Jonathan and Kathleen Lyons for twenty-five years. Lloyd was a successful criminal defense attorney, and Lisa, a former model, had turned her love for jewelry into a business. She made her own designs in crystal and semiprecious stones for a long list of private clients. Some of her designs were the products of her imagination. Others were inspired by the beautiful gems she had collected from all over the world. Her personal collection was now worth more than three million dollars.

With his balding head, prodigious girth, and pale blue eyes, Lloyd seemed an unlikely match for his beautiful wife. After thirty years of marital bliss he sometimes still woke up at night and wondered what she saw in him. His great pleasure was to indulge her love for what he jokingly called her trinkets.

Agreeing that it was a nuisance to keep going back and forth to the safety-deposit box at the bank, they had recently installed a supposedly burglar-proof safe bolted to the floor of Lisa’s dressing-room closet, as well as a state-of-the-art alarm system.

The Scotts kept a pied-à-terre in Manhattan for their occasional overnights in New York for business or social events. But as Lloyd’s reputation and income had continued to grow, neither one of them had any real interest in leaving the handsome brick and stucco Tudor-style house that Lloyd had inherited from his mother. They liked their neighbors and the neighborhood. They had a view of the Ramapo Mountains from their back porch. They both were passionate travelers and preferred to spend their money on first-class accommodations all over the world, rather than on “McMansions or an oceanfront home in the Hamptons,” as Lloyd put it.

They were in Japan when they heard about Jonathan’s death and did not arrive home until the morning after the funeral. Knowing Kathleen’s condition so well, they both had been concerned that she might be involved in the tragedy.

As soon as they set down their bags in Mahwah that Saturday morning, they rushed next door. The bell was answered by a visibly distressed Mariah. She broke in on their attempts to offer condolences. “Two detectives are here,” she said. “They’re talking to Mom now. They called last night and asked to come and speak to us.”

“I don’t like that,” Lloyd snapped.

“It’s because she was alone with Dad that night…” Mariah’s voice trailed off as she tried to stay composed, but then she burst out, “Lloyd, it’s meaningless. Mom doesn’t even get it. She asked me why Dad didn’t come to breakfast this morning.”

Lisa looked at her husband. As she had expected, his face was settling into what she called his “take no prisoners” expression. Frowning slightly, his brow creased, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, he said, “Mariah, this is my territory. I don’t want to butt in, but whether your mother understands what’s going on or not, she should not be answering questions from the police without legal counsel. Let me sit in with you and be sure we keep her protected.”

Lisa cupped Mariah’s face in her hands. “I’ll see you later,” she promised as she turned to go.

It was a hot day even for August. Back in the house Lisa lowered the temperature on the air conditioner and walked to the kitchen, glancing into the living room as she passed it. It was in perfect order and the warm feeling that inevitably followed a vacation enveloped her. No matter how nice the trip was, and how much we enjoyed it, it’s always great to get home, she thought.

She made a decision not to nibble on anything. She’d skipped the breakfast snack on the plane, but she figured that when Lloyd got back they could have an early lunch. He’d be hungry too. Without looking, she knew the refrigerator had been stocked by their trusted housekeeper of twenty-five years. Again pushing back the urge to treat herself to something like a cracker and cheese, she retraced her steps to the foyer, picked up the carry-on bag that contained the jewelry she had traveled with, and went upstairs to the master bedroom.

She laid the bag on the bed, opened it, and removed the leather pouches containing the jewelry. At least this time I listened to Lloyd and didn’t bring as much as usual, she thought. But I sure wish I’d had the emeralds with me for the captain’s dinner on the ship.

Oh well.

She removed the rings and bracelets and earrings and necklaces from the pouches, spread them on the coverlet of the bed, and looked over them carefully, checking once again to be sure that everything she had taken with her had come back in the carry-on bag.

Then she transferred them to the tray on her vanity table, carried it into her dressing room, and opened the door of the closet. The steel safe, dark and formidable, was there. She tapped in the combination to unlock it and tugged at the door.

There were ten rows of drawers with various-shaped velvet-lined compartments. Lisa pulled out the top one, gasped, then frantically yanked out drawer after drawer. Instead of her beautiful and valuable jewelry sparkling up at her, she was staring at a sea of black velvet.

The safe was empty.