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    The Stolen Star: Mary MacDougall Mysteries, #2
    The Stolen Star: Mary MacDougall Mysteries, #2
    The Stolen Star: Mary MacDougall Mysteries, #2
    Ebook151 pages1 hour

    The Stolen Star: Mary MacDougall Mysteries, #2

    By Richard Audry

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    The second Mary MacDougall mystery novella…

    For neophyte sleuth Mary MacDougall, the holiday season is a flurry of activities—including the 1901 Gala Christmas Musicale, starring opera diva Josie Borrell. But when the celebrated sapphire that Josie wears for her performance goes missing, Mary is drawn into the hunt for the purloined gem.

    Did a master thief swoop into town to nick the Star of the North? Was it the lovelorn maid? The manager with money troubles? The foul-tempered chef? The pianist with the scandalous past? Or was it the famous singer herself?

    In the middle of all this tumult Mary has to cope with the unexpected appearance of the only man who has ever aroused her longing—and the lovely woman who seems to have captivated him.

    As she unpeels the layers of deceit and duplicity behind the Star’s disappearance, Mary juggles affairs of the head and of the heart, driving her practically mad. In the end, the matter of the stolen Star comes down to the simplest of clues. While the matter of the man she loves couldn’t possibly be more complex.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherConger Road Press
    Release dateJul 15, 2014
    ISBN9781513046990
    The Stolen Star: Mary MacDougall Mysteries, #2

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    • 4/5
      I won this from a Goodreads First Reads Giveaway.

      There were two stories in this book. They were both extremely easy to read, simple, fun stories. The first A Pretty Little Plot I enjoyed more than The Stolen Star. The second story I thought the ending was too abrupt.

    Book preview

    The Stolen Star - Richard Audry

    Chapter I

    THAT SUCH A TINY THING could arouse so much desire amazed Mary MacDougall.

    She had seen the Star of the North several times before. On those occasions, the magnificent sapphire had been resting below a wrinkled old neck. But tonight, it was going to glitter and glint upon a more generous and much younger bosom.

    Mary was in a dressing room at the back of the Lyceum Theatre in her hometown of Duluth, Minnesota. Standing before her was the international opera star Josephine Borrell, who was about to take the stage for the 1901 Christmas Gala Musicale. Hers was the bosom upon which the splendid gem would rest. In fact, the celebrated mezzo-soprano had come all the way from New York City primarily for the privilege of wearing the Star of the North.

    Two loud raps sounded on the dressing room door. Herbert Bradley, Miss Borrell’s manager, opened it and announced the arrival of the gem’s owner, Mrs. Ensign—she of the wrinkled old neck. The petite millionairess, cane in hand, tottered into the room and surveyed it as if she owned the place. The widow of a railroad tycoon, Mrs. Ensign was one the wealthiest women in the entire state.

    Following on her heels came Stanton, her butler, carrying a lockbox. Behind him a grim-faced policeman with a big revolver on his hip positioned himself just outside the door. The butler set the steel box down on the dressing table and unlocked it in a brisk, business-like way, then withdrew the rosewood case nested inside.

    Quite unexpectedly, Mrs. Ensign turned to Mary.

    My dear girl, will you please take out the Star and put it around Miss Borrell’s neck?

    Mary had been the singer’s escort around Duluth since Josie had arrived three days earlier. To Mary’s surprise, the two of them had hit it off splendidly. Even to the point that the singer asked Mary to call her by her nickname, rather than anything more formal. As imposing as the opera star may have appeared, at heart she seemed just a country girl from Cornwall. Mary hadn’t laughed so much in a long, long time.

    Of course, Mary answered, delighted to be so honored.

    She approached Stanton and lifted up the top of the case, revealing the sapphire glittering on blue velvet. She picked it up by the two ends of its exquisite platinum-and-diamond chain. Mary had thought the gem might be heavy, but it wasn’t. Walking around behind Josie, she gently placed the necklace around the singer’s neck and snapped the clasp shut.

    Josie was wearing a light blue satin gown with a low, rounded neckline. The sapphire lay on her smooth white skin, gleaming like a cobalt blue star. The mezzo-soprano gently adjusted it, then did a slight curtsy to show off the gem.

    Quite spontaneously, everybody in the crowded dressing room burst into applause.

    An inveterate showman, the beaming Herbert Bradley stepped to the center of the room and cleared his throat. Now it’s time for the gentleman from the newspaper to snap his photograph. Then Miss Borrell needs some privacy to warm up for the concert.

    The cameraman positioned Josie and Mrs. Ensign for the picture, which was to appear in the Sunday paper next morning. He lifted the big, boxy camera to his eye, and the instant he clicked the shutter, the flash went off with a loud pooof. After that, everyone but Josie and her maid Clara filed out of the dressing room.

    Out in the lobby, Mary weaved through the crowd until she found her father. John MacDougall looked quite handsome in white tie and tails, she thought. He should wear them more often. They proceeded to their seats in the fifth row, where Mrs. Ensign awaited them.

    Mary knew the wealthy widow quite well. The MacDougalls lived just blocks from her mansion, and Mary had visited it many times, usually to play with Mrs. Ensign’s granddaughter. The old lady had been very kind to Mary and her brother Jim after their mother’s death, those ten years ago. Despite her great wealth and sometimes overbearing manner, she was a very down-to-earth and good-natured person.

    Seated between the two MacDougalls, Mrs. Ensign leaned over toward Mary. I don’t think the Star of the North has looked so fine since I was quite a bit younger.

    You know, Mrs. Ensign, Mary said, I’ve never heard where Mr. Ensign found the sapphire.

    Looking happy to have a chance to tell the story, Mrs. Ensign launched into her account. My husband bought it for me back in ’62. It was just before he raised a company of men to join one of the New York regiments. He was a major, you know. We lived out in Brooklyn in those days and he had already done well investing in railroads.

    Did he buy the sapphire from a jeweler?

    From an English nobleman living on Long Island, who had served in the British government in India. He had somehow gotten hold of it back there, but he needed money in a hurry, and my husband had ready cash. The fellow, an earl or duke or some such, was anxious to part with it, in any event. His daughter had come down with cancer soon after he obtained it. He was convinced the jewel had a curse upon it.

    I’ve never believed in superstitions like that, Mary sniffed.

    Nor I, said Mrs. Ensign. Still, they say men died fighting over it back in India. Lives were ruined. But in my forty years of owning it, nothing bad has happened. My husband simply died of old age. Both my sons are prosperous and healthy. And when I pass, Florence will inherit it.

    Mary hadn’t seen Mrs. Ensign’s granddaughter in a couple of years, but even back then Florence was becoming a real beauty. The jewel would look wonderful on her.

    Just then, the chairwoman of the Musicale Committee of the Ladies’ Guild of Duluth took center stage and thanked the full house for coming. As a result of the nearly fourteen hundred tickets sold, she announced, many widows and orphans around town would receive food and shelter in the New Year.

    When Josie walked out to the front of the stage a few moments later—followed by her pianist, Maestro Leo Sárközy—she received a thunderous ovation. She positioned herself in the crook of the grand piano, with the train of her gown swept to one side. Even from a distance, the Star of the North sparkled in the spotlight, like something brilliant up in the firmament.

    As soon as the maestro was settled on the piano bench, Josie nodded. He began to play.

    Josie’s glorious, golden voice filled the hall with the first little song by Schubert. There were several more lieder by the Viennese master, then a handful by Wolf. Finally came Mahler folk songs. Every group of tunes received rapturous applause, some concertgoers even rising to their feet.

    During the intermission Mary and her father accompanied Mrs. Ensign out into the crowded lobby. The old lady stopped to talk to someone she knew, while Mary and her father squeezed through to the bar. He ordered a whiskey.

    That girl can surely sing a tune, can’t she? John MacDougall said admiringly. Her speaking voice gives you no idea of the magnificent noise she’s able to make.

    Josie told me that if it weren’t for Herbert Bradley, she’d still be singing solos in that church choir in Cornwall, Mary said. He’s the one who discovered her and supported her training in London. That was twenty years ago. To see them together, you’d sometimes think they were a bickering old married couple. But they’re really fond of each other.

    Her father smiled. "That’s a good description of a lot of marriages. Your mother and I were fortunate to be able to keep our tongues in check. Most of the time."

    As they returned to their seats, Mary saw that the piano had vanished from the stage. In its place, a number of chairs and music stands had been arrayed in a semi-circle, a podium and music stand at its center. Musicians were taking their places, and the maestro was leafing through the musical scores on the stand. Once the audience had settled in their seats, Josie came back out to more enthusiastic applause. She sang arias of Mozart, Bizet, Purcell, and Verdi, and was called back for an encore.

    Mozart’s immortal ‘Voi che sapete che cosa è amor,’ she announced from the stage, as she reached up to her chest and adjusted the spectacular Star of the North with her right hand.

    Mary chuckled under her breath. The gem needed no adjusting. Josie was just drawing attention to it again, like any good actress would.

    The aria was the perfect ending to the first part of the evening. A splendid banquet at the Hotel Spalding, honoring Josie and Mrs. Ensign’s jewel, was yet to come. And Mary was already looking forward to seeing the newspaper article and photo the next morning.

    She imagined that many folks, reading their Sunday paper, might never have heard of Josephine Borrell. But everyone in Duluth knew about the Star of the North. Mary did not believe in the supernatural. She did not believe in curses. But was there anyone out there, she wondered, who would risk ruin or doom to possess the gem? 

    Chapter II

    MARY SWAM UP OUT OF a deliciously dreamless slumber to a gentle joggling of her shoulder by someone’s hand.

    It’s time to get up, Mary, a firm voice said. You only have an hour to eat and dress before we’re off to church.

    Mary blinked her eyes open and, through a gauzy blur, saw Emma Beach looming above her. The tall, gray-haired housekeeper had her hands on her hips but was smiling. Emma was the one person in the world,

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