Chapter 1

Dale sat on a folding lawn chair behind a pair of card tables. He glanced around the community center where the Gem and Jewelry show was being staged. On the card tables were displays of sterling silver rings and pins, plus a locked case of gold items.

“Dale, how’s business?” asked a slender late-middle-aged woman tending the booth beside his.

“Hi, Stephanie. Not bad, the silver stuff is moving. I haven’t sold any gold pieces yet.”

“I was looking at them. They’re beautiful. Are they fourteen karat?”

“Eighteen,” Dale replied.

“I think they’re too rich for this crowd. How long have you been working in gold?”

“For about a year. I happened to score a box of quality older jewelry at an estate sale. That got me started.”

Stephanie glanced around the room at the crowd of guests. She nodded toward her left. “Do you see the one in the yellow sundress?”

“Yeah...”

“I’d keep an eye on her. She’s been around the floor twice.”

“I hope you’re not thinking she’s suspicious because she’s Black,” Dale replied. “A lot of folks have been around the floor three times already. There’s a lot to take in. Besides, she looks familiar but I can’t place her. Maybe that new weather-caster on channel five.”

“Alissa Winter? No, that’s not her.”

“Alissa Winter is quite a name for a weather-caster,” Dale remarked. “How about Autumn Winter?”

“I was at a show once and the next booth was a gal selling herbal preparations. Her name was Blossom ... Uh-oh, looks like she’s headed your way.”

Dale watched as she approached and began looking at gold rings in his locked case. He regarded her -- she was of medium height and build and wore a halter-top sundress with a floral print. Her complexion was the color of chocolate milk and her shoulder-length black hair was straight but coarse and tied in a ponytail. Her face was oval-shaped with prominent cheeks, wide-set dark brown eyes, a cute nose and a wide mouth with full lips.

“Can I take a look at that ring?” she asked, pointing into the case.

Dale retrieved his keyring from his pocket and unlocked the case. “This one?”

“Yes, is that a size six?”

“It is.” He handed the ring to her and she slipped it on her finger.

“It’s very pretty. You wouldn’t also have it in a size twelve, would you?”

“No -- these are all one-of-a-kind. I make them using a lost wax casting process so no two are alike.”

“Oh...” She handed the ring back to him and leaned over to take a closer look at what was in his case. “I wanted to get a pair of rings as an anniversary present for my parents. I wanted them to match.”

“I could make a pair,” Dale suggested. “They wouldn’t be exactly the same but they would definitely look like mates.”

“Hmm ... These all are very pretty and I see what you mean about being ones-of-a-kind. Do you think you could make something in a Celtic knot?”

“Celtic knot?”

“You know -- like Irish ribbon-work.”

“I don’t know -- I’m not too familiar with ribbon-work. When, by the way, is your folks’ anniversary?”

“Next month,” she replied.

“Early ... late next month?”

“The eighteenth.”

“That gives us about five weeks to come up with something. Let me do some research and make some sketches. You could come over and we could discuss options -- no obligation.”

“How much would something like that run?” she asked.

“In gold? Eighteen karat?” he asked.

“Yes, eighteen karat gold.”

Dale rolled his eyes in thought. “Probably around thirteen hundred.”

“Each?”

“No, for the pair.”

“That’s in my price range. All right.” She opened her bag and removed a business card and began writing on its back. “I’m putting down my cell number.” She handed him the card.

“Tiffany,” he said reading her name from the card. “I’m Dale.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dale. I’ll expect your call.” She turned and headed toward the center of the exhibition room. Dale’s gaze fell on her shapely calves as she walked away.

He scanned his case to check his inventory and then locked it.

“What was that about?” Stephanie asked from the adjacent booth.

“She wants to discuss making a matched pair of rings for her parents.”

“What do you make of her?”

“I think she’s cute,” he replied. “She has a pretty smile.”

“Is she legit?”

“I think so. She has poise and obviously is well-educated.” He handed Stephanie Tiffany’s card.

“Tiffany Coxx,” Stephanie read. “Press Secretary, Office of the Mayor.”

“That’s where I’ve seen her -- on the news. Whenever Jan Maarten holds a press conference, Tiffany is right beside her.”

“I understand Jan Maarten is running for Governor,” Stephanie remarked.

“She’d make a good one -- better than our current one, at least.”

“He sets a pretty low bar, don’t you think?” Stephanie replied. “I wonder if this state is ready for a lesbian governor.”

“I hadn’t heard that about Jan Maarten.”

“Those are the rumors.”

“They sound like the sort of disinformation rumors spread by our current less-than-illustrious Guv.”

Dale sat at his kitchen table with his sketch pad, refining details on a couple of ring designs. He heard his doorbell and stepped to the front door. Tiffany stood on his porch wearing a denim skirt and a light green blouse. Her hair was down, framing her face and cascading off her shoulders.

“Hi, Tiffany, good to see you again. Come on in.”

“This is a really nice place,” she remarked.

“It’s where I grew up. Actually my parents still own the place.”

“Where are they now?”

“They’re in a retirement condo in Florida. My mom especially was having harder and harder times with the cold during winter here. The mortgage is paid and as long as I cover the carrying costs and subsidize their condo a bit, I’m free to live here.”

“Do you have a family?” she asked.

“No, I’m single. No kids.”

“By choice?”

“Not by choice. I’m a widower.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tiffany replied. “How? If you don’t mind telling me.”

“About four years ago. She developed a very aggressive brain tumor. I still can’t believe how quickly she faded -- I think it was nine months between the diagnosis and her passing.”

“Dale, I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. What about you? Are you single? Attached?”

“I am single by choice,” she replied. “My job and now volunteering for Jan Maarten’s campaign occupy too much of my time.”

“That’s right -- I heard she was running for Governor. I admire what she’s done as mayor. She’d have my vote -- if I lived within city limits, that is.”

“She can have your vote for the primary ... and the general election, if she wins.”

“Then, she can count on mine. Come in and I’ll show you what I have for ideas for a pair of rings. He escorted her into his kitchen. “Have a seat.”

She pulled up a chair beside him and looked at his sketches. “You are a talented artist,” she remarked. “Do you do this full-time?”

“No, it’s just a hobby of mine. My day job is computer security consulting. I work from home.” He pointed to one of the sketches. “I was researching Celtic ribbon-work. It’s tricky because of all the over-under where the design crosses itself. Done right you can trace the ribbon from any starting point, over and under itself until you’re back where you started. It’s sort of like a Mobius strip. I’m afraid a ring based on ribbon-work is beyond my abilities.”

“I understand. I really wanted something that reads, Irish. Claddaghs have become so trite, in my mind at least.”

“Understood. Here is what I can do. I can make the ring hoops a basket-weave on the diagonal. These widen at the shoulder into a bezel, on which I could make a three-pointed Celtic knot. Or, I have some nice cabochon emeralds that I could set into the bezel.”

“How much would the emeralds add to the cost?” she asked.

“About six hundred for the pair.”

“And the rings without the stone?”

“About what I quoted at the show -- thirteen hundred total.”

“The emeralds put it out of my price range,” she replied.

“You’re buying gold at an inopportune time. The current price is about eighteen hundred an ounce and headed to over two thousand, I’m afraid. This time last year it was around eleven hundred.”

“Why the increase?” she asked.

“It’s the overall bull market -- all assets keep going up and up. Sooner or later we’ll have a sell-off and the price will drop back to something reasonable.”

She turned to his sketch. “The knot on the bezel and the basket-weave read Irish to me.”

“They will be unique. No one else will have anything like them.”

“I like that part of it, too. What’s the next step?”

“I’ll make originals out of wax and you can review them before I cast them out of gold.”

“How long will that take?”

“A week or so. I’ll give you a call when they’re ready.”

Dale’s doorbell rang. He answered it and admitted Tiffany into his foyer. She wore a gray jacket and matching skirt, a white blouse and sheer gray hose. Her hair was held back with a black headband.

“Hi,” she said. “I came straight from my office. Jan and I were working late on her campaign.”

“Come in,” he said. “Have you had dinner?”

“No, and I am starving. I worked through lunch today.”

He beckoned her into his kitchen, opened his freezer and removed a frozen pizza. “I can pop this in the oven and while it heats we can look at the rings.”

“Right now, that looks too good to pass up. My stomach is growling.”

He stripped off the plastic, set the pizza on a cookie sheet and slid it into his oven. “Follow me.” Dale led her down a flight of stairs to his basement shop.

She looked around. “Wow ... you have some equipment here.”

“The main investment for this work is the kiln and the vacuum chamber.” He took a small tray from a shelf and set it on his workbench. “There they are -- the wax originals.” Tiffany picked one up. “Don’t handle them too much -- your body heat could soften the wax.”

She set it back on the tray and regarded them closely. Dale handed her a hand magnifier and she peered through it. “Dale -- these are beautiful ... exactly the sort of design I had in mind. You truly are an artist in this medium. I’m blown away. Looking at these makes me feel all melty inside.” She looked into his eyes. “Thank you. What’s the next step?”

“If you approve...”

“Oh, I approve. I couldn’t ask for prettier rings.”

“Next step is casting them.”

“What does that involve?” she asked.

“I attach sprues to channel molten gold and pack them in a form with a refractory matrix. They go into a kiln to harden the matrix. The wax melts and flows out and then we pour in the gold.”

“Oh, I would very much like to watch that,” Tiffany interjected. “Could I?”

“Can you be here Saturday at ten AM?”

“I think I can be.”

“We should be ready for the gold by then. Let’s go check on the pizza.”

“Seeing those made me forget I’m so hungry.”

She followed him upstairs. Dale peered into his oven. “Almost ready.” He opened a wine fridge and removed a bottle. “Would you like some wine with pizza? This is a German Pinot Noir that I discovered.”

“Sure,” she replied.

Dale opened the bottle and poured a couple of glasses. He handed her one and they clinked rims.

Tiffany took a sip and lifted her face. “This is very nice.”

“It’s very food-friendly,” he remarked.

“My stomach is so empty it’s going straight to my knees.”

“Then let’s put something into that stomach of yours.” He removed the baking sheet and used a mezzoluna to cut the pizza into wedges. He placed some on plates and set one before her.

Tiffany took a bite. “Oh, this is just what I needed tonight. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. So, which anniversary are these rings for?”

“Their fiftieth,” she replied.

“Wait a minute ... how old are you? if I may ask, that is.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“You look younger. I thought you must have been ... what, twenty-four? At any rate, are you telling me your parents waited twenty-two years before having you?”