Chapter 8 — Piecing Together the Accident
Robert looked closer at the velvet interior of the jewelry box.
He pointed a finger toward the right corner of the container.
Notice the hinge right there, Mom.
Beatrice peered into the box.
The brass hinge on the lid was noticeably worn on one side.
The screw securing the small metal plate was slightly crooked.
Robert nudged the lid back and forth with his thumb.
The entire lid wobbled on its mount whenever it opened past a certain angle.
Beatrice stared at the loose brass fitting.
I meant to tighten that screw last week.
Robert nodded slowly.
If you shut the lid in a hurry this morning, what would happen?
Beatrice thought back to her morning routine.
The doorbell had rung just as she was putting the pearls away after breakfast.
She remembered rushing across the room.
She dropped the necklace into the tray and slammed the lid shut with a fast, heavy motion.
The momentum of the slamming lid could easily bounce lightweight jewelry off the edge.
Especially if the latch caught unevenly on the worn brass frame.
Chloe wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.
She watched the two adults examine the vintage box.
The pearls were feather-light when they were coiled up together.
A sudden jolt could easily launch them across the polished mahogany top.
Robert tested the theory by tapping the side of the box with his index finger.
The loose lid rattled sharply against the wooden rim.
The vibration traveled straight down through the base of the vanity.
Beatrice crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
I slammed it shut because the delivery driver was walking away from the porch.
She looked from the box to the narrow gap behind the heavy carved mirror.
The trajectory matched the physical layout of the desk perfectly.
A fast snap of the lid would project a lightweight strand directly toward the vertical wooden wall.
The pearls would slide right off the smooth mahogany surface into the dead space behind the frame.
Chloe looked up from her chair.
I told you I didn’t touch your box, Grandma.
Beatrice did not answer right away.
She walked back over to the vanity and ran her hand along the back edge of the mirror base.
Robert reached down and picked up the pearl necklace from the desk where he had laid it earlier.
He held the smooth strand up to the light coming through the bedroom window.
Every bead was intact.
None of the silk knots between the pearls showed any signs of pulling or strain.
It was a clean slide, not a violent tug.
Beatrice sighed heavily, the tension finally draining from her shoulders.
She looked down at the empty velvet slot inside the box.
Then she looked at the dust smudge on the wooden mirror frame where Robert had pulled the necklace out just moments before.