It Was a Gift - Judy Albietz

“That necklace with the shiny crimson beads…ah…it was the February before she died,” said Rosemary, one of Diedre’s friends from the elementay school where they taught. Lindsey and Rosemary were seated across from each other in Rosemary cheery living room, where the older woman had agreed to meet and talk with Lindsey about the dead woman. Lindsey had asked if there was anything unusual that had happened before Diedre’s death.

“I’m glad someone is looking into this, I mean, what you’re doing—research on why Diedre killed herself. I can’t imagine why…the police said she was depressed…no… I never saw any of that. You know, she loved the children…can’t believe she left them that way...” said Rosemary, a plump, round-faced woman with tears forming behind her thick lenses.

As Lindsey looked over her notes, she silently forgave herself for telling Rosemary she was a researcher, and not mentioning the attorney part. It’s no secret that people don’t trust attorneys and Lindsey wanted to learn as much as she could about Diedre.

After taking off her bifocals and wiping her eyes, Rosemary continued, “You know, that day, the day with the necklace, Diedre had laughed as she told me it was a Valentine’s Day gift. She didn’t say, but obviously, from her husband. I remember that morning. I was setting up my chairs like I’ve done every morning for 20-odd years when Diedre came in to show the gift to me. She took it out of a pretty box and put it on. She called it something. I think she said it was her “blood-red collar.” I mentioned all this to the police investigator, but he didn’t seem to think it important. I could tell he thought I was just a dotty old third-grade teacher.”

“So she wasn’t wearing the necklace when she came to work?” Lindsey asked, as she watched a new worry line form on Rosemary’s forehead. “Isn’t that odd?”

“Shoot, that doesn’t mean anything—you know... would you like some more coffee?” Rosemary said as she sat forward in her brown and gold stripe wing chair and reached for her coffee cup.

“No, I’m good.…hmmmm….so, did her husband often give her presents?” Lindsey asked.

“No, that was the only one I knew about.”

“So what was her husband like?” Lindsey asked.

“I don’t know. I never met him. Over the two years I knew Diedre, he never came out to the school. He was out of town a lot —traveling for work, you know. Mind you, she never complained. One thing I didn’t tell the police—because it didn’t seem important—but if you’re asking for changes—there was one change I noticed in the months before her death: Diedre started going to movies by herself when he was traveling. She talked about the new movies she had seen. Now, I also go to the movies by myself—I suggested we meet up there sometime, but never did.”

The room was silent except for the cozy sounds of several clocks ticking away in the room. Lindsey cupped her coffee cup in her hands and sat back on the floral print couch.

Rosemary broke the silence, “Lindsey, dear, now that I think of it—there was another thing about that necklace. That day—before she left for home—I passed by her classroom and saw Diedre taking that necklace off. She put it back in the box and tucked it away in her purse.”