The Key in the Attic (8 page)

Mary Beth only shrugged, but she smiled too.

“Whatever happens,” Annie assured her, “we’re behind you. Oh, and I just missed my exit.”

This time Mary Beth laughed. “Don’t worry. That antique shop isn’t going anywhere.”

“I know, but maybe our next clue will be there. I’m dying to find out.”

“Just don’t get too excited. Getting there a few minutes sooner or later isn’t going to make any difference, and it’s sure not worth a speeding ticket.”

“I’m not speeding.” Annie gave her a mischievous grin. “But my mind and heart are racing.”

Mary Beth’s eyes sparkled. “Mine too. I can’t wait to find out if that key fits.”

8

Park Cambridge Antique Shoppe was one of a row of fashionable antique stores. Annie couldn’t help smiling when she walked into it. Everything was set up as if the store was actually a home from the distant past. Antique kitchens were fully stocked. Antique bedrooms contained beds that were covered with delicate linens, perfectly preserved, and washstands with pitchers, and shaving brushes and mugs, and dressing tables with fine crocheted doilies and grand old perfume bottles and old costume jewelry. She could have spent hours exploring. Unfortunately, the visit lasted only as long as it took for them to talk to the manager, a girl who looked as if she was too young to be doing more than taking orders at the local Burly Boy’s. But she was friendly and professional, and she seemed to know her business.

“Oh yes,” she said with a flash of perfect teeth, “I do remember that desk. Beautiful old piece. I didn’t think it would last long here, but I didn’t even get it unloaded before someone bought it.”

Mary Beth’s shoulders sagged.

“Already?” Annie asked. “Is it possible to find out who?”

The girl looked at her warily. “We’re really not supposed to say.”

“We don’t want you to get in trouble, but it’s very important. My friend here used to own the desk. Until a couple of weeks ago, in fact. It’s been in her family at least since the 1860s. Anyway, she sold it to Kelsey’s Odds and Ends, and he’s the one who sold it to you. We think there might be some important family papers in the desk. All we want to do is check.”

The girl looked at her sharply. Then her face softened, and she gave Annie one of the many business cards paper clipped to her order book. “I’m sure he just bought it to flip it anyway.”

Mary Beth frowned. “Flip it?”

“Turn around and sell it again right away,” the girl explained. “It happens a lot in our business, especially if he’s planning to take it to New York, or if he already has a buyer for it.”

There was worry in Mary Beth’s eyes. “Oh Annie, you don’t think he’s already sold it again, do you?”

“Don’t worry now.” Annie gave her an encouraging smile. “Even if he did, we can trace it down again. Don’t worry.”

They thanked the girl and headed back to the car.

“Where now?” Mary Beth asked. “Is the next shop close?”

Annie squinted at the miniature map on the back of the business card. “Not really.”

****

Annie glanced at the address on the business card one last time and then pushed open the door. Frank Sanders’s Antiques and Oddities was an overcrowded little storefront on a side street far from Park Cambridge’s exclusive neighborhood. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how the merchandise was laid out, but it was fascinating all the same. A pair of men’s boots that must have been over a hundred years old were sitting in a cut-glass punch bowl. One of them was topped with a rag doll with an embroidered face and yarn hair. Judging from the faded and yellowed fabrics, it could have been made about the same time as the boots. The other boot supported a ladies’ coal-scuttle bonnet trimmed in silk ribbons that must have once been vivid crimson. It didn’t look a day over a hundred and thirty.

The whole shop was a jumbled heap with what looked like costly pieces obscured by trinkets that had nothing to recommend them except their age.

Mary Beth looked around warily. “I don’t see the desk.”

“It could be anywhere in this mess.” Annie went a little further into the shop. “Hello? Anybody here?”

She and Mary Beth waited a moment. Then Mary Beth came a little closer to Annie.

“He shouldn’t leave all this unattended. Some of it looks really valuable.”

“Hello?” Annie called again. “Mr. Sanders?”

“I suppose it’s possible the owner or manager isn’t actually Mr. Sanders. This place looks like it’s been here a long time. Maybe the name’s just been passed down.” Mary Beth fingered a dish towel that had been embroidered with the word “MONDAY” and a picture of a washtub that looked like it might be from the 1930s. “I’d go crazy if my place was this disorganized. How does he even know what he has for sale? I can’t imagine what he must be like himself.”

Annie grinned a little. She couldn’t help picturing Frank Sanders as a stooped, sixtyish little man in a snagged sweater of some indefinable color. He should have Coke-bottle glasses and Albert Einstein hair,—maybe with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and wearing one of those old-time green eyeshades. She was thinking of stereotypical pawn shop managers, but still—

“May I help you?”

Annie and Mary Beth both turned at the low, cultured voice.

“We’re looking for Frank Sanders,” Mary Beth said.

The man smiled. “I’m Frank. What can I do for you?”

He was not very tall, likely in his mid-thirties, neatly groomed and wearing a sports coat with an open-neck shirt. He was too bland and geeky to be handsome, but he seemed pleasant enough.

Annie returned the smile. “We just came from Park Cambridge Antiques. The young lady there said you recently bought a cherry writing desk from her. We think it was made sometime around 1850. Does that sound familiar?”

The man nodded, his thick, sandy hair nodding with him. “Oh yeah. I remember that one very well, but it’s not for sale. I’ve been looking for a piece like that for a long time now. The 1850s and ’60s are a special interest of mine, and that one’s going home with me. But I have plenty of other things I could show you.”

“No, thank you. But would it be possible for us to just see the desk for a minute?”

Sanders still smiled, but he looked a little wary now. “See it?”

Mary Beth held out her hand. “My name is Mary Beth Brock. That desk has been in my family since before the Civil War.”

He took the hand she offered and released it quickly. “I’m sorry, Ms. Brock, but my understanding is that you sold that desk outright. Janet at Park Cambridge sold it to me. I really couldn’t think of selling it back.”

“No, no, and I wouldn’t ask that of you. I just think I might have left some family papers in it and was hoping you’d let us have a look.”

“Papers?” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. Janet didn’t mention any papers.”

“I don’t even know if there are any papers,” Mary Beth admitted. “But I’d like to check.”

His smile brightened. “Oh well, of course.”

“Don’t forget the key,” Annie prompted, and Mary Beth immediately started rummaging in her purse.

“We, um, found an old key we think goes to that desk, and we’d like to see if it fits.”

“No problem.” Sanders motioned for them to follow as he walked toward the back of the shop. “But it’s not locked.”

“Yes, I know. It was never locked as far as I know, not in my lifetime anyway, and I think I took everything out of it before I sold it. Since I have the key now, at least what I think might be the key, I just want to make sure I haven’t missed anything.”

“Sounds fair enough.”

Sanders led them through an office that was even more cluttered than the shop and back into a warehouse area. It was amazingly neat and well ordered. Annie gave Mary Beth a “Who knew?” glance, but she managed to hold her tongue. The desk was near the loading dock.

“There she is. I was about to put it into my truck.” Sanders looked sympathetic. “I have to tell you, though, I went over it pretty thoroughly after I bought it. Some of these pieces have the most interesting little drawers and cubbies. Everything in this one was empty.”

Annie and Mary Beth both started examining the desk, opening drawers and cabinet doors. As he said, and as they had suspected, it was empty. The only keyhole was to a lock on a cabinet door on the right side of the desk. It was maybe five inches square.

“At least try the key,” Annie suggested.

Mary Beth fumbled with the little brass key, but it fit into the hole with a minimal amount of wiggling. In another moment there was a gratifying click, and the door was locked. With another click, it opened again. It was still empty.

Mary Beth sighed.

Sanders pointed to the open cabinet. “I suppose you checked in the back in there.”

“In the back?” Mary Beth and Annie said at the same time.

“Sure.” Sanders reached in and, with a little jiggling, worked free a well-fitted false back inside the cabinet, revealing another cubbyhole behind it. “I’ve seen a number of these old beauties with hidden spaces.”

“A deeper secret place,” Mary Beth whispered.

Sanders’s smile turned a little puzzled. “What?”

“Nothing, really.” Annie felt inside. “It certainly is empty.”

Mary Beth looked at Annie. “I don’t know whether to be happy or sad. It’s nice to know this is the right key, I guess. But the next clue—”

“Probably gone a long time ago.” Annie patted her arm. “Oh well, it was fun anyway.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for. If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”

Mary Beth nodded.

“And if you have any other great pieces from this period, I’d love to take a look at them. As you can see, I like a big variety.”

Annie laughed. “I don’t know how you keep track of everything you have. Or how your customers find anything.”

“It’s my own personal business theory. Let the customers uncover things for themselves. A shopping adventure. A treasure hunt, if you will.” Sanders grinned, and for a minute he almost looked charming. “Everybody loves a treasure hunt.”

Annie glanced at Mary Beth, and they both giggled.

“I suppose they do.” Mary Beth glanced at the little brass key she still held, and then she handed it to Sanders. “I guess you’d better have this too. I don’t need it anymore.”

“Thanks.” He slipped it into his pocket. “Now, Ms. Brock, tell me about those other pieces you have from this same period.”

“Not much of anything, I’m afraid. Some china, a mantel clock, an end table. I think the desk was really the nicest one, though the others are pretty enough.”

He took a business card from his inside jacket pocket. “Next time you decide to sell something, you call me first.”

“Well …”

“Promise?” Again he gave Mary Beth his almost-charming smile. “I guarantee you the best prices.”

Mary Beth took the card, relenting. “
If
I decide to sell, I promise I’ll give you a call.”

“See you soon!” he called as they left the shop.

****

Mary Beth was surprised to find that “soon” for Frank Sanders meant at six thirty the next evening.

“Mr. Sanders. I really didn’t expect—”

He squinted a little in the late-day sun as he stood there on her front porch. “I hope you’ll forgive me, Ms. Brock, but I was out this way, and I thought I’d take a chance and see if you might be in.”

She knew she hadn’t given her address or anything. How in the world—?

“How did you find me?”

Sanders looked a little sheepish. “I just looked up your name on the Internet. You were the only one in the area where Bob Kelsey would be doing business. I figured it had to be you.”

“I see.”

“So … may I come in? I’d love to see those other pieces you were telling me about yesterday.”

“Well, I really have plans.”
Plans to
not
let an unexpected stranger into the house.
“If I decide to sell any of my things, I’ll make sure to let you know first.”

“Just for a minute.” He gave her an ingratiating smile. “I wasn’t going to stop, and I know I should have called ahead. I don’t get out this way often, and I just couldn’t help myself. I promise not to keep you.”

“Well… .”

“Just for a minute,” he wheedled. “I love the period just before the Civil War, and your desk is such a great example of it. I just want a peek at the other things you have.”

Mary Beth looked at him for a long minute, and then she exhaled. “Let me just make a quick phone call.”

“Great. Thanks.”

She hurried inside and speed-dialed Annie’s number.

“Hi. It’s Mary Beth. I thought you’d be here by now.”

Of course, Annie sounded puzzled. “You did?”

“Yeah, you’re on your way, aren’t you?”

“What’s going on?”

Mary Beth smiled and nodded at her unexpected visitor though the screen door. “No, of course we’re not going to cancel, Annie. Mr. Sanders from the shop in Portland just dropped by to see what else I had from my great-great-grandmother. I just figured you were running a little late and wanted you to know there was no hurry.”

“You mean you want me to come over as soon as I can, right?” There was concern in Annie’s voice. “Are you OK?”

“Oh sure. I’ll see you in a few minutes then.”

9

Mary Beth hung up the phone and opened the door for Frank Sanders.

“I don’t want to spoil your plans.” He smiled, already focused on the end table with the lions on it. “This is great. Judging by the age of it, I’d say you must have gotten this from your great-great-grandmother as well. What would you take for it?”

“I don’t think I want to sell it right now,” Mary Beth told him. “As I said before, I’ll let you know when I’m ready.
If
I’m ever ready.”

He laughed. “You have to excuse me, Ms. Brock. Sometimes I find a piece that just speaks to me. May I move these things off of it?”

Mary Beth cleared the table for him, and he spent some time examining it. She didn’t feel he needed to know about the opening in the pedestal. By the time he was looking at her mantel clock, Annie was at the door.

“Annie! Come in.” Mary Beth half dragged her into the living room. “You remember Mr. Sanders from yesterday, don’t you?”

Annie offered him her hand. “Of course. What a surprise, Mr. Sanders.”

He chuckled. “That’s what Ms. Brock said. But I hope she’s forgiven me for dropping in on her. You know, this clock is fabulous.” He fished a little digital camera out of his coat pocket. “And I’d like to get a couple of pictures, if you don’t mind.”

Of all the things passed down to her, Mary Beth had always been proudest of the clock in particular. It was made of cherry wood like the desk and was rectangular in shape, only about fifteen inches high and ten inches wide. The clock face was round, centered in the top half of the clock as if it were the sun shining down on a forest glade. It even had little rays coming out from it, widening as they came closer to the ground. The pendulum was in the shape of a small dove that looked as if it were flying over the carved grass and flowers, and peeping out of the foliage were a tiny rabbit and two squirrels. At the bottom, a doe lay watching as her twin fawns slept against her. On either side of the clock and going around to the back, were sturdy carved oaks, and here and there, birds nesting in the leafy branches. Below everything was a base of solid wood, about three inches high, delicately inlaid with teak and mother-of-pearl. It was a work of art.

Sanders examined it and took pictures from all sides, and with Mary Beth’s reluctant permission, he even took the back off to look at the works.

“It’s obviously from the mid-1800s like the other things. Gorgeous carvings, and it’s still in amazing condition too.”

He quoted her a nice price.

Mary Beth glanced at Annie. “No, I don’t think so. I want to hang on to this, even if I have to sell some other things.”

Sanders nodded. “It’s a one of a kind, for certain. I know about a few woodcarvers from this period, but it doesn’t look like the work of anyone I’ve seen. It keeps good time?”

“Excellent. I set all my other clocks by it.”

He increased his offer by half, but Mary Beth shook her head. “I’m sorry. No. This clock has been in my family for over a hundred years. I can’t let it go.”

He gave her a hard glance and then doubled his most recent offer.

Mary Beth bit her lip. It was tempting. So tempting.

“No,” she said finally. “I just can’t. I appreciate it, but no.”

“Too bad.”

Sanders looked disappointed, but he seemed in no hurry to leave. He still studied the clock, jotting down notes to himself about the carvings and the works.

“I’m going to see if I can find out more about whoever made this.”

“If you do, I’d love to know about it,” Mary Beth told him. “I’ve always wondered.”

He was bold enough to help himself to the rest of the living and dining room, commenting on various items he found there, offering to buy a few pieces, but eventually Mary Beth herded him toward the door. “I appreciate your generosity, but, really, I don’t want to sell anything right now.”

“Too bad,” Sanders said again, “but you know how to reach me if you do.”

With a nod at Annie, he finally left.

Mary Beth locked her door behind him and then sank down on the couch. “Sorry to put you in a spot like that, Annie, but thanks for coming.”

“He just showed up and wanted to come in?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m sure he’s harmless enough, but I didn’t really want to let him in knowing I was here by myself.”

Annie sat down beside her. “I’m glad I could help you out. He sure did like your clock, but who could blame him?”

Mary Beth grinned. “It is a beautiful old thing, isn’t it?”

“He offered a pretty good price for it too.”

“I know.” Mary Beth frowned. “I just couldn’t sell it. Even his last offer would be only enough to postpone the inevitable. And if I have to lose the shop, I don’t want to lose the last of my heirlooms as well.”

Annie hesitated for a moment. “How are things going with the shop?”

Mary Beth shook her head, afraid for a moment she might cry, but she managed a smile instead. “Nothing’s changed. Either I find a miracle by the end of next month or Stony Point gets a Burly Boy’s Burger Barn.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

She knew Annie meant it, that she’d help however she could, if she possibly could. Too bad it wasn’t that simple.

“Just keep praying for that miracle.”

“I’ve been doing that all along.” There was a twinkle in Annie’s emerald eyes. “All of us have.”

“For now, how about having a cup of coffee with me? It’s the least I can do after dragging you over here without a moment’s notice.”

“Thanks, but I really don’t have time to—” Annie frowned at the clock on the mantel. “I think it’s stopped.”

Mary Beth growled half under her breath. “That little pip-squeak. What did he do? That clock never stops.”

She went to the mantel, gave the clock’s pendulum a gentle push and was rewarded with a satisfying ticking sound.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to mess it up,” Annie soothed. “You saw how interested he was in it. ‘Fascinated’ might be a better word.”

Mary Beth came back to the sofa and sat down. “I’m sure you’re right. I could tell he was trying to be careful when he looked at it, even if he did practically take the thing apart. But, still, he shouldn’t—”

The clock wasn’t ticking any more.

Mary Beth bit her lip, figuratively biting her tongue at the same time. “OK, one more try.”

She started the clock again. It managed a few strong ticks and then fell silent.

“Why don’t we take it down from the mantel and look it over?” Annie suggested. “If the mechanism is over a 150 years old, it can’t be very complicated.”

They did just that, but neither of them could find anything wrong.

“It doesn’t look as if anything is broken.” Mary Beth moved the light a little closer to the back of the clock. It was the one she used for fine needlework, and it was bright and clear—perfect for the task. “It does look a little dusty in there.”

“Maybe a good cleaning and a tune-up is all it needs.”

Mary Beth shook her head. “I’m sure you’re right. I guess it’s going to have to sit still for a while until I can get it looked at by a real clockmaker.”

“I tell you what,” Annie said. “I’m supposed to go into Brunswick on Friday. How about letting me take it with me to the clock shop there? They’ll probably want to keep it for a week or two, but I know they’ll do a good job. I’ve taken some of Gram’s things there for repairs in the past. Mr. Malcolm is a genius with antiques.”

“You know I can’t do it right now, Annie.”

“I know you have the shop open during the day. That’s why I’ll be happy to take it for you.”

“I appreciate it, but it’s not the lack of time that’s the problem. I wish it was only that.”

“Oh.” Annie looked a little flustered. “Listen, I know what this clock means to you. Why don’t you let me take it in? My treat.”

“Do you know what repairs on these things cost?”

“I have a pretty good idea. I had to get some of Gram’s things fixed too. Come on, Mary Beth. Let me do one nice thing for you.”

“This isn’t the same thing as springing for lunch, you know. It might cost three or four hundred dollars to fix it.” Mary Beth frowned, thinking of Frank Sanders. “Besides, you’re not the one who broke it.”

“I don’t think it’s really broken. Just out of whack somewhere. And like you said, it does need cleaning. When was the last time somebody looked at it?”

“Never,” Mary Beth admitted. “Not since I’ve had it anyway. I know it could use some fixing up, but I can’t let you pay for it. It’s too expensive.”

She felt herself weakening though. She did love the clock, and it would be so nice to have something good happen right now.

“An heirloom like that ought to be taken good care of.” Annie put her arm through Mary Beth’s and squeezed tightly. “Come on, let me take it. If you have to, you can pay me back when you’re rich and famous.”

Mary Beth swallowed hard. Then, with a laugh, she pushed free and stood up, blinking hard. “Annie Dawson, you are
not
going to do this to me. You’re not going to make me cry over that dumb clock.”

“You know this isn’t about the clock, which certainly isn’t dumb, by the way.” Annie looked at her almost reprovingly. “You don’t realize how much we all love you, and you ought to. You’re worth every bit of it.”

Mary Beth looked down at the table, knowing her face was flushed, but unable to decide if it was from embarrassment or pleasure. Maybe it was a little of both.

“Now,” Annie said softly. “You’re going to let me take your clock with me on Friday, right?”

“No, really, Annie. You’re so sweet to offer, but I can’t let you spend that much. It’s crazy.”

Annie thought for a minute. “What if I just take it for an estimate? I’m going to be right there anyway. The worst that could happen is that I’ll bring it back to you like it is. No harm, no foul, right?”

Mary Beth nodded her head, laughing. “Just an estimate. I mean it.”

Annie grinned.

****

As planned, Annie took the clock to Brunswick on Friday. Mr. Malcolm at the repair shop was almost as fascinated with the clock as Frank Sanders had been. The estimate he gave her for repairs and cleaning was fairly broad and contingent on what he found when he made a detailed examination, but he told her he would call when they had more specific information, and if she decided to proceed, she would probably be able to pick up the clock in two weeks.

When she got back home to Grey Gables, Alice rushed out of the carriage house next door to meet her.

“You’ll never believe what happened. Mary Beth’s house was broken into.”

“No!” Annie scrambled out of her car. “As if she didn’t have enough to worry about. Poor thing. Is she all right?”

“Hanging in there. She was at the shop, of course, so she didn’t know until she got home. Her window was broken out, the one by the back door in her dining room. Whoever it was just let himself in.”

“Did he clean out everything?”

“It’s funny. Mary Beth says there wasn’t anything taken that was worth much—a pack of soft drinks from the fridge, a box of cookies and a couple of bags of chips and her CD player and DVD/VCR. I don’t remember what else. Not much.”

Annie scowled. “Kids, I bet. Poor Mary Beth—everything seems to be happening to her right now. Do you think she could use some company?”

“We can always call up and ask. Maybe we could take over a few things and make a little dinner party for her. It might cheer her up.”

Annie smiled. “It won’t hurt to ask. Come inside, and let’s see what she says.”

Annie called right away; Mary Beth sounded exhausted and a little overwhelmed, but she seemed glad for the company and the knowledge that she wouldn’t have to worry about fixing anything for herself for dinner.

“Well,” Annie said once she had hung up the phone, “that’s settled. Now what can we make to cheer up Mary Beth?”

****

Mary Beth was just finishing tidying up her ransacked kitchen and living room when her doorbell rang. She glanced at her dining room table, checking to see that the three place settings had the appropriate number of knives and forks and spoons, and that a crisp spring-pink napkin was folded beside each plate. The only real tangible reminder of the break-in was the gap on her living room shelf where her CD and DVD players had once sat and the broken dining room window. Wally had made her laugh when he came to board it up, asking her if he should set up a regular glass-replacement appointment for her from here forward.

She was trying to be thankful that the break-in was no worse, but piled on top of everything else, it was hard to do. Annie and Alice would cheer her up, though. And both of them were terrific cooks.

“Coming!”

She flung open the door and stopped short.

“Mr. Sanders.”

“Yeah, I know. Twice in the same week is a little bit much.” He shrugged and smiled. “I don’t mean to be a pest, but I was in Stony Point again, and I thought I’d take another look at your clock. I think I have the maker narrowed down to one of three from that era in Virginia, but there are a few details I wanted to make sure I got right. And I’d like to check for some particular maker’s marks too.”

Mary Beth pressed her lips together and dredged up a regretful smile. “I’m sorry, but the clock isn’t here right now. And this really isn’t a good time. I’m expecting company.”

He followed her glance through the living room to the dining room table. His eyes widened when he noticed the boarded up window.

“Oh man. What happened to your window?” He looked around the living room a little more. “A break-in?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Then the clock was stolen?”

“No, I’m thankful to say, my friend Annie took it to Brunswick for repairs.”

He looked relieved. “Well, that’s good news. It would be a shame to lose something like that. You didn’t have any of your other antiques stolen, did you?”

“No,” she assured him, amused in spite of herself by his single-mindedness. “And I will absolutely call you first if I decide to sell any of them.”

They both turned when Alice’s red Mustang pulled into the driveway.

“There’s my company.” She waved toward the car. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Sure.” He padded down the porch steps. “But you’ll let me know, right?”