Second Chance at Love

by Joanna Campbell Slan

“Something useful,” said Skye.

  “Something practical,” said MJ. She got up, ran out to her car, and came back with a wrapped gift box.

  “It’s from both of us,” Skye repeated as MJ handed me the package. I ripped off the paper to find a cast-iron frying pan.

  CHAPTER 76

  I wasn't sure what to think, but when I looked up, MJ and Skye were both grinning at me.

  “We took a vote,” said Skye. “It’s unanimous. That rat Dominic deserved it. We bought this in case you need to whop someone again.”

  My mouth twisted into a smile. I took the pan out of the box and lifted it for inspection. It was a nice cast iron skillet. Heavy, too. A variety of emotions roiled up, but mostly I felt grateful that these two women had accepted me, warts and all.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I'll use this proudly.”

  “Better take it upstairs,” said MJ, “before Skye decorates it. Otherwise it could be sold by mistake when we're open for business.”

  Skye laughed and I did, too.

  Holding the black weapon of male destruction in both hands, I climbed the stairs and carried it to my unit. Reverently, I set it down on my card table so I could admire the thought behind the gift.

  One of the most powerful aspects of friendship is the alleviation of loneliness. When another person indicates that they understand us, that we are no longer alone, there's an expansion of joy in our chests, a feeling like no other. All of us live in solitary confinement, waiting for a friend to appear and set us free. Etched on the key that welcome rescuer holds are these words: I understand you.

  Jack barked at me when he realized I was leaving again. “Sorry, puppy. There’s going to be a lot of activity downstairs. You’ll be safer up here.”

  A bit of sunlight filtered down through the pieces of plywood nailed over the window.

  “Want to sit in the sun? Let me move your box next to the card table. Now it’s half in the sun and half in the shade. How’s that?”

  Jack barked and whined. “Sorry, pal. It's for your own good. Honest. I'll come back in a couple of hours and let you out. How's that?”

  His ears perked up, and his tail started wagging.

  Every day he showed a little more personality. At first, he'd been subdued, but who could blame him after being tossed out of a car window? Although we were still getting used to each other, my pet was proving himself to be a winsome charmer who wanted nothing more than to be cuddled.

  “Your mission, Jack, should you decide to accept it is to guard our home. Humble as it is.”

  His bulging brown eyes seemed to say, “Lady? Do I look like a guard dog?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, buddy, you do look like a guard dog. You've got courage. Now be good.” With a smile on my face, I trotted down the stairs. “Who's ready to go to the flea market?”

  MJ had warned us to dress down. She explained that we could negotiate better prices if we looked like didn't we had two cents to rub together. While she had on a pair of faded jeans and a sloppy tee, Skye wore jeans a size too big and a shirt advertising a bowling alley. My wardrobe didn't change. I didn’t have any other choices.

  I handed each woman an envelope. “There's $500 in there.”

  “Don't you want us to check with you before we buy something?” Skye blinked in confusion.

  “Nope. I trust both of you. I figure if you have your own cash, we can spread out and go separate ways. Cover more ground.”

  “Okay,” said Skye. She used the back of her hand to wipe her eyes, but I could see the tears.

  The Stuart flea market sprawled over several acres. Hundreds of vendors occupied tents and tables. The volume and variety of merchandise was astonishing. My friends and I agreed to meet back at my car in an hour. There we would review what we had bought and discuss what else we wanted to buy, if anything. If our scavenger hunt proved particularly successful, I would make a trip back to the store to unload things and give Jack a potty break.

  “Let's review,” said MJ. “We're searching for items that we can markup that have a beachy but classy vibe.”

  “Remember that we can do consignment if necessary. We also want to concentrate on filling certain price points.” I handed index cards to MJ and Skye. “After walking around in downtown Stuart, I noticed these are typical price points. I can't help but think they represent merchandise that sells. I'm not saying we need to stick to these, but it might be helpful to consider them.”

  MJ added, “Snatch up anything that's ‘Old Florida.’ Ceramic ashtrays, handkerchiefs, tea towels, aprons, and mugs. Stuff you might have found in a Stuckey's circa 1950.”

  “Angel runner, angel runner, we want ‘Old Florida’ stuff,” chanted Skye

  “Do angels frequent Stuckey's?” asked MJ.

  I rolled my eyes.

  We each chose a direction and walked away.

  At first I felt overwhelmed, because there was so much to take in. After strolling up and down several of the aisles, I mentally sorted items into “maybe, no, and got to have that!”

  One booth had a big display of landscapes. They reminded me of our second generation Highwayman painting. I stopped to admire the work.

  “I'm a local artist, painting in the Highwayman style,” said the vendor. “Wish I could claim to be one of the originals, but I'm not. Authentic Highwayman art is too pricey for most people these days. Folks can enjoy the same vibe for a lot less with my work.”

  “Are you self-taught?” I asked.

  “Yep. I own several good Highwayman pieces myself, so I look to them for inspiration. Hard to believe that once upon a time, you could buy their paintings for next to nothing. Years ago, some people didn't think they were worth the material they were painted on. People even used them as insulation when they did remodeling!”

  Considering what I’d paid for a second generation Highwayman piece, I knew this vendor's prices were more than reasonable. I explained about my store and asked if he might like to consign some of his work.

  “Sure. Let me take inventory at the end of the day, and get back to you. Would that be okay?”

  “Of course.”

  He handed me his card. I wrote down my details on a slip of paper, passed it to him, and said, “I heard a funny story not long ago about an entire collection of Highwayman art that went missing.”

  “Yeah. There are a lot of collectors around these parts. Lot of sellers, too. I bought a few nice paintings myself from a guy over in Stuart on eBay. Likes to keep a low profile, but after I paid a bundle for an Al Hair, he got a lot more chatty.”

  The hairs stood up on the back of my neck.

  “I wonder if that's the same collector I know,” I said, making up a story on the spot. “What was his name?”

  “He never told me his real name,” said Norman. “Said I could call him the Hammer. Totally paranoid guy. I had to meet him in that municipal parking lot over by the Riverwalk when I bought a small Sam Newton from him. He parked under a light and opened the trunk of his car so I could see the painting. Made me pay him in cash. He took it, counted it, and was out of there like a shot.”

  “What did he look like?” I wondered. Before Norman could answer, two women walked up and asked him the price on one of his paintings. I waited, hoping I could get an answer, but Norman's booth suddenly got busy. I knew better than to interrupt him while he was trying to sell his wares. I waited as long as I could, but I needed to go back to the car to meet up with MJ and Skye.

  I did my best to stay calm as I walked away, but I was bubbling over with excitement. As I wove my way through the stalls to my car, all the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.

  The “Hammer” had to be Hal Humberger⸻Hal had stolen Essie’s paintings and paid for the crime with his life.

  CHAPTER 77

  I had to bite my tongue when I saw my friends. Sharing my suspicions didn’t seem like a smart idea. MJ might get her hopes up. Skye might call Lou, and I wanted to be the one who broke the news to the gruff detective. I
couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face.

  As hard as it was, I had to compartmentalize. I put my theory in a trunk, locked it, and shoved it into the back recesses of my mind. Instead of blurting out what I suspected, I concentrated on admiring my friends’ purchases as we loaded them into Black Beauty.

  MJ had found a small wicker table that one of our customers might like. With a little cleaning up, it would sell for a nice profit. Skye chattered happily about the wooden cigar boxes she'd gotten for a dollar each. She planned to cover them in seashells. When she noticed that I was unusually quiet, Skye asked if I was all right.

  “I'm thinking about what I've seen and what I want to get when I come back for a second round of buying. That's all,” I fibbed.

  As I pulled out of the dusty parking lot, I tried to control my nerves. I was onto something, I just knew it! But it wasn't until I started toward downtown Stuart that I realized I couldn't call Detective Murray. Not yet. His card was sitting on the desk back at the store. I didn't have his direct phone number in my cell. Calling the police department’s general line might get other cops involved, and I wanted to work directly with Lou. He knew the background of this case. I decided that since I had to go back to the store anyway, I’d ask him to meet me at The Treasure Chest so I could hand over Norman's card. Then I could lead the detective to back to the flea market and show him the vendor's stall.

  As the traffic poked along on Federal Highway, I reviewed the details. I knew that Hal collected Highwayman art, because Cooper had told me so. According to MJ, Essie had bragged and bragged about how her collection was sure to be worth a lot of money someday. Everybody knew that Essie was a smart businesswoman. Maybe Hal took the paintings because he wanted a piece of the action.

  I remembered the gold Bentley that Hal Humberger had been driving the day we met. Obviously, the man had an eye for beauty. Maybe Hal had stolen the landscapes because he admired them. Perhaps he never intended to sell them, but when their value increased so dramatically, he couldn't help himself.

  In the end, it didn't really matter why Hal Humberger stole the paintings. A more important question was, “How did he pull it off?”

  Obviously, he had to wait until the circumstances were right. In that, he got lucky. Everything happened at once. Essie had her stroke, MJ flew up to Michigan, and Irving was busy shuttling back and forth between his wife and his mother. Once Hal Humberger had the contract in hand to build out the apartments, the “Hammer” had the store—and the Highwaymen paintings—all to himself.

  But again, how did he do it? How did he physically remove the artwork from The Treasure Chest?

  Then it dawned on me.

  Just like Hal Humberger, I'd spent the past few days dragging things in and out of the building. He, too, would have been busy, moving things around, bringing in supplies…and hauling out trash. He could easily have put the paintings inside black plastic bags and taken them out through the back door! No one would have given the bags a second glance.

  So who had killed Hal Humberger?

  Was it Irving Feldman?

  Irving needed money. Was it possible that Essie's son, like the flea market vendor, had heard about a local man selling Highwayman art? When Irving tracked down the “Hammer,” had he realized that Hal had swindled his mother?

  Or had Philomena killed her husband?

  She'd admitted he was a jerk. He was sloppy and interested in a quick buck. Was it possible that Hal had kept his stash of artwork a secret from his wife? Could she have been spying on him? Maybe she watched him open his trunk and show off a painting to a prospective buyer? Could that have been the last straw for her? When he messed up her big franchise transaction with Cooper, did she finally snap?

  And then there was Cooper.

  Cooper was interested in Highwayman art. He'd heard Essie go on and on about her collection. Maybe he wanted those paintings for himself. What if he'd made an appointment with the “Hammer” only to discover that the same man who'd messed up his franchise deal was also the thief who'd stolen the art he coveted?

  It was possible. Entirely possible.

  But I hoped not.

  CHAPTER 78

  When I arrived at The Treasure Chest, a blue Lexus convertible was parked between MJ's Cadillac and Skye's Mustang. I didn't recognize the car. As I stepped out of Black Beauty, the driver's door swung open.

  Jodi Wirecka got out.

  She wore a pair of khaki capris, a crisp white blouse, and navy ballet slippers. Her hair was caught up off her neck in a gold clasp. In short, she was the picture of good grooming that my mother always hoped I'd be.

  Of course, I was messy because the grounds of the flea market were so dusty. My wardrobe was anything but elegant. My hair was frizzy from the humidity.

  “Let's go inside,” she said, with a jerk of her head. “I want to talk to you.”

  Anything she wanted to say, she could say outside. No way was I letting her into The Treasure Chest. I stayed next to my car.

  “You can talk to me here. I'm listening,” I said.

  “You can't have Cooper.” She spat the words out.

  “Excuse me?” Here it was, the showdown at the OK Corral. Well, I'd survived other skirmishes. I'd get through this.

  As she stomped towards me, I had that uncanny sense of déjà vu. Everything about Jodi reminded me of Mom. The flared nostrils. Her inflection. Her voice. The way she carried herself.

  “You think you're better than I am. Only because they kept you. Well, you're not. Look at you! You don't even look like a grown woman! You dress like a teenage boy. What would Cooper want with you? You prance around pretending to be a big businesswoman, but if you didn't have our parents' money, you wouldn't be so high and mighty.”

  “Back up. This isn't making any sense.” I rubbed my eyes. I couldn't follow her logic.

  “Quit pretending the old man didn't tell you. He said he would.”

  “What old man? Are you talking about Poppy? Tell me what? He says he's retiring. Is that what you mean?”

  “I'm talking about our parents.”

  “Excuse me? Did you say our parents?” I couldn't have heard her right. My mouth went dry. The world began to spin.

  “That's right. Our parents. Yours and mine. We are sisters, Cara. And I came first.”

  CHAPTER 79

  “First?” I repeated. Nothing she said was making any sense.

  The look she gave me was scathing. Her entire being quivered with anger. “First. As in before they were married.”

  Before they were married? Then suddenly everything made sense. It felt like lightning struck me. The force of what she was saying hit me that hard. I gasped. I shook my head. I tried to clear my thoughts. The reality of what Jodi was telling me was inescapable.

  Jodi stepped into my personal space. “We share the same parents. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Oh, my word…”

  With the clarity of hindsight I could understand why my mother had been so controlling. This explained why she had been overly protective and why she had watched my every move. Suddenly, I could see her actions in a new perspective. She had gone to extremes in her fear that I’d make the same mistakes that had marked her life.

  Her over-the-top reaction when I stayed out too late with Cooper now made a certain amount of sense. My mother hadn’t just been worried. She’d been petrified I’d follow in her footsteps. In her clumsy way, Mom had been trying to protect me, to stop me from making the same mistake she had—an unwanted pregnancy.

  Dad had gone along with her, because he’d seen the harsh impact an unplanned pregnancy had had on my mother. He felt guilty, twice over. Once for getting my mother in “a family way,” and then for giving up his oldest child.

  My sister, Jodi.

  A sibling I’d never met. A woman who, like me, took after our mother. We shared the same unruly dark auburn hair, the same hazel eyes, the same oval shape to our faces, and the same generous mouths. No wonder Hal Humber
ger had mistaken me for Jodi Wireka! Now I could see why Cooper’s secretary had done a double-take when she’d seen me.

  We were sisters.

  A grab bag of emotions assaulted me. I'd always wanted siblings. I had begged and begged my parents for a baby brother or sister. I had asked repeatedly why we were the only Italian family I knew that didn’t have a large brood of kids. I’d been lonely growing up, and I’d wished for kin, never knowing that somewhere out there I had a sister.

  Now I had one.

  What a disappointment.

  The person standing in front of me looked like my mother, but so far I had not seen even a hint of my mother’s good qualities. None. Try as I might to give Jodi the benefit of the doubt, I could not like the woman. The fact that Cooper had pledged to marry her made me doubt his good sense. Sure, I felt sorry for Jodi⸻after all she’d been give away⸻but I could not excuse her ugly personality. I certainly didn’t want to claim her as my kin.

  I marveled over my parents’ ability to keep Jodi’s existence a secret. Why hadn't they told me about her? I would have understood, especially after I became a mother myself. In fact, I would have been more sympathetic to my mother if I’d known.

  What about Poppy? He must have known about Jodi, too. Even if my parents had somehow managed to keep Mom’s pregnancy a secret from him at the time, he must have found out later. After all, Poppy and Cooper were going to do business together. Poppy lived here. He would have seen Jodi around town. Even if he didn’t know of the existence of another granddaughter, surely after one look at her, Poppy would have seen the family resemblance. He was old and cranky, but he wasn’t blind.

  In fact, Jodi probably sought him out. Clearly, she didn’t care about keeping things secret. Was this why Poppy had been so cranky? Was there more to his poor health than a blood sugar imbalance? Perhaps he’d struggled with keeping Jodi a secret. Maybe he wasn’t sure how to tell me about her. He might even have been angry with my parents for not telling me the truth before they died.