In Love and In Danger (Loving)

by Susan Leigh Carlton

  She glanced over her shoulder. Ward was not a patient man. He was pacing the aisles of the shop, clearly looking for something. When his back was turned, she grabbed the Symphonion and moved it into the back room.

  She was nervous. She had told the man she had received several things from Herschel in her last shipment. Peeking around the corner, Ward had bent over and picked up a music box and was shaking it. As he bent over, his coat opened a bit and Rebecca could see the butt of a handgun in a shoulder holster. She stifled her fear, grabbed the music box and ran out the back door. She didn’t stop until she was well down the street.

  Chapter 4

  She went into a small café that had a patio with tables on the street. Taking her cellphone she dialed 9-1-1.

  “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

  In a voice filled with panic she said, “There’s a man in my shop with a gun.” Her voice was at least two octaves higher than her usual tone. “I ran out the back door.”

  “You need to calm down, ma’am. What is your name, please?”

  “My name’s Rebecca Turner and I own an antique store on Chicago Street. There’s a man in there with a gun.”

  The operator said, “The police are on their way, ma’am. Stay with me please. Do you know the man’s name?”

  “He said his name was Matthew Ward, but I don’t believe that was his right name.”

  Rebecca was bumped by someone and dropped her phone. Turning, she heard this marvelous voice with a British accent apologizing profusely. Startled, she saw Ricardo Valdacci. He obviously had been rising from his chair when he bumped her. He was surprised but pleased to see her again.

  She began to tell him what had happened, his face changed from an expression of pleasure quickly to one of concern. They heard a loud voice from outside. She looked and saw Ward coming out of her shop as the wail of an approaching siren split the air. Ward spotted her and began running in her direction, with the police car approaching rapidly from the other direction. She heard a loud, “Damn” from Ricardo. He tried to snatch the music box from her hands, but she was holding it too tightly for him to gain possession.

  By now, they were standing on the sidewalk in front. “Sorry about this, my love,” Ricardo pushed her into the street and directly in the path of the approaching police car.

  All Rebecca could see was the big bumper of the police car. There was a loud squeal of the tires, with Rebecca staring death in the face. She braced for the impact that would surely mean the end of her time on this earth. What hit her wasn’t the impact of a car bumper, it was the impact of a body hitting hers and falling on top of her. Badly shaken, she looked up and found herself in the arms of Matthew Ward. He had risked his life to save hers.

  The world stopped moving as her hazel eyes stared into his warm blue ones. His lips were about an inch from hers and for one wild irrational moment, she thought he was about to kiss her. The world resumed moving. They heard a car door slam.

  As the policeman approached, she was helped to her feet by Matthew Ward. She was so shaky from this near death experience, she couldn’t stand. Matt placed her arm around his shoulder and supported her with one arm and at the same he slid his other hand into his suit jacket and pulled out a leather case and flipped it open. “Matthew Ward, FBI,” he said as she flashed his badge to the officer. While the cop was asking if anyone was hurt, Matthew pulled a walkie talkie from his pocket and said, “Johnson, tell me you got him.”

  The scratchy voice came back over the walkie talkie. “That’s a negative, Matt. The SOB slipped right past us.”

  “Crap,” was all Matthew Ward said. He turned back to the policeman. We were trying to apprehend a drug smuggler but he slipped past us.

  Matt saw Rebecca was still hanging on to the Symponion. “Ma’am, I think you are holding what he was after. We will need to take possession of it.”

  “Will I get it back? I don’t understand why all of this fuss over an antique German music box.” She handed the music box to him.

  “Your Ricardo Valdacci is a member of the drug cartel. They have been using various types of antiques to ship narcotics into the United States. Chicago is one of the ports of entry. The shipments land in a store in Chicago, then one of their mules acts as a cutout, and gets the antique and plants it in a shop. Then the persuasive Mr. Valdacci buys it, at whatever price is demanded. The shop owner is happy, they made a nice profit unknowingly selling something they hadn’t ordered. The cartel is happy because they got their shipment at a minimal risk to themselves.

  We had a confidential informant tip us off to Mr. Valdacci and we were going to follow the box back to the distributor. Do you know how the box came to be dropped at your shop?”

  “First of all, He’s not my Ricardo Valdacci. Until he walked into my shop today, I had never seen him before. I have a pretty good idea how it got in, but I don’t know any names. I was busy doing a quote for a client when UPS came in with a shipment for me. Jim, the UPS driver brought five boxes in on his cart. I just had him put them in the usual place in back.

  When Jim brought the pad for my signature, he said I had a customer in the back. I remember seeing a lady come in while I was busy, but she was just wandering around.

  When I finished with the quote, I went to help the lady, and she was coming up the aisle with a Tiffany clock. I told her the price was $350; she paid for it in cash with no haggling. This is unusual because most people haggle over price.”

  “Can you describe her?”

  “She was very attractive, had long, flaming red hair. She was beautifully dressed in what looked to be designer clothes. One thing though, she was carrying a large hideous tote bag. I remember thinking for someone so nicely dressed, she had poor taste in accessories.”

  “Do you require a signature from your customers for a purchase?”

  “Oh yes, it’s the law. I have it in the store.”

  “Could we see it please?”

  “Certainly.” They walked back to her store. She went behind the counter and opened a file cabinet. In the front folder of the top drawer were the sales slips for the day. She would later file them in her large filling cabinet in back of the store. They would be filed by date in that cabinet.

  She pulled the sales slip from the folder and handed it to the FBI agent. He handled it by the corner and looked at the signature. Surprisingly, it was legible. He read it aloud, “Greta Harbaugh”.

  “No one has touched this other than you since she signed it have they?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll need to take this. You can make a copy for your records. We will also need to take your finger prints for exclusion.”

  “I have the bills she used to pay, three $100 bills and one $50.”

  “They probably won’t do us any good, because I’d bet they are very worn. If we were to test them, they would probably test positive for drugs.”

  “They are very worn.”

  Matt said, “We have long believed he had an accomplice but have never had the chance to identify her. You may have given us that chance. After we run the print, we may ask you to help us with a composite sketch.

  Do you have surveillance cameras?”

  “No, I’ve had no problems with breakins and Rossville is a pretty safe place. I grew up here and it’s always been that way.”

  “Then you would say she’s not from this area.”

  “Yes, I’d say that.”

  “You’ve been a big help, Rebecca. We appreciate it.”

  “It’s the least I could do. You saved my life.”

  “That wouldn’t have been necessary if I had identified myself when I came into your shop.”

  He stood and extended his hand. She shook his hand and a brief shiver run through her body. His steady gaze sent chills down her spine. Rebecca was definitely attracted to him.

  “Thank you again for your help. We’ll be getting back to you.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Since Jason had been kil
led, Rebecca had busied herself in the shop, acquiring merchandise, evaluating and pricing it.

  Even though everyone in town knew her, Rossville itself offered no market for antiques. She was solely dependent on tourist traffic and word of mouth recommendations from customers to stay afloat in the business. Thus far, it was marginally successful.

  Rebecca had no social life. All of her high school friends had married, or moved away or both. She couldn’t think of a single eligible bachelor in town except for the older men whose wives had passed away. Divorce was also rare in Rossville.

  Rebecca had not been with a man since Jason. Until today when the two very handsome men showed up in her shop, she had not even felt an attraction to anyone. Now, one of the two was a criminal and the other a FBI agent. Life plays funny games at times.

  Daydreaming wasn’t getting the new items catalogued, priced and shelved and it was time to get back to business. She picked up the candlesticks and looked through the antique catalogs. She found similar holders in one catalog that were from the early 1800’s. She decided to price them at $80 which would give her some wiggle room to haggle. If they were silver instead of brass, they would be worth three times the price. She tagged and shelved the candlesticks and moved to the next item.

  Looking at the silver snuffbox, she was delighted to find it was solid silver. The engravings were exquisite. Taking her magnifying glass, she examined the bottom of the box for markings. As she moved across the bottom, she exclaimed aloud, “Ohhhh, here’s one.” She took out here book on silversmiths she found the mark matched Alwyn Carr. The prices for Ramsden & Carr pieces were steep. She priced the snuff box at $1775 and placed it in the locked display case.

  “With prices like these, maybe I should consider getting surveillance cameras. Wonder if Matt Ward would mind if I called him and asked for a recommendation?”

  “I need to get some human company, the way I keep talking to myself. I really hope Matt calls or comes by again.”

  * * *

  Her phone rang. A glance at caller id showed it was from the FBI.

  “Ah, maybe this is Matt,” she said, “Antique Treasures, this is Rebecca, how may I help you?”

  A female voice came over the line, at the same time, her excitement died. The voice said, “This is Therese Edwards. I’m a sketch artist with the FBI. Agent Ward said you agreed to help us with a sketch. Can we set up a time?”

  “I have no one to watch my shop, can you do that here?”

  “Yes, I can do that with my laptop.”

  “Anytime today would be okay, as long as you understand we could be interrupted at any time.”

  “Then shall we say one PM?”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  * * *

  Promptly at one o’clock, a young woman walked into the shop. She looked like anything but an FBI agent. She was wearing tight designer jeans and a pink blouse, with white buttons. Her hair was cut short and she wore little makeup. She didn’t need it. Under one arm was a sketch pad and an Apple notebook. There was no one else in the store so she said, “Where can I set up. All I’ll need is a flat surface for the Mac.”

  “There’s a dining table back on the right, and an outlet right behind it if you need to plug the laptop in.”

  “That’ll be perfect.” She booted the Mac and brought up the FACES software program.

  She began by saying “Just tell me what you remember about the face, hair, blemishes and so on. Then, I’ll show you some features from the laptop and you can pick them out, I’ll apply them to the sketch and see where it leads, okay?”

  Rebecca did as asked. As she talked, Therese rapidly made strokes, using pastel colored chalk on the sketch pad, now mounted on a portable easel.

  An image of a face evolved. She next begin using images from her Mac and having Rebecca selecting the appropriate ones. They did eyebrows, the nose and the lips, and the ears. After a couple of misfires, she had the chin and teeth. Rebecca described the hair length and the hair line.

  Therese asked about skin texture and any blemishes. Rebecca could not recall any. “Therese said, ‘Now step back and tell me what you think. I can do touch-ups and refine anything you want.”

  Rebecca stepped back. She was looking at the face of the woman with the red hair. “That is absolutely amazing. You have her, except the hair has more red. It may have been a wig, but if it was a wig, it was an expensive one.”

  The artist smiled and said, “You have a very good eye for detail. Anything else?”

  “She had the most horrible looking tote I have ever seen. It didn’t go with her clothes at all.”

  “That may have been intended to keep your attention away from her face. In your case, it didn’t work. Now, let me send this to Agent Ward and he can go to work. We have facial recognition software that does wonders.”

  She launched another program, entered an ID and a password. She clicked on “Send” and said, “There, he has it.”

  She held out her hand and said, “Thank you for your help. I think we have a good start on recognizing her.”

  Rebecca said, “Thank you. Could I ask you a question? This sounds stupid, but is Agent Ward married?”

  “No, he was divorced about a year ago. It was messy. His wife had an affair and was caught red handed. I don’t think he’s even seeing any one. Want me to tell him about you?”

  Panic struck Rebecca. “No, nothing like that. He saved my life by yanking me out of the path of a car. I was frozen and was just waiting for the impact. He could have been hurt or killed. If he had hesitated, I would have been killed. I just thought it might be nice to know a little more about him, is all.”

  “Sure, I understand. He is a really nice guy when you get to know him. If I weren’t happily married, I’d probably be interested myself.”

  Chapter 5

  Rebecca Turner was sitting at her desk in the home she had shared with Jason before he went into the Army and

  was killed in Afghanistan. She was staring at the last picture she had of him, standing in front of a Humvee, helmet in hand and the shiny new captain’s bars on the pinpoints of his collar. It was a posed picture, you could tell because he wasn’t wearing armor plates. A soldier didn’t go out on patrol without his ceramic armor plates. He had just been promoted to captain and company commander. He had called her on Skype to share the news of his promotion. Two days later he was dead. The same Humvee behind him was leading a column on patrol in the Kandahar Province in Afghanistan and struck an IED. It killed everyone on board, including the CNN reporter embedded with his unit.

  “Jason, why did you have to go out that day? Why were you first in that column? You and your damned “Lead from the Front.” It got you killed and made me a widow at 24. Dammit, I miss you, Jase.” She frequently talked to Jason. Since she hadn’t made many friends, he was still her confidant. She shook her head. It was time to change her mental focus to the situation at hand.

  * * *

  Rebecca picked up the catalog with the Symphonion listing, and re-examined it. She didn’t find anything new. Turning to her desktop computer, she logged on to EBay and searched for it. There were quite a few for sale, price ranging up to the $3,000 for the long case boxes. The long cases looked much like a grandfather clock, but had a crank on the side. As you cranked, it wound a spring and the spring ran the mechanism that played the music until the spring completely uncoiled.

  She saw several very similar to the one that had been left in her shop. They ranged in price to $1,500.

  Rebecca’s phone rang. The deep voice coming over the phone sent shivers of excitement through her. He said, “Ms Turner, this is Agent Ward. I would like to talk with you at your earliest convenience.”

  “Rebecca, please, call me Rebecca or Becky. Ms. Turner sounds as if you’re addressing my Mom.”

  Agent Ward laughed. “Okay, Rebecca it is. Rebecca is a pretty name. It doesn’t surprise me you prefer it to Ms. Call me Matt and we’ll go from there.”

  �
��I’m free now, Matt, or we can talk in the store tomorrow.”

  “If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience, I would prefer now, that way, we can talk without interruption.”

  “Okay, let me give you the address.”

  “That’s okay. We have it. Did you forget with whom you’re dealing?” Then he laughed. “See you in thirty minutes.”

  “Yeah, ha ha,” and hung up.

  Thirty minutes later, a black Suburban pulled up in front of her house. Matt Ward got out, straightened his tie and walked to the door. He pushed the button for the bell. Rebecca immediately answered the door.

  “Is that black suit and dark tie some type of uniform? And driving that long black car? It’s crying out, look at me I’m a big bad FBI agent.” She smiled.

  “Okay, you got even with me for the address bit. I guess we are sort of typecast after all of the TV shows aren’t we?”

  “Somewhat. Can I get you some coffee, Coke or something Matt?”

  “Coffee would be great. It’ll be a good while before my day is finished, I’m afraid.”

  “Then, I’d guess you want your coffee black?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She brought the coffee to him. “Careful, it’s quite hot.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What can this humble store clerk do for the big bad ass FBI?”

  “You don’t give up do you? We think Ricardo is going to make another try for the music box. He has to. If we could, we would like to put someone in the store tomorrow in case Mr Valdacci decides to come by. Could you let us do the front and you stay out of harm’s way?”

  “That wouldn’t work. My family is here and everyone knows everyone else’s business. You’d get a lot of questions you couldn’t answer. I would have to be up front. You could put another agent in there, preferably female and I could be teaching her the ropes. I’ve told folks I want to get some help when I can afford it and maybe they’ll accept that.”

  “Okay good idea. Now, if he doesn’t bite, then we would, with your permission put someone in your home, probably me, in case he decides to try for it at your house. I believe you told him you hadn’t decided whether to keep the box or sell it?”