Shadows at the Spring Show

by Lea Wait

  Maggie hoped Carole would have time to set up her booth. After all, promoting Our World Our Children was one of the reasons for the show.

  The only hassle in the next hour was Ann’s realizing that despite the extra tables and outlets she’d gotten last night, she needed one more table for bake-sale items. Eric moved a table from the conference room into the gym. Maggie made a note to make sure they counted the tables when the rental company came Monday. She didn’t want them to accidentally take any tables owned by the college.

  Josie and Sam Thomas appeared promptly at nine fifteen with the raffle items and their twins. At almost the same time Ben and Gussie arrived. Ben went to see if Eric needed any help, while Gussie went to their booth to get out her cash box and separate Maggie’s sales books from hers.

  At nine twenty Maggie went around to all the dealers announcing that now was the time that all dealers’ vehicles should be moved to another lot, if any were still parked by the gym. Spaces close to the gym were for customers. Dealers’ vans and trucks should be in the lot next to the dormitories.

  At nine thirty she asked Al to have one of his security staff walk through the parking lot to make sure the vehicles had been moved. “The white van with the wheelchair lift and the Massachusetts plates can stay in handicapped parking,” she reminded Al. “No other vehicles with dealers’ cards should be in the lot. If there are any, have your guys make a note of the license plate numbers, and I’ll find the owners.”

  Only one van had to be moved, someone who’d arrived late and was frantically trying to unpack and bring order out of chaos.

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie told him. “You’ll have to move your vehicle to the dormitory lot. Now.”

  He stomped across to the door with his car keys, muttering.

  She wasn’t sympathetic. With that much inventory he should have gotten here last night, like most of the dealers. Every dealer had been sent vehicle identification cards and instructions on where to park in the information packages she’d sent out two weeks ago. Asking dealers to move their vehicles away from the site of a show was not an unusual request. Parking spots had to be left for customers. At some shows dealers had to park miles away and be taxied back to the show site.

  Customers were starting to line up outside the doors. Maggie crossed her fingers. A good crowd waiting to get in was a positive sign. The publicity had worked. People had heard about the show.

  Maggie let them stay outside until nine fifty, when the doors were unlocked and customers could come in, pay their admittance fee, and wait in the lobby until the doors to the gyms opened at ten.

  It was almost showtime, Maggie thought. “Magic time” they called it in the theater. She could feel her adrenaline on “high,” and she’d only had one Diet Pepsi this morning. It was all going to work.

  Chapter 38

  The World. Steel engraving of “The Western Hemisphere, or New World” and “The Eastern Hemisphere, or Old World.” Published by Lincoln and Edmunds, Boston, 1827, from Adam’s School Atlas. Continents outlined lightly in different-colored watercolors. The “Old World” is fairly accurate, despite Siam’s covering most of Southeast Asia and what is now Australia labeled “New Holland.” Outlines of North and South America are less accurate, but approximate. Light line down the center, where the pages were folded into the atlas. 16 x 12 inches with mat; modern wood frame. $150.

  By eleven o’clock the show was in full swing; customers were wandering through the aisles, browsing in the booths, and washing down their maple blueberry muffins with coffee in the café. Josie and Sam reported the gate was over two hundred. For a small, brand-new show in western New Jersey, that was an excellent beginning.

  Maggie hoped they would all buy. One thing each, she wished silently.

  If only.

  As she walked by the booths, she saw fellow professor Paul Turk in what appeared to be an intense discussion of nineteenth-century inkwells with a dealer who specialized in desk items and antique pens. Will was wrapping up an iron match safe for a young woman carrying one baby and wheeling another. Maggie tried to peek, but couldn’t tell if they “matched” their mother or might be adopted.

  Gussie had planned well with her “bargain table”; every time Maggie passed, adults were looking at toys they’d grown up with, or their parents had told them about.

  The booth with the elegant grandfather clocks was empty of customers, but the dealer seemed to have settled himself with a paperback of Jonathan Kellerman’s Bad Love. Antiques shows were, unfortunately, sometimes quiet places to catch up on reading. The dealer might not be expecting to be overwhelmed by business, but he was still hoping. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

  As the sun on the roof increased in intensity, and the number of people in the gyms rose, the building began to get stuffy.

  Maggie found Al talking to one of his men by the side door to the second gym. “Should I see you, or Eric? I think it’s time to turn on the air-conditioning. Not high, but enough so there’s some air circulating in here.”

  “Good idea. Eric’s the one to ask. I heard him going over instructions for the air-conditioning system with George yesterday.”

  “No problem,” said Maggie. “Any security issues I should be aware of?”

  “It’s all amazingly quiet,” said the guard. “Here we were expecting some excitement. Now, I’m not looking for any disasters, but so far we’re pretty bored. I’m supposed to keep an eye on this door. Which is locked. Unless there’s a major problem, it will stay locked. I haven’t even seen anyone trying to slip a piece of sterling silver into a pocketbook.”

  “And let’s hope you won’t,” said Maggie. “But I’m still glad you’re here. After all, it was only two days ago that my van went up in smoke.”

  “I heard.”

  “And the show’s barely begun. There are plenty of hours left. Right now I’m going to find Eric and get some air on in this place.”

  She walked up the far aisle, checking out the OWOC booth as she went. Carole and two other OWOC staff members were busy charming show visitors. One couple took a brochure about the agency. Another woman was looking through the binders filled with pictures of waiting children.

  Skip and Jennifer Hendricks were attracting attention to the OWOC booth just by proudly carrying Christina. Nothing like a visual aid to prove that adoption works, Maggie thought. Christina was adorable.

  She squelched the impulse to go over and look through a binder of “waiting children” pictures herself. When she was ready, her child would be there. Something inside of her said so. Right now she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready for anything but getting this show finished, making money for the agency, and then sleeping for two days straight.

  Where was Eric? She checked the café, and walked quickly through both gyms. Probably he was also walking around. She stopped in the lobby and waited until Josie made change for an elderly gentleman paying admission for himself and three other people. “Josie, if you see Eric Sloane, would you tell him I’m looking for him?”

  “Will do. Last time I saw him he was heading for the men’s room with a mop and pail.”

  Not a good sign, Maggie thought. But cleanup was definitely Eric’s department. He’d volunteered to be here, but she was going to check with George to make sure he got a bonus for the weekend. Even if she had to pay it herself. He and Abdullah and Hal had outdone themselves in helping with this show. And Claudia . . . where was Claudia today?

  Maggie walked back into the gym and there she was, working in the café. Sarah was there, too, making a poster listing the varieties of available muffins. She waved. Ann must have needed extra help, and Claudia had moved in to supply it. Thank goodness for reliable people, Maggie thought. Imagine Detective Luciani suspecting Claudia of being trouble. What would she do without Claudia?

  “Maggie, the show is wonderful,” Ann said, coming up behind Maggie with a carton of napkins and spoons. “And thank you for listening to me vent at dinner the other night.”

/>   “It was fine, Ann. It made me think harder about some parts of this whole decision process.”

  “It isn’t easy, is it?” Ann said, shifting the box in her arms. “It’s so easy to say you want to love a child and give them a good home. And then all the doubts and complications creep in. I hope my misgivings won’t discourage you from adopting.”

  “No,” said Maggie. “You voiced some thoughts I’ve had. And you reminded me I need to make sure that when—if—I decide to adopt, it will be for the right reasons. For me and my child.”

  “Then I hope we can still be friends,” said Ann. “I probably overreacted by talking to a lawyer. I’m just very nervous right now. Here I’ve been dreaming of being a mother for years, and I’m getting cold feet when OWOC says it really can happen.”

  Maggie smiled. “In the meantime we can help other people who’ve already made that decision. Your café looks wonderful, Ann.”

  “Now I just need to make sure we don’t have customers waiting in line for too long!”

  Maggie paid for a large chocolate cookie. Perhaps not a nutritious lunch, but one she could eat on the go. “Ann, as soon as the rush here ends, would you have one of your younger helpers fill a serving cart with sandwiches and cookies and drinks and take it down the aisles to the dealers? Some who’re running their booths alone may not be able to come and get their own lunches.”

  “Will do,” said Ann. “You know, I was wondering if we’d brought too much food, but even people who aren’t eating lunch here have bought bake-sale items to take home.” She leaned over and whispered, “Some of them say they want to buy something to support OWOC and couldn’t find anything they wanted, or could afford, in the booths.”

  Maggie nodded. “It’s good they’re buying the food. But I hope some of them also find some antiques to buy.” No matter how many customers came, if they didn’t buy, then the dealers wouldn’t come back next year. If there was a show next year, Maggie cautioned herself quickly. Next year seemed a long time from now.

  She stationed herself in the vicinity of the men’s room, feeling self-conscious hanging out at that end of the corridor, and was rewarded by Eric’s appearing within a few minutes, complete with pail, mop, and toilet plunger. “Problem?”

  “Not anymore,” said Eric with a bit of pride. “When you live in a family of sixteen, clogged toilets are not major problems.”

  “Thank goodness,” Maggie said under her breath. “Eric, after you put that stuff away, could you turn on the air-conditioning? It’s getting stuffy in the gyms, and we need some air flow.”

  “No problem. The control panel is just down the hall. The air should be on in five minutes.”

  Just then Ben came up. “Aunt Gussie wants to talk to you,” he said. “I think it’s about a price on a print.”

  Maggie followed Ben back to the booth and was quietly delighted when the question involved how much of a discount she would take if someone bought six Arthur Rackham prints marked $65 each.

  “The regular price would be $390,” she said. “A ten percent discount, which is what I usually give, would bring that down to about $350. What if I make it $330? That would almost be getting one of the prints free.”

  The customer agreed. Gussie, with receipt book in hand, said, “Now, there’ll be tax on that, too, of course,” and Maggie walked on. She wondered if that was her first sale of the day. It was strange to have someone else making her sales, even if the someone was Gussie. She suspected Gussie’s own inventory was selling well. Based on the number of toys on the front table, Aunt Augusta’s Attic had been selling in quantity, if not in quality.

  “You gotta have a gimmick,” Maggie said to herself, remembering the song from Gypsy. Whatever got those customers into the booth and pulling out their wallets.

  The grandfather clock dealer was now having a serious conversation with two people. Were they one of those two-income couples who furnished their executive home before they had children? Carole would be happy to help them fill up any empty rooms they might have. After they’d bought a $12,000 clock.

  She heard the quiet roar of the air-conditioning coming on. Eric, as usual, was true to his word. The air should make it more comfortable in the gyms within a few minutes.

  Maybe she should get Gussie or Will something to eat or drink. Ann’s young helpers couldn’t have had time to get to all of the dealers yet.

  Everything was on schedule; everyone was smiling, except maybe the bored security guard, and the day was beautiful.

  Then the lights went out.

  Chapter 39

  Fire-Works on the Night of the Fourth of July. 1868 wood engraving in Harper’s Weekly by Winslow Homer. Wonderful close-up of faces turned to the sky looking up at the fireworks. One distinguished gentleman is being hit on his head by a stray rocket. Homer signed W. H. in the lower right-hand corner. 11 x 15 inches. Price: $225.

  As George had predicted at the meeting Monday, even after the power had blown, the gyms were not totally black. The emergency generator kicked in after five seconds, providing low lights by the exits, and a few dim lights on the ceiling. But the sun outside didn’t reach into the gyms.

  The booth walls blocked any light from the exit signs, and of course, all the lamps carefully placed in booths to show off the merchandise had also gone out.

  Making her way through the aisles of confused dealers and customers, Maggie headed to the front of the building. Maybe turning the air-conditioning on blew the electrical power for some reason. If Eric turned the air-conditioning off, maybe the lights would come back on. She hoped.

  In the meantime, she also hoped no one would stumble on the electrical cords duct-taped on top of the carpet, or knock against tables covered with crystal, or take the opportunity to relieve a booth of a piece of jewelry or silver.

  The good news was that no one was panicking. Some people were even laughing. Dealers and customers were in the aisles. Everyone thought it was a glitch, a momentary outage. The lights would come back on any moment. Maggie hoped they were right.

  She kept her eyes open, looking for Eric.

  He’d said the electrical panel was in a closet down the hall and pointed to an area near the entrances to the locker rooms. There were no generator-created lights along that hall. Maggie touched the masonry wall gently as she felt her way down the corridor.

  Suddenly she heard someone in back of her. “Eric?” she called out, turning around.

  A piece of duct tape was swiftly pulled across her mouth and twisted behind her head. As she reached to pull it off, someone yanked her arms down and behind her back before she could react. Her wrists were held firmly, despite her struggles. She felt duct tape bandaging them together. She smelled spicy sweet after-shave.

  She wriggled and kicked, but that didn’t seem to bother whoever was holding her. Why hadn’t she worn high heels that would hurt someone, instead of comfortable sandals that could do no damage? She twisted, trying to see who was holding her, but he held tight and pushed her against a doorway. One of the doors into the locker room.

  The locker room was unlocked. Inside, he pushed her down on the concrete floor, hard, on her stomach and lay on top of her. Her struggling didn’t seem to make a difference. He was a lot bigger and stronger than she was. He duct-taped her ankles.

  Then he released her. She lay on the floor, fighting the duct tape for a few minutes. When she stopped, she heard the sound of a key in a lock. She was being locked in. Her nose picked up the flowery scent of powder. Deodorant. Hand lotion. The girls’ locker room. Her eyes began to adjust to the dim emergency light from the exit signs on the doors. Then she saw Eric, similarly bound, perhaps ten feet away. They were both lying in one aisle of gym lockers.

  No one would be turning the electricity back on.

  She twisted her body and looked up. Hal stood over them, on the other side of a low bench. A gun and a cell phone lay on the bench between him and his prisoners. He put a key ring down next to them. His tools.

 
“I warned you. I said to cancel the antiques show. But you went ahead and did just what you wanted. You ignored me, no matter what I did. People have always made that mistake. They never take me seriously.”

  Maggie squirmed, trying to loosen the duct tape. But Hal had twisted it. The tape that covered her mouth and was fastened at the back of her head was pulling her hair. It hurt even more when she moved her head. Eric was watching her; she saw his eyes in the almost darkness. He was scared. Hell, she was scared.

  “I like you both. I do. So I’m going to give everyone at this show one last chance. You’re not the people who need to suffer.”

  Hal picked up the cell phone. Where had it come from? She hadn’t seen him with one before.

  He dialed.

  “Hello, Carole?”

  Carole always had her cell phone. Thank God she’d picked it up now.

  His voice was calm and slow. “No, it’s Hal. I’m calling from Al Stivali’s cell phone.”

  Carole must have caller ID and thought Al was trying to reach her. Where had Hal gotten Al’s phone? She hoped Al was all right.

  “No, he didn’t give it to me.” Hal grinned.

  He was enjoying this! Maggie tried to kick with both of her feet and managed to hit the bench in front of the lockers. The noise was minimal. And her naked toes hurt like hell.

  “Stop talking and listen to me. I sent those letters. You know what letters. And the telephone message. I thought I was being clear. I want this show to stop.”

  He paused. Maggie wondered what Carole was saying. She hoped Carole was walking quickly toward wherever Al was. Or one of the other security men. Someone else must have a phone. Someone that could call for help. Police should be patrolling the parking lots about now.

  “Two reasons. One, you’re messing with people’s lives. Your agency gave me to two people who didn’t listen. They said they loved me, but they didn’t care enough to even keep me around. They sent me to live with a lot of crazy people. Do you have any idea what it’s like to spend years living with psychos? They drug you to control you, and then they lock you up in rooms with bars and glass that won’t break. They laugh at you and talk about you behind your back. And then they spew you out and send you back to live with the people who sent you there in the first place. And those people act so sweet and nice, but then you find out they’re adopting other kids behind your back. Other kids they can put in places like that.” Hal paused. “I couldn’t let that happen, you understand?