The Curious Case of the Cursed Spectacles

by Constance Barker

  "None of your business," the man with the gun said.

  "None at all," the man carrying the comb said. "Not a bit of it. You can fight back if you like. It won't matter."

  "I'd shoot you both, but the boss wants to see you," the gunman said.

  "Now that you're awake," the comb guy said, "he can talk to you."

  The gunman looked at Clarence, examining him. I didn't like the look in his eyes. "What do we do about this one?"

  The man with the comb shrugged. "Well, I doubt he knows much, but just in case, let's keep him alive for now. He might be leverage."

  "Leverage, yes. That's a good idea, let's do that," the gunman said.

  "Keeping me alive is certainly an excellent idea," Clarence said. "I'm not of any use so why don't you just send me on my way? I'd just be underfoot. I can get totally out of your hair."

  The man with the gun waved it in Clarence's face. "You're a funny guy." He turned to his partner. "This one's a real comedian."

  "A great one," the other man said.

  Clarence sounded calm, amazingly so, but I was sure he had to be as frightened as I was. I looked at the men. "You're talking about killing people? We came here looking for a woman who makes great brownies and for that, you want to start shooting us?"

  "Not necessarily shooting," the man said. "Just because I have a gun doesn't mean that's how I'd want to kill a person. The gun just happens to be intimidating."

  "It's just a gun," I said. That got them to turn their attention to me. I think they were quite amused. That's when a desperate Clarence struck. He made a dive... for the comb. The startled man fell backward and Clarence tore the comb out of his hands. That's probably when he realized that he had no idea what it did or how to use it. He couldn't even be sure that it was anything more than a comb. Still, he waved it frantically at the man with the gun, who pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger.

  The sound of the shot echoed in the building along with Clarence's scream. I ran to him. His leg was bleeding. It wasn't horrible, not even spurting the way a wound does when an artery is hit. Just as I got to him the man who'd had the comb grabbed me. He was squarely built, a powerful man and I knew he'd subdue me quickly. I moved fast, slipping the pen out of my pocket and rolling it toward Clarence.

  The man was dragging me away, back down the corridor but I saw the pen touch Clarence's leg before I lost sight of him. "Pick it up, Clarence," I whispered. Then I shouted. "You need to get him an ambulance. Clarence is bleeding."

  The man stopped for a minute and looked at me. "You two are both more trouble than you're worth in my humble opinion. If your pal is lucky he'll bleed to death fast." Then he threw me over his shoulder and walked through the maze of hallways and into a room.

  The room turned out to be a loading area. I saw several crates sitting open next to a familiar white van. There were two men beside the van... the same men I'd seen outside the shop the day before we discovered the break-in. Another man faced away from me, but he seemed familiar too. When he turned I saw Walter, my once-upon-a-time fiancé! The man staring at me was the boring, straight-laced Walter that I'd left at the altar.

  "Here she is boss," the man said.

  "Well, hello again, Cecilia," Walter Temple said.

  Chapter Twenty One

  I found myself staring in shock at a smiling Walter. He looked pleased with himself and I realized that he'd expected me. He'd known I was the one his men had captured.

  I looked up, staring into his eyes and asked him the obvious question. "Walter! What in the world are you doing here?"

  "Hello, Cecelia. Long time, no see. But, you know I was sure our paths would cross again one day. I couldn't imagine that you'd avoid your fate. It would be quite something if you hadn't fallen into your uncle's life, especially after all those years he spent grooming you to become an Antique Dealer." He put an extra emphasis on the words antique dealer.

  "Not me. I don't know beans about antiques or retail. I told him that. I know he's leaving me the shop some day, but he isn't dead yet, and even if he dies I don't want it."

  Walter shook his head. "That isn't what I mean at all."

  "Then what?"

  "Don't play dumb. If you aren't an Antique Dealer, what are you doing here?"

  "Who's playing dumb? I'm as ignorant as can be. I haven't a clue what this is all about."

  "Yet you had no trouble tracking the spectacles and even getting them back. Well done, by the way. That was intended to keep you busy. I thought it would take you a little longer, but you surprised me. Oh well. Those things happen."

  "Yes, we found the spectacles, but it was just luck. There was a report in the newspaper... oh, I don't understand any of this." My mind raced, trying to wrap my head around why Walter would be here and behind my kidnapping.

  "If there's time we can go over it... everything that's happened. Right now I just need your key to the Grand Storehouse."

  "My key? To a storehouse? I don't have a storehouse. You and your friends seem to have cleaned out the one in the shop."

  "Now, now, you know it wasn't there. And I'm sure Mason has gotten it to you. He'd hardly risk it falling into the wrong hands... my hands, say. He's made it clear he wanted you to take over for him when the time came and to do that you'd need to have that key. I want it."

  "Made it clear to whom? Not me. I have no idea what you are talking about. The only keys... Uncle Mason's lawyer gave me a set of keys but you've already seen them. Your men went through my pockets. I don't have any others."

  "Did he leave anything for you that might contain such a key? It's an old-fashioned key, just like him." His condescending manner flooded my memory. Yes, this was one of the reasons I left him.

  "No."

  "Then maybe he told you where to find it when you needed it?"

  "He became unconscious right after I got to town and he hasn't been awake since. He hasn't told me anything. And I've never heard of any warehouse."

  "Grand Storehouse."

  "Not that either."

  Walter stroked his chin. "I think I believe you."

  "Then I guess I'm glad."

  "Unfortunately, that means we have something of a problem."

  "We do? Why?"

  "Because I'm certain that Mason had one of the keys."

  "One of them?"

  "We have good reason to think there were two keys to the Grand Storehouse. Mason had one in the beginning. We know that much. We thought we'd found the other one, which would have been convenient because it would've meant that we had no need to bother Mason at all, but the other owner was... uncooperative."

  "But none of this has anything to do with me. I don't even know what you're talking about.”

  "I'm afraid it does. If you had played along..."

  "With what?"

  Walter looked at the ceiling for a moment. "You really don't know anything, do you? Originally I was willing, happy even, to play the long game. After all, these things, these ups and downs of power and... well, let's just say they last centuries, so why rush things? Achievements, the step-by-step movement toward your goals, inexorably moving closer, is satisfying."

  "What are you talking about?" I was exasperated to say the least.

  "My attempt to marry you was brilliant. If it had come off, that is. You see, without any effort on my part, as your husband, I'd be in a perfect position when Mason left you the shop. There would've been none of this messy breaking in, no stealing... but you got cold feet. That was the end of that little idea. Ah well."

  Suddenly I heard Clarence protesting as two thugs carried him towards us. "We can discuss all that after you get Clarence proper medical attention."

  "Actually there is nothing to talk about. It's a shame that it came to this, however now, with you two out of the way we can make a thorough and undisturbed search of the shop and apartment."

  "Out of the way? So you intend to kill us?"

  Walter laughed. "I don't think that's necessary. In fact, I know
it isn't. Once we find the key we won't need to kill anyone to get what we want. We will keep you two... safe until we find it and then, once we have it, you will be free to go—you two can do whatever you like."

  "Who, exactly, is we?"

  "Beg your pardon?"

  "You keep saying once 'we' get it. I don't think you mean you and your goons here."

  "Such derogatory talk from a pretty lady. You know I liked you back then. I never loved you. The marriage thing was just a matter of expediency, of convenience, but I always liked you. I thought that with a little discipline to calm you down, get your flighty ideas out of your head, you could be a good wife."

  "I had flighty ideas? This from the man who has spent years trying to get his hands on cursed objects?"

  "I call them powerful objects," he said. "Calling them cursed... well, that word has such negative connotations, don't you agree?"

  "After seeing what they did to Timothy, I think it is extremely apt." I was mad now and didn't mind showing it.

  "Timothy?"

  "The man who was using the spectacles."

  "Oh, was that his name? I never met the man." He brushed off his hands. "And now I think we need to get on with our searching. I have your keys so we won't need to break down any more doors, but we might make a bit of a mess."

  "Clean up after yourselves."

  "Yes, dear," Walter said and gave me a nasty grin. "We wouldn't have made a good couple."

  "I agree."

  Chapter Twenty Two

  I went over to where the thugs had deposited Clarence, sitting on the floor leaning up against the wall. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm dizzy," he said. "It isn't bad; just a bit worse than the spell on the stairway."

  I looked at his leg. "It stopped bleeding somehow. Did you pick up the pen?"

  He nodded. "I assumed you wanted me to keep Edgar."

  "I did. I hoped he might be able to do something."

  "Maybe that's it."

  I looked over at Walter. "Hey, my friend needs a doctor."

  "Hey Bert," he said, "get out the first-aid kit and caulk the guy's wound or something." Then he looked at me. "It's his own damn fault, fighting back the way he did."

  "Right. Blame the victim."

  "The way I hear it, it was a clear case of self-defense. I don't see why he had to make such a fuss."

  "Because your men were talking about the pros and cons of killing us and we didn't seem to be winning the debate."

  "They were? Well, in that case, I can see your point. But I can't blame them either. You two have been a lot of trouble. Anyway, he'll survive a day or two while we find wherever Mason put that key and then this will be over."

  "A day or two?"

  Walter smiled. "Mason is a clever guy. I have to assume he won't have made the key easy to find."

  "Can we send out for pizza at least?" Clarence asked. "We were expecting to get some brownies."

  "That's the spirit," Walter said. "Maybe I can scrape something up for you and bring it back. I don't like paying those crazy delivery charges they tack on these days, plus you have to tip them."

  As I watched Walter's thug make a crude and clumsy attempt to treat Clarence's wound, it sank in just how much danger we were in. The danger we seemed to keep putting ourselves in. The original idea of tracking down some odd items that had strange powers had been almost like a fairy tale adventure. Some mystery men had stolen them and we set out to get them back. For God and country, or something like that. It was exciting, as Clarence said, but the whole thing had spiraled out of control.

  So much had been insanely wrong—Timothy shot at us and Edgar had to save our lives. Then Timothy almost blew us and half of Koin up. It seemed that the powers the objects we were chasing possessed were more sinister than I'd imagined, words couldn't describe the way they called to you, how irresistible they could be even when you knew that they were evil. Even without Edgar's sensibilities and sensitivity to their powers, I could feel them now. I knew Edgar was right. These men had a number of them and every one was cursed, not enchanted like some fairy tale. And now we found ourselves not in a magical world of fantastic objects, but in the middle of some Prohibition-era gangland saga filled with plain old, ordinary physical violence. We'd been taken prisoner at gunpoint and Clarence had been shot. This wasn't fun.

  I knew we were in over our heads. At least I was. If Walter and his men did decide to kill us we had no way to stop them. And they'd get away with it, which angered me even more.

  All we'd wanted was the spatula. That object might be here, but there certainly wasn't a woman named Sydney who had woken up to find she was a cooking whiz like Betty Crocker. Kenneth had lied to us. That hurt too.

  If Kenneth wasn't one of the bad guys, then Clarence had been right about him not being a good person. This smelled like a setup right from the beginning and now I wanted to know. "Walter, tell me what's going on. You have nothing to lose now. Was all of this a setup?"

  He shrugged. "That depends on what you mean by all of it."

  "You had Kenneth lie to us... about the woman pastry chef."

  "I told him it was a joke. I said I knew you were chasing odd things with magical powers and that I wanted to show up your foolishness. I paid him to tell you that story."

  "To get a key I don't have."

  "Oh well. Some plans work better than others."

  "What will you do with the... artifacts?"

  Walter smiled. "They are kind of neat little toys, aren't they? Powerful little buggers, and probably worthwhile to have if you just want to stir things up. But we took them to make you panic. I thought that stealing the stuff from the back room would get you to go to check the Grand Storehouse and make sure it was safe. If you had, and we followed you there, well, that would've solved everything. When you didn't, well I figured I'd use them for bait. Of course, since you don't have the key, even though that part worked, it didn't do what it was supposed to."

  "I don't get all this. You said that you were after this key back when we dated. Why did you wait all this time? You could've done this years ago."

  He snorted. "Mason has a certain reputation for being a hair too clever. People tell stories about that man that made me think we couldn't count on him not pulling out some trick, some counter right when we thought everything was all set. So we were waiting until he was out of the picture. The best time for a strike is during a transition of power. The newcomer, you, in this case, tends to lack the experience with more subtle nuances of things." Then his expression changed. He came over and gave me a long, hard look. I saw suspicion cloud his eyes. "Unless, of course..."

  "You have a call," one of the thugs said. Walter looked at him with surprise and then noted the phone is his hand. He took it and listened.

  "Sure," he said, and then listened some more before saying: "No," and then, "really?" "Excellent." He rang off, smiling. He shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard. "Well, good news, Cecelia. It seems you were born under a lucky star," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, according to the information that caller gave me, it turns out that I don't need to find your key after all."

  "You found another one?"

  He smiled wickedly. "Let's just say I don't need to find the one Mason had and let it go at that. I'm growing tired of all this sharing and caring stuff."

  "Then we can go?"

  "You can. I'm letting you out to be free as a bird. Go wherever you like, although I would advise not taking your injured sidekick to the hospital. Take care of him yourself."

  "Why don't you want me to take him to the hospital. Are you afraid of what might happen?"

  Walter laughed. "Not at all. I was thinking of you. The doctors are required to report all gunshot wounds. Why go through all that when his wound isn't serious? Unless you want to have a great deal of fun trying to get the police to believe what really happened... naw, you aren't that stupid."

  I could tell that Walter was enj
oying the opportunity to be magnanimous. It grated. I wanted to punch him in the nose, but for the moment he still had the guns, the muscle, and the comb, whatever that did. "Okay."

  "And I'll make one other suggestion, which is appropriate, useful and accurate, while also being free, gratis and for nothing... get the heck out of this life."

  "What life?"

  "Chasing down cursed objects. Clearly, you aren't the Antique Dealer your Uncle was and never will be. You don't seem to have the powers or skills I expected Mason to pass along."

  "Who said I was ever an antique dealer, good or bad?" These assumptions about me that everyone was making were starting to get annoying. Clarence, Enid, and now Walter all seemed to think that I had nothing better to do than clean up after Uncle Mason. I loved him, but I had to think that a lot of those assumptions were his fault. "Look, Walter, until a couple of weeks ago I was living in the city and working as a journalist." Well, working in the mailroom had been my entrée into that world, and Walter didn't need to know my career had been behind schedule. I didn't want to give him that satisfaction. "I only came back because the hospital needed me to assume responsibility for Uncle Mason's care. I am not now, nor have I ever been an antique dealer. And if you hadn't broken into the shop and mucked things up so badly I wouldn't be here now."

  Walter seemed surprised at my outburst. "Really? Well, that's perfect then. You can go back to this old life right away and things will be just fine. Whatever it was you were doing, I'm sure it was safer and saner than this one."

  "The only thing making this unsafe is you, from what I've seen."

  "Then you haven't been looking closely or paying attention. You've been wading in dangerous waters, Cecelia. Danger is all around you. And you've been lucky. Because of our history, because I like you... that's why I've been a nice guy. Even if you did leave me feeling a little foolish, standing at the altar. And not to mention that by doing that you messed up my plan."

  "You have been nice? This is nice? Kidnapping us and threatening us is nice? Shooting my friend is nice?!"