Mary Beth didn’t say anything for a moment.
“I guess I’ve pretty much thought the same thing.” She leaned her elbow on the armrest, propped her chin on her hand and looked out the window. “There wasn’t much friction between us when we were growing up. I didn’t even try to get into her spotlight, so we were OK. Mother groomed her for the high life, and I never really fit in there. That was OK, too, until Amy came along. She’s just never been the society type either, so we always clicked. I haven’t tried to take Melanie’s place with her. It just sort of … happened.”
“You know, instead of resenting you, Melanie could always try to work on her relationship with Amy.”
Mary Beth snorted. “That would involve cutting down on the cocktail parties and Broadway premieres and trips to Cannes.”
“So what does she expect you to do? Pull away from Amy? And where would that leave Amy? She would be left without either of you.”
“I know. But it’s hard sometimes. I don’t like conflict, especially in the family.” She exhaled heavily. “Melanie called me the other day. I told Amy that I might have to sell out, and evidently she suggested that her mother could buy the building and rent it to me at what I’m paying now.”
“That sounds reasonable. Can’t she afford it?”
“I’m sure she could, but she told me in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t even consider it. I told her in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t ever expect her to. And then she hung up on me.”
“Oh dear.”
Annie didn’t know what else to say. Mary Beth asked so little of anyone. Would it have killed her sister to at least be nice to her?
“I just always thought I was an embarrassment to her, you know? Not stylish enough. Too middle class.” There was a little catch in Mary Beth’s voice. “I guess I’ve always known it was about Amy too.”
“You know, it’s not your fault if Melanie doesn’t make time for her own child.”
Mary Beth sniffed. “I suppose not.”
She was quiet for a long time, and then she looked over at Annie.
“But if you want to know the ugly truth, I guess I’ve always liked knowing there’s something special between Amy and me. I didn’t plan on spending my life alone.”
If she hadn’t been driving, Annie would have reached over and hugged her. “You know you’re not alone, Mary Beth. What would Stony Point be without you? I thought Peggy was going to start crying right there at the club meeting when you told us you might lose the shop. You don’t think she was that upset just because she was afraid she wouldn’t have someplace close to shop for quilting supplies, do you?”
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 a
t 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 th
e 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.
The Key in the Attic Page 7