by Vicki Vass
Club. And eventually opened my shop here.” As he held his wine glass, he stared at his wedding band. He could see CC was staring at it also. “I can’t bring myself to take it off. If I take it off, it’s too real. It means she’s really gone.”
CC tried to hold back the tears. It was such a sad but beautiful story. She’d never felt love like that. She didn’t realize there was a love like that in the world. It made her sad for him and sad for herself.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Anne strolled the aisles of the dusty antique store. It was the only one she could find open after putting in a brief appearance at the luncheon. She was a little upset with CC for abandoning her, but browsing through the crystal made it a little easier. She picked up a silver creamer, marveling at its elaborate engraving. “Silver,” she said to herself. It was making her crazy thinking about the spoon in her purse. She wondered how much longer CC would be. She wondered if people browsing down the aisle beside her realized that she might be carrying a priceless piece of American history.
Putting the creamer down, she thought she might have the matching sugar bowl somewhere in her collection at home. She’d have to find it and then come back to get this mate. She pulled the long list out of her vintage Chanel black bag, making sure to close the bag securely. “Thank God, I had the spoon with me when the house was broken into,” Anne said, stopping in her tracks. With all the valuables she had in her house, whoever broke in hadn’t taken anything. Anne had taken a complete inventory and triple checked it. They obviously were looking for something and didn’t find it. Of course, they didn’t find it because Anne had it! Someone was looking for the spoon! She couldn’t wait to tell CC her revelation. “Where is she?” she asked herself impatiently, looking at her watch.
Since the Chicago Tribune article had been released, their list had grown substantially. Requests had come in from fans across the country. Anne believed it was her mission to find all the items on the list. Scanning CC’s scrawling handwriting, she read through the items and then looked around the store. It was the second time she’d taken a complete tour of the store.
“Mystery Date,” she pondered. “I think I saw that somewhere in here.” Anne strolled along and found the area where old toys were stacked. In the back corner, she could make out the distinctive white box of the 1960s board game. Removing the boxes covering it, she grabbed the box. One item off the list, she thought, looking at her watch again. Where is CC?
She reached back into her purse and pulled out Detective Tower’s business card. A little reluctant to bother him on a Sunday, but with the thought of someone coming after her spoon, she felt a sense of urgency. Nigel picked up after the third ring. “Detective Towers,” the British-accented voice came through the phone. Whenever Anne heard Nigel’s voice, she thought about Doctor Who. She’d always wanted a full-size Tardis.
“Nigel, I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday. This is Anne Hillstrom,” she said, tentatively.
“Oh, not a problem. I wasn’t doing much of anything.”
“I don’t know exactly how important this is, but it’s about my spoon.”
The detective paused. “Spoon? Huh?”
“It’s a long story but I think the burglars may have been looking for my spoon. It could be very valuable.” As a woman brushed past her, Anne cupped her hand around the phone and whispered into it. She walked outside. “I believe a spoon that I bought from Tim Whitmore’s estate sale could be a very valuable Paul Revere silver spoon worth a small fortune.”
“I see,” Detective Towers said. “How would someone know about the spoon?”
“That’s the thing,” Anne said. “I overheard someone at another estate sale asking about a silver spoon. I think they were talking about my spoon.”
“Anne, I think it might be better if we meet in person, and you can show me the spoon,” the detective said.
“Of course, Nigel. I’m in Michigan right now. Should I come into the station on Monday?”
“That’s not necessary. I can pop on by your house.”
“Okay; that would be lovely,” Anne said. She hung up the phone and went back into the antique store.
On the boat, CC offered to help wash dishes. “No, they’re fine,” Tony said as he placed them in the sink.
“I appreciate lunch. It was fantastic but Anne’s waiting for me,” CC said, taking her cell phone from her purse and seeing several missed calls and text messages asking if she was still alive. The last one was in all caps––Anne’s version of shouting.
“We have to finish this bottle first,” Tony said. “It would be a shame to recork it.” He grabbed CC’s hand and helped her up the short stairway to the deck. It was a lipstick sunset. The red setting sun smeared itself across the darkened blue summer sky. The water glistened. There was a delicious cool breeze. Tony filled both glasses, handing one to CC. The only sound was the gentle kiss of the waves against the boat. CC felt like they were the only two people on the lake. The man on the train stirred something inside her that she’d never felt before.
Anne perched on the curb outside the antique store. She had long stopped trying to reach CC and had actually thought about taking off for home without her friend. Of course, that wouldn’t be the right thing to do. She swatted another mosquito. Everything was closed. It was nearly 8 p.m., on a Sunday, and all the sidewalks had been rolled up.
Anne was angry and worried. Just when she was about to give up, she saw a truck turn the corner and enter the parking lot. CC flew out of the passenger door. “Anne, I’m so sorry!” she cried before turning around to wave good-bye to Tony.
“I was worried sick about you, CC. You couldn’t call me back? Text me? Nothing?” Anne stood, picking her bags up. “Where have you been all this time?”
They both got into CC’s car. “Time got away from me. Tony wanted to show me the bell and the boat. It’s a beautiful boat and the bell is perfect.” CC started the car.
“And?” Anne asked.
“And?” CC said. “He wanted to thank me, so we had lunch. We had some wine, and it was nice.”
“Nice?” Anne asked.
“It was nice. He’s a nice guy.” CC stared straight ahead as she drove back to the highway.
“Oh.” Anne paused. “Oh, yes. I talked to Detective Towers.”
“What for?”
“About the spoon. I’d never told him about the spoon before. It makes sense to me now. Why all of a sudden would someone break into my house and not take anything? Just toss everything around? They were looking for something, CC. What would I have that someone would break into my house to look for? The spoon! It has to be the spoon.”
CC thought about it. It seemed to make sense. She agreed that everything seemed to be happening since Anne brought the spoon home. “Jared didn’t know anything about it. But Banning seemed very interested in finding it,” she said to Anne.
“You think?” Anne asked. “Do you think Banning found out I bought it and broke into my house?”
“That doesn’t make sense,” CC said. “If Banning knew the value of the spoon, he never would have left it at the estate sale. And he obviously knows the value of antiques. He handled all of Whitmore’s collections––or at least that’s what Jared said. Who else knows about the spoon?”
Anne was afraid to tell CC what she was really thinking. She remembered the look in Jack’s eyes at the attorney’s office. She knew Jack was capable of hurting someone––or even worse.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Detective Towers was wearing his pink paisley tie. He felt sometimes that because of his height and his gaunt features that people were intimidated or even a bit frightened by him. He’d been teased about it mercilessly as a child growing up in Liverpool, always a foot taller than the other boys. He was never very good at sports. He spent most of his time reading or watching old movies. He loved Americana but now, after ten years as a Chicago police officer, he’d found the reality was not equal to the Hollywood version. He had se
en a lot of human tragedy and not very much human kindness. As he drove to Anne Hillstrom’s house, he hoped he would be able to help her.
When he pulled into the driveway, he saw Anne sitting on the swing on the porch. She was wearing those flowered pants. He’d thought once or twice about her and those pants since their last meeting. He ducked his head down to get out of the Crown Vic. His knees almost touched his chin. As he slipped through the driver’s door, he called out, “Miss Hillstrom!”
“Anne, please,” she said, getting up to greet the detective as he walked up the stairs. “I like your tie.” They walked inside into the kitchen. “Nigel, please sit down.”
Nigel sat across from Anne. She poured them a cup of tea and then unwrapped the spoon with a flourish and handed it to the detective. “Lovely craftsmanship,” he said. “It looks early American.”
“I believe it’s a Paul Revere,” Anne said.
“And you believe that this is what the burglar was after?”
Anne nodded and said, “It could be priceless.”
“Do you have the provenance?”
“No, I bought it at an estate sale. It didn’t have a price sticker or any information. The person who I bought it from charged me $5.”
“The first thing you need to do is find out what it is,” the detective said.
“How do you propose we do that?” Anne asked.
“You can start by verifying the silver content,” Nigel said. “I can take it to the lab. It might take a while to get it back.”
She grabbed the spoon from his bony fingers. “No, you don’t. It’s not leaving my sight.” She paused. “Sorry, Nigel, I didn’t mean to be so rude. I’m a chemist. I can test it in my lab.”
“I have a better idea.” He got up and took a magnet off her refrigerator. “Can I see the spoon?”
She handed it to him.
He placed the magnet on the spoon, and it stuck. “There appears to be a high level of nickel in this spoon. It’s not sterling silver. Paul Revere would have used pure silver.”
Anne didn’t want to hear it. “If it’s not real, why would someone want to steal it?”
“We don’t know for sure if that’s what they were after. Are you sure nothing was taken?” the detective looked around the cluttered room.
“I am absolutely positive. I’ve checked every room, every box, every closet. Things were out of sorts and misplaced, but nothing is missing.”
Detective Towers was not helping. He could see what the spoon meant to her and, once again, was the bearer of bad news. He had become a police officer to help people.
“If they weren’t after the spoon, what were they after?” Anne asked.
“Is it possible there’s an old boyfriend or acquaintance? Someone who would have a grudge?”
It had been many years since Anne had dated. She had more or less given up on relationships. She flipped through her mental Rolodex. She’d never been in a relationship long enough to harbor resentment. She couldn’t imagine anyone would be angry enough to break in. “No, no one whom I can think of,” she said, and thought, other than Jack.
Her words surprised the detective. She was a very attractive woman and seemed very sweet. “I think this might just be a case of a random breaking and entering. Maybe when you came home, you startled them. Maybe a car drove by. It wasn’t a professional. In most cases, if someone kicks in a door like that, there’s not a lot of planning involved. They probably saw that no one was home. Your lights were off and your house is set away from the street. I don’t think there’s much more of a motive other than opportunity. I’d suggest you get an alarm system, or maybe put your lights on a timer. Anything that will prevent this from happening again.”
Anne half listened to the detective. Her scientific mind always looked for answers. She needed to know why. She didn’t like to leave questions hanging in the air. Questions were meant to be answered; mysteries were meant to be solved. “Thank you, Nigel,” Anne said as she stood and walked him toward the new kitchen door. “I really appreciate your coming over and looking at the spoon. Wait! I forgot; there’s something I want to show you in the garage!”
They walked down the back steps to the garage and Anne lifted the heavy overhead door. She made her way to the back of the garage. All Nigel could see was the top of her head occasionally bobbing up. She made it back through the maze, carrying a framed movie poster of James Cagney in the 1931 classic The Public Enemy. “It’s just a reproduction, but a very good one. Since you enjoy American black and white movies, and the whole Chicago tie-in backdrop, I thought you might like it,” she said, handing him the poster.
“Aces,” Nigel said. “It’s awesome!”
“I wanted to thank you for all your help and knew you’d appreciate the poster.”
“I really do.” He paused. “The Music Box Theater is having their annual Film Noir festival. It’s smashing.” Nigel worked very hard to temper his British accent and phrases, but somehow Anne brought the Brit out of him. “Maybe we could go together?”
She looked down at the ground. “That would be lovely.”
After she watched him drive away, Anne went back through the back door, closed and locked it. She sat down at the kitchen table. She tried the magnet again. A twenty-nine cent refrigerator magnet was not adequate proof to toss her dreams aside. What she needed was an acid test, even though it meant it might mar the spoon.
She gathered up the spoon and headed to the lab. She donned her rubber gloves and put on safety goggles before taking the spoon out of her purse. Filing a small portion on the back of the handle, she took an eye dropper and put a small drop of nitric acid on the filed part. It turned a milky grayish color, indicating that the spoon was solid silver, but not sterling. If it was a Paul Revere spoon, it should have turned milky white, validating a ninety percent pure silver content. Her heart sunk. As she examined the small filing, she noticed that the spoon was tarnished only on its bowl. She wondered why the rest of the spoon did not show the same evidence of tarnishing. Now that she knew it wasn’t an authentic Paul Revere spoon, she filed off a little piece of the bowl to do another chemical analysis. The results came back with the usual sulfide, chloride and nitrate mixture. She also expected to see traces of arsenic, which is common to silver, but the arsenic levels on her spoon’s bowl were off the chart! She remembered reading about Chinese emperors who only dined with silver chopsticks to test for poison in their food. If arsenic was present in the food, the silver would tarnish. This spoon had been exposed to a high level of arsenic and whoever ate from it had experienced deadly results. Anne rushed to CC’s house to share her findings.
Chapter Thirty-Six
CC was taking pictures of items they’d found and emailing them to people on the list, when Anne burst into her house. Catching her breath, she plopped down next to a surprised CC who looked up from her laptop. Anne caught her breath. “CC, I’ve tested the spoon! It’s definitely not a Paul Revere spoon,” Anne said. “It’s not even sterling silver.”
“Anne, I was afraid of that. I’m very sorry.” CC said, closing her laptop.
“I noticed,” she said as she pulled the spoon out of her purse, “that only the bowl is tarnished. There’s little discoloration on the rest of the spoon. So I took a sample at the lab. It came back with large traces––deadly traces––of arsenic.”
“Arsenic is common in silver.”
“Not at these levels. These levels are enough to stop your heart,” Anne said, pausing. “How did Tim Whitmore die?”
CC opened her laptop, clicked on Google and searched for Tim Whitmore’s obituary. “It says he was only 53 when he died of an apparent heart attack.” Both girls sat silent as the words heart attack sunk in. “Are you saying Tim was murdered?” CC asked.
“I’m not saying that, but how else do you explain the arsenic on the spoon? How else do you explain someone breaking into my house and taking nothing? How else would you explain Whitmore’s antique dealer, Banning, being frantic
about finding the spoon?”
“Anne, you can’t prove any of that.”
Anne sat back in the chair. “This is all wrong.” The spoon was a fake. Tim Whitmore was dead. She needed to figure out how it all was connected. This wasn’t a fast-moving train out of the Orient or hounds of the Baskervilles, but it was her chance to bring the puzzle pieces together. She’d spent her life breaking down elements to their purest form, understanding how parts come together to make a whole. Now she’d do the same for this problem. Like any formula, putting the right ingredients together creates the solution. “CC, we need to work backwards from what we know to what we don’t know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We need to find out why someone would murder Tim Whitmore.”
“No, what we need to do is go to the cops.”
“You said it yourself. There’s no proof. What are we going to tell them?”
“You can show them the spoon.”
Anne pulled out her cell phone and dialed Detective Towers. “Nigel,” she said into the phone.
“Nigel?” CC questioned, giving Anne a sharp glance.
Anne corrected herself. “Detective Towers, it’s Anne Hillstrom.”
“Hello, Anne.”
“Detective, I wanted to come talk to you more about the spoon.”
“Anne, I’m sorry that the spoon is a fake. There’s not much more I can do for you.”
“That’s not it. I tested the spoon,” she said. “I found large quantities of arsenic.”
“Did you find old lace also?” he said with dry British humor.