Christmas Angel (16 page)

A cab sped by, jerking him from his reverie and reminding him he should keep his eyes peeled and his senses sharp in case he ran into the strange guy from the bar. Likely it was his overwrought imagination playing with his head, but better to be safe than sorry. He passed by a storefront and glanced at the open sign in the window. He stepped back and studied the place, wedged between his favorite Chinese restaurant and his tattoo parlor, but he couldn’t ever remember seeing an antique shop called Timeless Passion
before. Maybe it was new. He started to walk away when a headless mannequin wearing a lovely gown, just inside the front door, captured his attention. He cupped his hands to look inside the window. An older gentleman worked at the back counter, hunched over studying something with a large magnifying glass. He shifted his focus back to the lacy looking sheer gown, the color of moonlight. The image of Angel in the dress solidified in his mind. It was perfect for her. Without hesitation, he opened the door and went straight to it.

“It is lovely, isn’t it?”

A voice jarred him from his reverie. He looked to his right and found the elderly man beside him. He was shorter than Shado by at least a foot and dressed impeccably in gray tweed trousers, a pressed white shirt, and a fashionable gray wool vest. His long hair had been brushed smooth over his ears, and he wore spectacles—round, with wire rims, like his granddad’s.

“Not just any woman could pull off something so ornate. But on the right woman, it would be a vision.”

Shado’s looked back to the gown. The long and sleek style reminded him of a Greek goddess.

The man stepped forward and lifted the sleeve of pale, delicate lace. “It’s an heirloom.”

Translation—
expensive
. “How much are you asking for it?” he asked, looking for a tag.

The old man glanced up and studied him. He met his gaze, struck at not having seen that shade of blue before.

“Depends, I reckon,” he replied.

A common ploy among dealers well versed in the art of bartering. Just the same, he wasn’t much in the mood to play this game. “Do you want to sell it or not?”

A smile touched the old man’s lips. “Let’s go back there and have a seat. We can talk about it.”

He needed to get home. “Okay, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“That’s the way of the world these days—always in a hurry.”

He followed the gentleman toward the back. The guy took a seat at a game table with a checkerboard set up to play. He gestured for Shado to take the seat across from him. “Really, I don’t think I have time—” he started, and the old man met him with a quiet resilience.

“Time is precisely what you have, Detective.”

Shado’s radar kicked in, and he took a quick scan of his surroundings. Nothing but shelves and stacked ancient paraphernalia—relics of days gone by. There was, however, an unmistakable yet comforting smell to the place, which evoked memories of when he and Danny would spend rainy afternoons playing in their grandmother’s attic.

“You and I are quite alone, and you have no reason for concern.”

He lowered himself uneasily into the chair. “How’d you know I was—”

“A detective?”

He nodded.

The strange man pointed a wrinkled finger at his coat. “The police emblem, but you’re not wearing a blue uniform, and you smell like whiskey. I put two and two together, and you just confirmed it.”

He was a crafty old goat. “Has anyone ever told you, you look a lot like—”

One bushy white brow arched upward in question. “Einstein? I get that a lot. I guess I should take it as a compliment. I consider myself as curious as he is.” He made his first play, though Shado sensed that had happened the minute he walked in the door. He eyed the board and scooted his game piece to the next square.

“You said…
as he is
. Einstein’s been dead for a very long time.”

The silver-haired gentleman remained focused on the checkerboard. “Ah, so he has. Tell me about this woman you see in the dress.”

His guard went up. “Why do you need to know?”

His competitor smiled. “I’m curious to know what they are worth to you—the gown and the woman.”

He nudged a checker piece and studied the possibilities of his opponent’s next move. “Is this a trick question?”

“Let’s say it’s worth fifty dollars.” He sensed the old guy was up to something as he scooted a wooden checker to the next spot.

“That’d be quite a bargain,” Shado remarked. “You said yourself the dress was an heirloom. It’s beautiful.”

“One of a kind.” The shop owner settled back, crossed his arms, and waited.

“I’d have to agree.” He shifted a checker and tried to anticipate what would come next.

“Certainly the woman you envision wearing it is worth more than fifty dollars? Would you say that is a fair assessment?” He smiled as he jumped a checker and captured one of Shado’s men.

He wondered if the man had meant to leave himself so vulnerable. Nonetheless, he took advantage and jumped, not just one, but three of the old guy’s men in one definitive sweep. “Angel? She’s one of a kind. Smart, creative, loves to laugh, and can cook like nobody’s business. And what’s more, she’s sweet—in an old-fashioned way you don’t find in most people anymore.” He finished, placing his game piece in a position to be crowned king.

Without fanfare, the man complied with the rules then glanced up. “Sounds like maybe you consider her as priceless as the gown.”

Confused by the stranger’s observation, he shifted in his seat. “So the dress is not for sale?”

“Now that’s not what I said.” His finger hesitated over a checker, and then he pushed it a space. “But it’s a fair-to-middlin’ indicator of how you value the woman. Sounds to me like she’s something special. Someone you wouldn’t want to lose.”

The recent needling from Gleason about the upcoming dance and the telltale signs of tears on Angel’s cheeks filtered through his brain. Maybe there was nothing at all to lose, and maybe that was his problem. He rubbed his hand over his chest. “I wish it was simple.”

The odd little man shrugged. “I’ve found folks spend far too much time worryin’ about what they need, trying to figure it out in their head—like some mental diet they’re on. They tell themselves what they want is bad for them, and for some, perhaps it is. To me the difference is motivation.”

Shado chuckled. “Motivation? I don’t think my father would’ve agreed with you.”

“What I’ve come to recognize in human nature is there’s a difference in wanting for the sake of wanting and the kind your soul needs. Many folks don’t even realize they’re robbing themselves of true happiness. They just chalk up all their desires as selfish dreams and shove them aside, as though they don’t deserve them. It’s sad, don’t you think?”

Shado mulled over his words. Had he been shoving aside his thoughts of Angel because he considered them to be nothing more than shallow fantasies? “I don’t know,” he answered both questions.

The old man regarded him then. “Tell you what. Let’s finish our game. If you win, the dress is yours, and with any luck, what she needs may help you see what you need. What is it you think she needs?”

Hell if he knew. “There’s someone by the name of Billy she’s looking for.” He

eyed the game board, troubled by how this guy seemed to talk in circles. Though it could have been the two shots of potent whiskey causing his confusion. He studied his next move, as though his future depended on it, and then spotted a play and jumped a number of his opponent’s men. He leaned back with a satisfied smile, curious to see how the clever gentleman was going to maneuver himself out of this ironclad predicament.

“So…do you have a name, Detective?”

“William Ryan Jackson. My friends call me Shado.”

“Suits you,” the man replied, rubbing his fingertips together.

“What do you mean?” He looked at the old man.

The man glanced at him. “Names can say a lot about a man. Sort of define a person’s character. Take William, for example, gives the impression of someone reliable, dependable, while Billy, a shortened version, sounds more like a kid who enjoys roughhousing with his brother.”

He studied the old man. “And Shado? What does that infer?

His opponent shrugged. “Someone who’s been through enough that he prefers to stay out of the limelight. Keeps to himself because it’s easier.”

“Easier?” he asked trying to figure out what game the guy was really playing.

“Well would you look at that. You’ve managed to place yourself in a position to win. Seems when you want something bad enough, you’ll do just about anything to get it.” The corners of his silver moustache lifted when he smiled.

He regarded the owner, realizing he’d sidestepped his question. “Easier than what?”

“Than risk the hurt, of course,” he replied. “It’s perfectly understandable.”

Shado nodded, glad someone validated his reasons for being alone. He waited for the guy to make his final move. “Who are you?” He was a wise old man, eccentric as hell, but astute for his age.

The stranger tossed him a look of mild surprise. “Did I forget to introduce myself? The name’s Burt, Burt Fesuvius—purveyor of time.”

“You seem to know a lot about people, Mr. Fesuvius.”

“Please call me, Burt, Detective Jackson.” He moved his checker, making it impossible for Shado to lose.

“I listen to people—to their dreams, their deepest desires. Look around you— everything you see here was once someone’s dream. Each one at the time was important in someone’s life.” He reached behind him and pulled out a garnet on a burnished gold chain. The work was impeccable. The gem sparkled as it twirled in the dim light. “This necklace was once worn by a woman who followed her dreams, however impossible they seemed. She was willing to risk ridicule for one moment in time when she might have what her heart sought most.”

“Did she find it—the thing she wanted most?”

The silver-haired man smiled. “When she no longer needed it to achieve her purpose, when she realized the desire inside of her was all she ever really needed, she brought it back to me.”

Shado met the old man’s steady gaze.

“Make your move, Detective. What is it you want, even if you think you don’t deserve it?”

A sense he was looking in a mirror came over Shado. This was no ordinary game of checkers. This was no ordinary storekeeper. “Did you let me win?”

Burt held up his wrinkled hands. “Oh no, I never stand in the way of a person’s deepest desires. Need and want are twins; don’t you see? You wanted the dress when you came in; you needed it for some special purpose—to satisfy a desire deep inside. There’s always risk when you go after what you desire most—but the greatest risk, sometimes, is not taking one.”

Much of what happened, he would probably later chalk up to the whiskey, but for the moment he listened carefully. And though it smacked of something Oprah
might say, he had a strange feeling the message was for him and him alone. He stood and zipped up his coat. “Thanks. It’s been great to meet you, but I really need to get going.”

Without a word, the old man moved at his own pace, retrieving the gown and folding it carefully in tissue. He placed it in a large box wrapped in gold paper.

With a final flourish, he plopped a giant red bow on top. “It’s in your hands now,

Detective.”

“She’s going to love this,” Shado responded. “Are you certain I don’t owe you something for it?”

The stranger’s eyes twinkled when he smiled. “Seeing a heart receive its deepest desire is my reward, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to tell her, while you’re dancing, how beautiful she looks in it. She’ll appreciate the compliment from you.”

He nodded, shook hands with Burt, and started back through the narrow path of crowded antiques. At the door, he paused and turned to ask the man when he’d mentioned anything about a dance, but he was gone, disappeared presumably behind the office curtain. From somewhere back in the building, he heard someone whistling a Billy Joel tune. Shado shrugged, amazed by his good fortune and anxious as a kid on Christmas morning to give Angel the dress.

***

Angel was jarred awake at the sound of the key in the lock. She rubbed her eyes, unaware of how long she’d slept as she waited for him to return. Whether she should tell him what she’d discovered in the book or ignore it as purely a coincidence unsettled her. He moved quietly, trying not to wake her as he removed his coat and boots. She toyed with turning on the light and asking if he wanted to continue their conversation. Instead, she lay in the dark, pretending to sleep, and watched as he placed a large box on the recliner.

Wrapped in shiny paper and festooned with a luxurious red bow, it looked as though it had been plucked from one of the holiday commercials on his television set. He stopped in the bathroom. Once the light went off, she waited to hear his bedroom door quietly close then tossed off her afghan and crept to the chair, curious to know whom the gift was for. Debating whether to wait until he told her to open it or peek inside.

A quick glance down the hall verified all was silent, and she picked up the present and carefully carried it to the couch. She turned the light on low and held the box in her lap, listening carefully for his approach. In the soft lamplight, the gold wrapping looked rich and elegant, shimmering in her hands. She turned the package upside down, worrying her lip, wondering if there was a way to open it without breaking the ribbon. A surprised gasp flew from her throat as the bottom slipped from the lid by weight of the contents and fell into her lap, spilling another parcel wrapped in thin, white paper. She stared for a moment at the object and spied a small seal holding the seams together. Carefully slipping her finger between, she eased off the seal and peeled back the covering to reveal beautiful lace fabric.