Shadows at the Spring Show (25 page)

The Bullhead (Ameiurus nebulosus).
Chromolithograph, 1901, by Sherman Foote Denton, American naturalist and illustrator, of a variety of catfish that lives in muddy ponds and streams, feeding on bottom plants and animals. Common in waters of Central and Eastern states. 8 x 11 inches. Price: $55.

Eric Sloane’s father had dropped him off at the gym in the morning. Abdullah offered him a ride home, and Eric gratefully accepted. They’d finished outlining the rest of the booths in record time, and everyone could hardly wait to get out of the gym.

The police still had to pin down the cause of the explosion in Maggie’s van. It was staying at the gym, as was Al, who gamely declared, “All the excitement seems to have happened already, so I’ll probably have a boring night.”

Claudia offered to drop Maggie and Will off. When they got to the parking lot, she first walked around her car, touching it lightly where the finish had been dented or marred. “It was such a pretty red color,” she said quietly.

“I’m so sorry, Claudia,” said Maggie. She took a last look at what was left of her van. Yes, the van had been old. But she
hadn’t planned to replace it this year. Now she was going to have to buy another van. Soon. She’d need it for the show in New York State over Memorial Day.

But thank goodness she hadn’t lost her inventory. Or her life.

They were all silent on their way to Maggie’s house.

“Maggie, that Abdullah is really nice. But he doesn’t seem like the other students,” said Claudia, finding a topic of conversation that did not involve burning vans.

“No?”

“He told me he lives alone.”

“His brother died in the World Trade Center, and I heard his mother killed herself after that.”

“How horrible for him! Is his father dead, too?”

Maggie thought a moment. “I don’t know. Someone said his father was in Saudi Arabia.”

“Oh. Abdullah doesn’t look like a terrorist.”

Maggie grimaced. She was tired. “There are lots of Saudis who aren’t terrorists. I’m sure neither Abdullah nor his father are. After all, his brother was killed on 9/11.”

“That’s right.”

“And it can’t be easy for Abdullah, with all the controversy over terrorism and Muslims and Saudis.”

“No. But it’s funny he lives alone and he’s going to Somerset College.”

“Claudia, I don’t follow you.”

“Well, didn’t the families of the survivors get insurance money? And you said yourself, Maggie, that he was really bright. So why doesn’t he go to a four-year college instead of a community one?”

“That’s a good question, Claudia. Why don’t you ask him yourself? Except I don’t think you’d better mention anything about insurance money.”

“Of course not, Maggie. I was just curious.”

They were all silent for a few more minutes.

“Will there still be an antiques show this weekend?”

“Yes. If I have anything to say about it.”

Claudia pulled up across the street from Maggie’s house, and Will’s RV. “Well, I guess I’ll see you back at the gym tomorrow.”

“If you don’t feel comfortable coming back, that’s fine. You need to get your car fixed.”

“Maggie, if you’re going to be there, I’m going to be there.”

“See you tomorrow then!”

Gussie and Ben were waiting for them; Ben had turned on a small TV in the kitchen and was watching a baseball game. Gussie was sipping white wine.

“So, how was the day?” asked Gussie as Will poured wine for Maggie and himself. “You’re here earlier than you thought, and I didn’t even hear your van.”

Maggie was exhausted, but the story had to be told.

“So someone blew up your van with a bomb, like in the movies?” asked Ben, who had decided Maggie’s story was even more exciting than the Red Sox game.

“Just about like that,” agreed Maggie.

“With lots of smoke and fire? And firemen?”

“Smoke and fire and, thank goodness, lots of firemen.”

“I wish I could have seen it! It must have been cool! I’ve never seen anything blow up!”

“It wasn’t really cool,” said Maggie. “But I’d never seen anything like it before either.”

“How are you going to go places now?”

“Tomorrow,” Gussie said, “we are all going to go to the gym and set up the show. We’ll take our van, and Will will drive his RV, since that’s where all his antiques are. I’m sure between us we can fit Maggie in somewhere.”

“It will be tight in our van,” said Ben. “Especially since I put all of Maggie’s prints and racks and bags of stuff in it this afternoon.” He paused for a moment. “Do you think they’ll blow up our van, too?”

“No!” said Maggie. “Nothing else will be blown up.” Under the table, her fingers not intertwined with Will’s were crossed.

“Thank goodness you hadn’t loaded your van,” said Gussie.

“I keep thinking that,” agreed Maggie. “It’s always been one of my nightmares that I’d be in an accident on the way to a show and not only total my van but lose my inventory.”

“That’s every antiques dealer’s nightmare,” agreed Gussie.

“But more important, you’re all right,” said Will, who had been holding Maggie’s hand tightly since they’d left the campus.

“We’re both all right,” agreed Maggie. “And, like Scarlett O’Hara said, tomorrow is another day.”

After Ben had gone to bed, and Will had gone to his RV to get a suitcase, Gussie asked the hardest question.

“Maggie, do you feel you can go ahead with this show? Whoever this person is, they may have shot two people, killed one of them, and now they’ve blown up your van. On the phone and in e-mail you made it sound as though someone was making idle threats. Right now none of the threats sound like idle ones.”

“No. They don’t,” Maggie agreed. “I am getting scared, Gussie. When we heard that explosion, and I looked out the window and parts of my van were up in the air, my first reaction after ‘Oh, shit!’ was anger. Now I just feel tired and frustrated.”

“And still angry.”

“And still angry. I’m angry that I have to find the money and time to buy a van when I’m already behind on getting prints ready for the next show. I’m angry that we have a dear man you’ll meet tomorrow sleeping in the gym for three nights just in case someone tries anything else crazy. I’m angry that I’m now on a first-name basis with most of the detectives in Somerset County. And I’m scared, because tomorrow dealers we’ve worked with for years and some of the new friends I’ve made at the adoption agency will all be there together. In the same place some idiot decided to blow up my van!”

“At least it was just a van.”

“But, Gussie, what if there is a next time? And what if the next time it isn’t just a van?”

Gussie was silent.

“I don’t know what to do. I thought I was doing the right
thing by standing up to the threats. But if anyone else is hurt, then it will be my fault.”

“You’re not the only one in this, Maggie. The police know, and the school knows, and the agency knows. If anything happens, it won’t be your fault.”

“Yes, it will, Gussie. I’ve been the calm one, the one telling everyone there would be no problems. And now . . .” Maggie suddenly couldn’t stop the tears. “They blew my van up! My own van, that I’d driven to all those shows, and classes, and . . . it was
my van
! They had no right to do that! I just want everything back the way it was a week ago. Before all of this started.”

She put her head down on the table and sobbed.

Chapter 34

Independence Hall.
Hand-colored steel engraving, ca. 1850, of the room in Independence Hall, Philadelphia, where the Declaration of Independence was signed. One man is telling visitors about the room, as elegantly dressed tourists admire the portraits on the walls and the tall windows draped in red velvet. 9 x 11.5 inches. Price: $65.

Friday morning wasn’t bright, but at least it wasn’t raining. Somehow a bright sunny day would have been too much like a joke, Maggie thought, as she broke eggs and shredded cheddar for a breakfast omelet and poured orange juice. She’d braided her hair, pinned it up, and put on jeans and a red Somerset County College T-shirt, prepared for a hard working day. Then added a blue cardigan to her outfit, in case they turned the air-conditioning on in the gym. All I need is a white scarf to be patriotic, she thought. Although somehow today she wasn’t quite in the mood to wave flags.

Winslow said good morning, then retreated to his windowsill. An electric wheelchair and three extra people in his house were a bit disconcerting.

After a quiet breakfast they all headed for the Somerset College
gym. Maggie rode with Gussie and Ben in Gussie’s van, and Will followed them in his RV.

Kayla and Kendall were already there, ready to help with booth layouts and tables, and Eric had already cleaned up the first cup of coffee spilled on the rented carpet. Hal and Abdullah had teamed up again and were checking the duct tape they’d put down all too quickly the night before, reattaching the pieces that were coming away from the carpet.

Gussie volunteered to station herself in the main lobby with a list of everyone they expected, so she could direct traffic. And, as she quietly pointed out, monitor who was in the building and who wasn’t. She could also see the parking lot from where she was sitting, in back of the large window.

When the rental truck arrived with the tables, the first two were put in an L-shape around her so Gussie would have plenty of space to spread out the cartons of papers Maggie had luckily left in her house yesterday, not in her van.

Will made sure the right number of tables was delivered and started Kendall and Kayla and Eric and Ben moving the correct configuration of six- and eight-foot tables to each booth without disturbing the electricians, who were back at work, this time wiring the second gym.

Claudia arrived at Maggie’s side with a peace offering. “Last night I couldn’t sleep. I was upset about my car, but I was really scared about your van blowing up. Then I realized this was a sign. It was a message telling us that maybe we just need to enjoy life when we can. You know? Maybe I’ve been too serious. So I brought you this. It’s an early birthday present.”

She handed Maggie a large carton, wrapped in pink and blue flowered paper and crowned by an enormous bow.

“It’s not my birthday!” Maggie smiled self-consciously as people passed her and eyed the gift.

“I know. But it will be soon enough,” said Claudia complacently. “So open it!”

Maggie put the carton on one of Gussie’s tables, broke the
ribbon, and pulled back the paper. It was a twenty-four-pack of Diet Pepsi cans. She burst into laughter.

“I didn’t guess!” Maggie gave Claudia a big hug. “Does this mean it’s okay for me to drink Diet Pepsi?”

“It means maybe there are things more important than doing everything just right. At least today,” Claudia added, glancing at the spot in the parking lot where Maggie’s van had been before it was towed early that morning.

“Does this mean if I get brain cancer or something else horrible, I can blame it on you?”

“As long as you know in your heart that you’re the one responsible for your own life.”

Maggie put her hand up. “Okay, Claudia! Peace. And thank you for the Diet Pepsi. That’s definitely the best thing that has happened so far today.” Maggie left the cans in Gussie’s care, so they wouldn’t disappear.

Claudia huddled with Gussie, going over all of Maggie’s notes for the day. This was by far the busiest day of their schedule. Tables delivered. Check. Tables set up. In progress. Electricity installed. In progress. Claudia had made a pile of signs for the dealers’ booths on her computer, and she assigned herself the job of checking each booth after the tables and electricity had been put there, making sure the right number and size of tables were in the right places, then leaving the booth sign, so each arriving dealer could easily identify his or her own space this afternoon.

Gussie alphabetized the pile of dealer name-tags that Claudia had also printed out, then sorted through the booth rental statements and put them with the tags. Dealers checking in could pick up their tag and pay their remaining balance before setting up.

“During the setups, all the doors to the gym have to be open,” Maggie was explaining to Al.

He shook his head. “That concerns me, Maggie. The more doors we have open, the less we’re able to keep an eye on who is coming in or out.”

Detective Luciani interrupted them. “Everything okay here this morning?”

“Fine, Detective,” Maggie answered. “I see you had my van towed. Do you know yet exactly what happened to it?”

“We’ve pulled in an expert to confirm our suspicions, but right now it looks pretty simple. Appears an alarm-clock explosive device was put under your gas tank. When it went off at six last night, it ignited the fuel in the van.”

“I had less than half a tank of gas,” said Maggie. “So if I’d filled the van before driving to the gym yesterday . . .”

“Then there would have been a bigger fire; probably that second car would have gone up as well.”

Maggie said a silent “Thank you” to herself for rejecting the high gasoline prices at a station near the Parkside Library and deciding to look for gas at a local station later. And then forgetting to fill the tank.