The Key in the Attic (11 page)

14

It had been a slow business day, a day full of customers who hemmed and hawed, and took a lot of time but didn’t buy anything, a tedious, never-ending day, and Frank Sanders was more than glad to see the end of it. He was just about to lock the front door when the telephone rang.

“Antiques and Oddities.”

“Is this Mr. Sanders?”

The voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Yes, it is. How may I help you?”

“Mr. Sanders, this is Annie Dawson. I … uh … I’m sure you remember me from the other day.”

His professional cheerfulness vanished. “Yes, Mrs. Dawson, I remember you. Thanks to you and the local police, I’ve had a busy week.”

Annie Dawson laughed a little.
Embarrassed, no doubt
, Sanders thought.

“I’m really, really sorry about that. I was so upset that day. I guess I just wanted to blame someone. My late husband always told me I should cool down and think things through before I did anything foolish. I know I should have listened.”

“Yeah, maybe. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m sure you already know this, but the police have made it absolutely clear that they didn’t find any evidence you were involved with the theft of my friend’s clock. You have to admit it was quite a coincidence that it disappeared right after you were at Mary Beth’s, but sometimes those things happen.”

He didn’t say anything. He just waited for her to say whatever it was she was trying to say.

“Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for all the trouble you’ve been through.”

He smiled to himself, glad she couldn’t see his face over the telephone. “Well, as you say, those things happen. Yes, it was a pretty unlikely coincidence. And—all in all—there was no real harm done. If they don’t recover the clock, I hope the insurance will make good the loss.”

“I think the insurance at the repair shop will eventually cover it. We’re waiting to see.”

“Well, then, it seems everything has been taken care of. I appreciate the apology, and really, don’t give it another thought.”

“That is very kind of you.”

“Think nothing of it. Now, if there’s nothing else … ?”

Again the woman laughed nervously. “Just one other thing. It’s not a big deal, but I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

“I suppose I can try. What is it?”

“Mary Beth told me that while you were at her house examining the clock you took several pictures. If you wouldn’t mind, I was wondering if you could email them to me.”

“Pictures?”

He
had
taken several while he was there—good clear photos of the fine detail work on the clock. Why would she be interested now?

“Yes. She said you had a camera—a digital one, wasn’t it? They almost always are these days.”

“Ah …yes it was.”

“Then could you email the pictures to me? And I’d be very grateful if you could do it right away. Tonight.”

“I’m sorry, but they’re all gone.”

“Gone? All of them? Oh no. Are you absolutely sure?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And they can’t be recovered somehow? It would mean so much to Mary Beth to at least have some photographs if she doesn’t get the clock back.”

Sanders made a few silent taps on his keyboard and opened the first of the pictures he had taken, a detail of the clock face. Just what did they want with pictures? And why did they want them right now?

“No, I’m sorry. I would have liked to keep them. It was a beautiful piece, and I wanted to find out more about whoever made it. But my camera had a meltdown. It wasn’t much of a camera anyway. It’s in some landfill by now, I suppose.”

For a very long moment, there was only silence from the other end of the line.

“Mrs. Dawson?”

“I’m sorry. I just—I really was hoping Mary Beth would at least have those pictures.”

“I wish I could help.”
No,
he thought,
I wish I knew what you were up to. Why the rush all of a sudden?

“Thank you anyway, Mr. Sanders. And, again, I’m sorry about the trouble I caused you. I’ll try to remember my husband’s advice in the future.”

He made his voice cheerful and pleasant. “You do that, Mrs. Dawson. Good night.”

As soon as he hung up the phone, Sanders sat down at his desk and leaned close to his computer screen, clicking through the pictures he had taken of the clock—the face, the carvings, the works. What was it? And what had that woman suddenly figured out?

****

Once she had closed up A Stitch in Time for the day, Mary Beth hurried home. She had had another exasperating discussion with that pushy McMillan woman about agreeing to let them go ahead and buy the building.

Not quite yet, Ms. Burly Boy
, she thought
. My time’s not up until the end of next month, and I’m going to hold on until the last second.

Mary Beth pulled into her garage and sat there for a moment, eyes closed. She was running out of time, and she knew it. Something had to happen quickly, something that would either make it possible for her to buy the building or make it clear what she ought to do instead. She needed a miracle of some kind, but so far she’d seen no answers to her prayers.

She didn’t see any way she would ever be able to afford to buy the shop, especially if she had to buy the theater too. Yet every time she looked at other properties she might move to once it was sold, every time she even thought about going to look, she didn’t feel right about it.

Wait
, something inside her said.
Exercise some patience
.

When she went inside, she flipped through the bills and ads that had come in the mail and found a card from Amy in with them. It was just a sweet “thinking of you” card, and she immediately dialed Amy’s number. Talking to her niece would be a bright spot in an otherwise difficult day.

“Auntie Beth! How great to hear from you. How are you?”

“I’m fine, sweetie. I just had a minute and thought I’d call you up. What have you been doing today?”

“You called to talk about Mother, didn’t you?”

“Um … no, actually. I called to say thank you for your sweet card and to see how you are. What’s going on with your mother?”

“She just got through lecturing me about you.”

“I’m sorry, honey. What did she say?”

“Just that you’re old enough to solve your own problems, and that I should let you.”

Mary Beth chuckled. “She’s right, you know. I’ve been on my own, and I’ve been running a business by myself for quite a while now. I’ll be all right.”

“I know, and I’m not saying you’re not capable or anything like that, but everybody needs a little help from time to time—especially these days. What’s a family for?”

“The best help you can give me is to keep me in your prayers—OK?”

“I do that anyway.” Amy sighed. “But what good does it do to pray about something if you’re not willing to
do
something to help too?”

“Well, sometimes it’s hard to know what to do or how much to do and when to do it. Sometimes it’s best for a person to work her own way out of her troubles, as much as you hate seeing her struggle. We never know how much we can do if we don’t get the chance to try.”

“I know. But sometimes just a little help will get somebody through a bad time so she doesn’t lose everything she’s worked for her whole life.”

Mary Beth wanted to hug her. “You’re the sweetest person in the whole world, Amy,” she said, a catch in her voice. “I love you more than anything for being the kind of person who would want to help.”

“I wanted to use some of Grandma’s trust money to help you, but I know Mother wouldn’t agree, and she’s the trustee until I’m forty.”

“Oh dear, don’t do that. I would never want you to do that in the first place, and your mother would have a fit if you even mentioned it.”

“I know.”

“And sweetie, you’ve got to stop asking her to help me too. It only makes things worse between us.”

“But she
ought
to help you. She can afford it.”

“But that’s her money, not mine. It doesn’t matter if she
can
afford it. She works hard for what she earns, and she should do what she wants with it. Besides, do you really know what she can and can’t afford?”

“Well, she spends enough, I know that.”

Again Mary Beth chuckled. “She does like the good life, I’ll admit it, but it’s still her money. If you don’t give because you want to, you might as well not give. The scripture says that God loves a
cheerful
giver, not one who is badgered into doing it. And really, honey, I don’t expect her to bail me out. I’ve made my own decisions, even the ones that were mistakes. I like what I do, and where I live. I wouldn’t like having all the pressure she has in the kind of business she’s in. She has to always be worrying about the next new thing and making sure she’s in with all the right people and that she’s seen at all the right places. I would hate that. You know I would.”

“I would too,” Amy admitted.

“She does it because she likes it, but it’s still not an easy life. I don’t begrudge her what she has. I just want us all to get along. We’re family.”

“Why
can’t
we, Auntie Beth?” There was pain in Amy’s voice. “Why can’t we all just do things together and have some fun? I can’t even mention that I talked to you without her getting mad at me. I love you both. Why should I have to choose?”

“You shouldn’t have to, honey. We shouldn’t put you in the position where you feel like you have to. We’re supposed to be the grown-ups here.”

“I’m supposed to be a grown-up too, remember?”

“I don’t care if you’re thirty-nine or sixty-nine, sweetie. You’ll always be my little girl. Anyway, we’re
all
supposed to be mature, even if we don’t act like it.”

“
Mom
doesn’t act like it, you mean.”

“Don’t blame her for everything, honey. I don’t always try to be a peacemaker either.”

Amy sniffed. “I don’t know why she has to be mean to you, just because you’re nice to me.”

“She doesn’t like sharing you, I expect.”

“Yeah, right. It’s not like she spends time with me or anything.”

“But you’re her daughter, not mine.”

“But you’re the one who really cares about me.” Amy’s voice broke. “You would never do things to hurt me just so you wouldn’t be embarrassed in front of your friends.”

“Sometimes, honey, what people try to do to make things better only makes them worse.” Mary Beth’s tears welled up at the sound of her niece’s pain. “Your mother always means to do the best she can for you.”

“Instead, I have to live my whole life wondering why my mother never understood how much I loved Cagney,” Amy said. “And I wonder what my life would have been like if he had lived. She acted as if it was no big deal that I watched him be murdered.”

Mary Beth’s tears spilled down her cheeks, her heart breaking all over again to think of the horror of what Amy went through at the tender age of sixteen. Even though that was more than half her lifetime ago, Amy still lived with the pain. So did Mary Beth. Melanie’s callous attitude toward Amy’s situation had left her daughter with a never-healing wound and the two of them with a broken relationship.

“You ought to talk to your mother about it, honey.”

“I can’t talk to her about it.” Amy’s voice trembled. “She’ll only tell me not to make a big deal about it. I can’t take that from her again.”

“I’m so sorry it’s been like that between you, but you know it won’t get better if you stop trying. You need to forgive her, and you need to forgive yourself. You’ll never be close to your mother with all that hurt standing between you.”

Amy drew a trembling breath, and then she laughed faintly. “I don’t know how we got on that subject again. It’s old news, and I know that’s not what you called about.”

“Amy, sweetie—”

“Anyway, I won’t tell Mother any more of my big ideas, if that’s what you want. I still think she ought to help you. I would do it myself if there was anything I could do. The money Grandma left me—”

“Is
yours
, honey. That’s why Grandma left it to you. She left me some things too—things that I love. More than I need. Now I want you to stop worrying about me. I promise you I’ll be fine. Now you tell me how your day went. How’s that Everett of yours?”

“Oh, he’s fine. We went to see
Les Miserables
, off-Broadway, and it was really good, even though we’ve both seen it several times before. Then he took me to this little Italian place for dinner. The tiramisu was divine.”

“Ooh, and was this a special occasion?”

Amy giggled. “No. He said it was just because.”

“Ah, you’d better hold on to a guy like that. And how’s his little boy?”

“Peter’s a sweetheart. We took him to the zoo a couple of weeks ago. He especially loves the tigers. Everett is thinking about getting him a kitten—tiger-striped, of course.”

Mary Beth laughed. “Of course. Oh Amy, your mother is missing so much. All the little everyday things. Do you ever talk to her like this?”

“Not really. She doesn’t have time for trivia.”

“When was the last time you tried?”

Amy was quiet for a moment. “Years, I guess. Ever since I realized she wasn’t really listening.”

“Will you do something for me?”

“I know. You want me to call her up and talk.”

“Could you, Amy? Just give it a try? Nothing serious. Nothing hard. Put all the difficult issues aside for a while and just have a nice talk.”

“But … what would we talk about? I mean, I don’t have any particular news for her. I don’t need anything. Life’s just been going on as usual. What would I say?”

“I don’t know, honey. Ask her about her trip to Milan, or what new lines she’s working on, or how she’s feeling. It doesn’t matter. Just let her know you want to connect with her again. Tell
her
about Everett taking you to
Les Miserables
, and about going to the zoo. Let her know you want things to be better than they have been.” Mary Beth paused. Maybe she’d stepped too far now. “You
do
want things to be better, don’t you?”