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That night, Brittany sat at the kitchen table, half a bottle of wine deep, her hair tied up in a high ponytail and her body swaddled in sweats. Valerie had recently retreated upstairs, and now, her voice was muffled and inarticulate as she talked with a girlfriend on the phone. Brittany had been initially grateful for the moment of solitude until the true terror of what had happened and the depths of her mistake crept up on her, making her sizzle in despair.
For dinner, Brittany and Valerie had baked frozen pizzas in the oven and crunched on the non-nutritional food, staring at their phones. Sometimes, they said things like, “I hope Gabe is okay,” or, “The antique network has been alerted of the robbery,” or, “Do you want a brownie?” But mostly, they remained somber and silent, two barely-moveable zombies stewing in their own defeat.
With Valerie upstairs, Brittany decided to do something she’d never imagined she would.
She lifted her phone, dialed Conner’s phone number, and pressed the phone to her ear. It rang out, first once, then twice, then five more times. Conner’s voice filled her ear with the voicemail message, which said:
“Hi. You’ve reached Conner Radley. I can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave your name and your purpose for calling at the beep.”
The voice sent sinister shivers up and down Brittany’s spine. She nearly threw the phone against the wall. After a moment, she forced herself to inhale as much air into her lungs as she could, then dialed the number again. She could feel Conner Radley out there, lurking around his phone, watching her call.
Brittany technically still knew him better than anyone. If she asked him, “Hey, Conner, did you have a hand in stealing my inventory?” she knew that the tone of his answer would tell her everything she needed to know, that slippery snake.
After several more attempts to call her ex-husband, Brittany’s divorce lawyer, Mary, called her.
“Hey, there.” Mary’s tone was difficult to read.
“Hi...”
Mary heaved a sigh. “I just got a call from Conner’s lawyer saying that you’ve been obsessively calling him, which goes against the bounds of the agreement we have with him?”
Brittany groaned. “Mary, you must have heard what happened this afternoon.”
“I did, Brittany. I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say.”
“I feel like he had something to do with it,” Brittany admitted. “And I need to ask him point-blank to hear his answer.”
“Brittany...” Mary’s voice crackled with sorrow. “It just can’t work like that. I’m sorry.”
Brittany got off the phone shortly thereafter, truly troubled that Conner had gone out of his way to call his lawyer about her rather than answer her himself. Was he a coward? Or was he just trying to mess with her? Both options seemed plausible. Brittany refilled her wine glass and contemplated what to do with herself for the rest of the night. It was clear she wouldn’t get much sleep.
There was a knock at the front door. Brittany nearly leaped out of her skin, suddenly conscious of the subtle ways she’d grown fearful since their return to Bar Harbor just that afternoon. The rules of the world had changed.
Another knock. Brittany puffed out her cheeks and walked with purpose toward the front door, prepared to tell any neighbors or friends that she wasn’t up for a hang-out. But when she opened the door, she discovered none other than Heather and Nicole Harvey before her, touting bottles of wine and fancy bars of chocolate.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Brittany told them with a sigh. “I was terrified I was going to run out of wine.”
Together, Heather and Nicole sat across from Brittany at the kitchen table and listened to Brittany’s tale of woe.
“The CCTV camera was broken?” Nicole demanded, shocked.
“The plastic was all over the floor,” Brittany affirmed. “I just received word from the police officer on the case, Brad Wethers, that they discovered a broken window in the back, which means that it’s possible that whoever broke in, broke in through that window, opened the garage doors, loaded everything onto trucks in just a few hours, closed the garage door and sped out of sight. But so far, they haven’t discovered any fingerprints. There’s nothing concrete to go on.”
“Only your suspicion that Conner was behind this,” Heather interjected.
“It was obviously Conner,” Nicole added. “Who else could it have been?”
“I don’t know how I could ever prove that,” Brittany offered. “And I don’t know how he would have known this was the perfect time, either. My insurance wasn’t slated to come through for another two weeks. Most of the stuff I bought over the weekend isn’t covered, which means I lost thirty-two thousand dollars of inventory, which I’d slated for over ninety grand in revenue.”
“Oh my God,” Heather breathed.
“Yeah.” Brittany groaned as she added, “It’s actually the first time I’ve said that number out loud. And I think if I say it again, I’ll have a heart attack.”
The three women were silent for nearly a full minute as they took in the gravity of the situation. Upstairs, Valerie’s voice murmured on.
“What would one do with all that stolen inventory?” Nicole finally asked.
“It’s difficult to say,” Brittany offered. “I guess they could sell it privately via Craigslist or social media. That would make it really difficult to track. That said, if they’re stupid and they bring some of the pieces to auctions across New England, it’s possible to track some of that stuff down.”
“How would we do that?” Nicole demanded. “It’s not realistic to drive to every single auction.”
“No. It’s not. But I have all the official documentation of ownership for the antiques I purchased over the weekend. It might take a lifetime, but I’d need to take photographs of the documents and send them across the antique circuit across New England to every person in charge of every single auction. Perhaps that way, someone might flag a piece and alert me that it’s there.”
“Then we could drive there and track the person down!” Heather cried.
“Maybe. Or maybe that person got it off of someone else... This world is a slippery one,” Brittany breathed. “That was always something I liked about it, that these antiques are passed from one person to another through history. But just now, it makes things very messy for me.”
“Is there a way we can help you reach out to all these antique auctioneers?” Heather asked.
Brittany’s eyes widened with surprise. “Like I said. It’ll take many, many hours to sort through everything.”
“Yeah, but Brittany. This is your livelihood. Someone stole from you. And we want to track them down,” Nicole affirmed. “Let us help you. We’ve set aside the time.”
Brittany was so overwhelmed that she nearly burst into tears all over again. Her eyes closed, she raised a glass of wine to her lips, sipped it, and said, “When the Harvey Sisters came into my life last year, I couldn’t have envisioned what generous gifts they were from the universe. You’ve been by my side through thick and thin. And this— this is my darkest moment of all. Thank you.”
Together, Nicole, Heather, and Brittany drank through a bottle of wine and made up a plan for the following several days, with each woman in charge of a set number of antiques and a set number of auctioneers. It was probably impossible to reach everyone, and Brittany thought they were probably foolish to try. Still, it was the only plan they had so far. She had to believe that maybe, their actions could make a difference. She had to believe she could get some of her pieces back.