CHAPTER 18
Corin had just finished restoring a mahogany bookcase from the early 1900s when a man walked into the store with a light brown leather notebook under his arm, a venti-sized drink full of something of a raspberry color in his other hand, and a furtive look on his face.
“Hello, may I speak with the owner?” He set his drink and notebook on a Victorian burr walnut round dining table, shoved his hands in his pockets, and rocked back and forth on his heels.
“Speaking.” Corin wiped the stain off his hands and looked at the man. Five eight or nine, white polo shirt, pressed khaki pants, pointy Italian shoes that looked uncomfortable, and dark red preppy-boy eighties-styled hair. The hair didn’t fit. “What are you selling today?”
“Selling? Nothing.” The man glanced around the store as if looking for something specific, then frowned.
“Most people don’t come in here looking as polished as you do carrying a notebook unless they’re selling something.”
The man shook his head. “Like I said, I’m not selling.”
“Then can I help you find something?”
“I’m not buying either.” The man strolled forward, grinned, and stuck out his hand. Corin didn’t shake it.
“I see. So what can I do for you?”
“You’re the owner?” The man brushed his hand on the side of his pants as if pretending he hadn’t been dissed.
“Yes.” Hadn’t he just told the guy that?
“You’re Corin Roscoe?”
“Who are you?”
“I represent the senior pastor of a church in southern California who would like your cooperation, and in turn we would like to assist you.”
“Assist me with what?”
“Whatever you might need.”
Interesting. Maybe this was fortuitous. Maybe this guy would be able to fill in the considerable blanks in his “Does This Chair Heal?” dissertation. But something about the guy bothered Corin. Phony? Yes, but it was more than that. Something used-car salesman about him seeped through the GQ clothes and looks.
“Whatever I need? Uh-huh.” Corin tossed the rag he’d used to clean his hands into a bright orange plastic bucket. “And why did this pastor send you? He didn’t want to be seen in public with me?”
“Whatever you say to me will stay in strict confidence. I will not repeat a word of it. You have my honor on that count.”
“I’m thrilled to know that.” Corin walked behind his sales counter and leaned forward, his hands spread wide on the counter.
“I’m not someone who abides sarcasm well.”
“And I don’t abide well someone who comes into my store and insinuates I have to accept his counsel when I’ve never met him before.” Corin stared at the man.
“That’s valid.”
“Do you have a name?”
“You can call me Ben.”
“What do you want, Ben?”
“A few short questions and I’ll be on my way. Okay?”
Corin opened his palms.
“Thank you. We understand you came into possession of a unique chair recently.”
“How do you know that?”
Ben held up the news article from the Internet.
“I see.”
“Is it true? Did sitting in your chair heal Brittan Gibson?”
“I have no idea if he’s healed. I know he and his parents claim he’s healed.”
Ben opened his notebook and scribbled on the white lined paper. “Where did you get the chair?”
Corin strolled over to a collection of wood radios from the 1930s. Beautiful pieces. None of which worked when he’d brought them into the store. Now they all did, reception as clear as on the day they were made. He even replaced the tubes with the originals. Those had taken ages to track down. He turned the knob on one of the radios to 103.9 FM, even though the radio wasn’t plugged in.
“Explain something to me, Ben.”
“I’ll try.”
“Why is any of this any of your business?”
Ben smoothed his hair back and tried to smile. “It isn’t.”
“Exactly right. Glad we agree on that.” Corin offered a thin-lipped smile. “Tell me the truth about something else. You’re here to talk to me about the chair instead of your pastor because he doesn’t want his reputation soiled by being seen talking to a guy about a subject straight out of Science Fiction Theatre.”
“Something like that.” Ben shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Our pastor leads over ten thousand followers every weekend, and he would never do anything that would make one of his flock stumble. And for a rumor to start that implicated him as seeking something as outlandish as a chair that heals people when they sit in it, well, that wouldn’t be a wise choice.”
“I never said the chair heals people.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“I already told you once, I have no idea. Why aren’t you talking to the mom of the kid who was supposedly healed?”
“I might do that.” Ben picked up his notebook and drink. “Before I go, would it be possible for me to look at the chair?”
“I’m guessing you already know the answer to that question.”
“True.” Ben smiled, a genuine one this time. “I know how it must look, me barging into your store asking all these questions. But truly, our intent is to help, not to hinder.”
Something about the way Ben said this rang true. He didn’t trust Ben, didn’t like him, but Corin was curious about the offer.
“If I did decide to accept your help, what do you think you’d be able to assist me with?”
“I don’t think you know what you’re dealing with.”
“And you do?”
“No.” Ben shook his head. “I don’t think we do either. If the Holy Grail showed up in the crypt of a European cathedral, we wouldn’t know what to do with it. If pieces of Noah’s ark were discovered in Turkey, we would be extremely presumptuous to say we knew what we were dealing with.” Ben lifted his raspberry concoction to his mouth and looked over the top of it. “But I will say we likely know more about what to do with supernatural relics than you.”
“Probably true.”
“And we know more about the supernatural aspects of Christianity.”
“I’ll give you that as well.”
“And we could examine the chair, give you our thoughts, and store it in a safe place for you.”
“You want me to give you the chair?”
“Not give, just protect.”
Before the dream and Brittan’s healing, Corin would have walked the guy right into the vault and showed him the chair. Probably would’ve offered to let Ben borrow the thing and report back in a few days or a week what he found out.
But maybe God spoke to people in dreams. Hadn’t he seen that in a movie once? So for the moment he’d take the dream as a warning and err on the side of the lady’s advice. Because he couldn’t get the idea out of his brain that his benefactor and the lady in the dream were the same person.
Corin strolled toward his front door. “Thanks for stopping by, Ben. I appreciate it. And if I have any questions I’ll know who to talk to.”
“Right.” Ben frowned and handed Corin his card. “Thanks for your time.” He pushed open the front door, stepped through, then turned back to Corin. “My pastor is a powerful man. Influential. And driven to get what he wants.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“It wasn’t a warning; it’s an invitation to accept his help.”
Corin turned and walked back toward his sales counter. “Thanks for the warning, Ben. If I need to, I’ll be in touch.”
When he drove home that night, the bed of his truck held a tightly wrapped and very secure artifact from ages past.