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My curiosity gets the better of me and after debating with myself for a minute, I slip into Annabelle’s antiques store. I’m not planning to buy anything. I’m hardly even looking at anything. My attention is fixed solely on the small drama unfolding by the cash register.
“I don’t understand, sir,” Annabelle Cricket sounds almost tearful as she tries to reason with the furious man in front of her. “The price is quite clearly marked on these items. If you’d like to purchase them, or if you want us to hold them for you...”
“No, I don’t want to purchase them!” The man hisses. “I want to know where you got them from. They shouldn’t be for sale at all!”
“Sir?” Annabelle’s voice shakes.
“Where did you get these from? Who donated them? I have a right to know who is stealing -”
“Stealing? What seems to be the problem here?”
Uh oh. Both Annabelle and the stranger turn at the sound of a confident voice, as Patterson’s popular sheriff, Bob Cooper steps into the fray. He’s wearing his usual non-uniform uniform of jeans and a checked shirt, with his sheriff’s badge pinned neatly to his lapel. He smiles, but it’s not the kind of smile you return.
“Afternoon, Annabelle.” He greets the tearful shop owner before turning to survey her customer. “It looks like you’re having something of a disagreement. Maybe I can help.”
“Are you the sheriff?” The stranger asks, not looking the least bit deterred by the involvement of law enforcement.
“Certainly am.” Bob places his hands on his hips, his smile transforming into something more serious. “Care to tell me what’s going on here?”
“That’s what I’d like to know!” The man holds up a portrait of an attractive, if stern, looking woman dressed in the fashions of a hundred years previously. I subtly squint at the name-plate and read Aunt Simone. The stranger turns and points out a collection of other knickknacks and trinkets lined up on the register. “I want to know where these came from. They shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be for sale.”
“And why is that?”
“They belong to me. They’ve been in my family for a long time. That’s why I’d like to learn how they wound up here, on sale for a fraction of what they should be worth. I know I didn’t donate them, so who did?”
“Annabelle?” Bob turns to look at her, a frown settling uncomfortably on his face. “You keep a record of who donates things, don’t you?”
“Not these.” Annabelle shakes her head, looking even more like she’s about to burst into tears. “They were with a collection of other items left on the doorstep when I came into work the other day. People quite often leave bags and boxes of donations if they can’t get in to donate when we open. And I haven’t been in for a day or two.” She sniffs. “Things were piling up.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Hey!” Bob’s head swivels from Annabelle to the stranger.
“I’m just saying it’s convenient.” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Precious family heirlooms are stolen and turn up here for sale, and this lady’s got no idea how they got here.”
“This lady is a pillar of the Patterson community.” Bob folds his arms and stares down the stranger. “If it comes down to taking her word over yours, I’d think twice before casting aspersions on her character.”
The stranger smiles, a sad, self-deprecating sort of smile, and he nods, slowly.
“I see. Patterson protects its own.”
“Patterson doesn’t entertain nonsense accusations. If you’d like to come down to the station, I’d be more than happy to take your statement and we can do some investigating. If you think these items were stolen, then I’ll need to know where they were stolen from. And when.”
“Never mind.” The stranger shakes his head. “Forget it. Perhaps I was mistaken.” He thrusts the portrait into Bob’s arms and storms out of the shop, banging the door behind him. I watch him go through the window, wondering, for the second time that day, just who this stranger is, and what has brought him to Patterson.
“I didn’t know these weren’t regular donations, I swear! If these items are stolen then of course I won’t sell them. I just can’t believe that I had stolen goods in my possession! That I might have been - committing a crime!” Annabelle sobs through an explanation, and Bob awkwardly pats her on the shoulder with his free hand, while he stands the portrait carefully on the ground. He is out of his element with a crying lady, and he looks around for assistance, his gaze landing on mine with relief.
“Cassandra! Excellent! Come and reassure Ms. Cricket she did nothing wrong, won’t you?”
I hurry forward and put an arm around Annabelle’s shaking shoulders. Her sobs subside, and she looks at me through red, watery eyes.
“I don’t even know what he was talking about,” she says, her voice wobbling. “He said these are family heirlooms. What family?”
“Have you ever seen him before?” Bob asks. I can tell from the tone of his voice and the tilt of his head that his small-town-sheriff Spidey senses are engaged.
“He was at the mansion earlier.” My lips turn down in a grimace. “Having a fairly prickly conversation with Jessica Patterson. She certainly seemed to know exactly who he was and what he was doing here, so perhaps she might be able to help. It doesn’t look like his mood has improved any. What a bad-tempered individual. I hate to say it, but I think I’m on Jessica’s side with this one.” I pat Annabelle on the arm. “And yours, of course.”
Bob nods, but I can tell from the twitch in his jaw that the very last thing he wants to do is hike over to the mansion and have a heart-to-heart with Jessica Patterson.
“She’s having a party tonight,” I say. “Maybe Mr. Sunny Disposition will be invited.” I smile. “I can see what I can find out if you like?”
Bob rolls his eyes. He knows I have a habit of sticking my nose in where is not wanted. Or as I like to call it, being neighbourly.
“How about we just write this off as an unfortunate misunderstanding?” He glances warily at Annabelle, who noisily blows her nose into a vintage, lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Would you like me to follow things up at the station?”
“No.” Annabelle shakes her head, then scoops up the selection of items that had agitated her customer. “But I certainly will be a bit more careful about what I sell. Stolen heirlooms indeed! What sort of business does he think I run?”
*
REASSURING ANNABELLE that nobody could ever consider her the criminal mastermind behind a ring of thieves operating in downtown Patterson takes a lot longer than I expect, but it does yield some good personal results too. With my finances what they are I could do with making a quick buck or two of my own, and I manage to turn our conversation towards the sorts of prices she pays and the kinds of items she’s actively looking for.
“I can certainly help you out with a few things,” I say, injecting my voice with a brightness I don’t entirely feel. “Maybe I could drop a box or two in this week?”
“That would be lovely, Cassie. Though only things you want to get rid of.” She eyes me and a glimmer of her old sparkle starts to show again. “And only things that are yours to begin with!”
I laugh.
“Hand on heart, Annabelle, it’ll be my very own junk that I’m very much in need of parting with.” And profiting from. I don’t say this last part out loud, but somehow she seems to sense it. She looks at me seriously.
“Is everything alright, Cassie? You don’t quite seem your usual spirited self today.” She sniffs again and reaches for her handkerchief. “I know my excuse - thief, indeed! But are you quite well?”
“Quite well!” I nod and force my lips to stretch in a smile I think is almost convincing. “Just trying to deal with too many problems at once, as usual.” I think guiltily of Louise and wonder if I ought to call her back now, but then I see time is rapidly ticking on and I still have a party to get ready for. I take one last look around the store and come to rest on Annabelle wanting to reassure myself she is going to be fine before I leave her alone, and my gaze catches on a piece of dusty furniture in one dark, overlooked corner of the store. I’m walking towards it almost before I’m aware of it. “Where did this come from?”
“Oh, that was waiting outside as well.” Annabelle frowns. “The same day as the other donations...wait, you don’t think that’s stolen too?” Her voice takes on a warning quiver and I’m quick to shake my head and settle her with a smile. I’m not being entirely honest, though, because I’ve seen a small end-table like this before, only I can’t quite remember where. It’s that dark, lacquered wood that looks dated now but was quite fashionable back in the day, and when I slide open the drawer I see there’s a couple of scraps of paper inside. Old letters, perhaps, forgotten by the donor. A curious impulse makes me pull them out all the same, and I catch sight of a familiar name. Edward Patterson.
“Cassie?”
I shove the papers into my purse and turn to smile at Annabelle.
“I think I’d like you to put this aside, Annabelle, if you don’t mind. Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure it’s not stolen!” I lie through my teeth. “But I certainly don’t want you to sell it to somebody else before I have a chance to come back and take another look at it. What do you say? Will you hide it for me?”
Annabelle offers me a conspiratorial grin, and together we manage to maneuver the small - but surprisingly heavy - end table out of sight into her back room. I really do take my leave, then, and am halfway home before I recall the papers I shoved out of sight. I ease them free and read over them again, squinting to decipher the handwritten words.
I’m not asking for anything from you...this was my mistake as much as yours...my child doesn’t need to know who their father is and neither does anybody else...
My eyebrows lift and I glance around, fearful of somehow betraying the hint of scandal I’m now holding my very own hands. I read back over the snippet, but it’s almost like trying to untangle a code without any kind of key to unlock it. Edward Patterson fathered a child that nobody knows about? That’s the sort of news that could blow up a small town like Patterson. Not to mention hurting a whole lot of people. I think of Jessica, and then again of Mindy, before folding the letters away and stowing them carefully in my purse for safekeeping. Well, we’ve gone this long without knowing a word about it. I don’t suppose there’s any reason to break the news now.
I pick up my pace, hurrying home where I’ll be able to hide this secret safely away from prying eyes, and begin to wonder just who is responsible for the other items, along with the suspicious end-table, winding up in Annabelle’s antique store, instead of staying safely in the mansion where they belong.