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Monica had not heard from her Mother that afternoon or early evening, and she couldn’t settle down or focus on any task she tried to do. Patrick was lecturing at the university so she asked Erin to stay for dinner, an uninspired packaged frozen meal, and lumpy mashed potatoes. She was pacing the living room, her nerves on edge. “The phone will ring soon, and we will have a perfectly good explanation,” she said to Haggis who was also upset with the mood in the house. Suddenly the phone on the table rang, and Monica grabbed it. She noticed the caller ID, and almost yelled into the receiver, “Mother, where have you been, Erin and I have been worried sick about you. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be away this afternoon?”
“I am sorry. I left in a hurry today, and didn’t call, but there was a cancellation at the dental clinic, and I was able to get my tooth filled this afternoon. I didn’t turn on my cell phone; I was in a rush when I left. Did you see the mess I made in the garden when I was reversing?” she said laughing trying to add some lightness to the situation.
“I was worried sick. Please don’t scare me like that again.”
“I do apologize, my dear. I am truly sorry.”
“Alright, you are forgiven. Now, if you are going to be here next week, do you want to help us out with the Christmas in July street sale? We always need an extra pair of hands, and eyes with all the people traffic.”
“Look, I would be delighted as long as I don’t have to do anything with the cash register or credit cards.”
“Erin and I can handle the sales end of things, but you are good at staging and arranging so we could use some help there.”
Monica’s offer was made because the store would certainly need some extra help on long holiday weekends when the throngs of tourists and shoppers arrived. However, there was also another reason for the invitation. Joyce, being a fashion lover had always felt that Monica should carry a high end line of country chic clothing in the store, and had pushed for this many times. She saw herself, whenever it might suit her schedule, as the store fashion stylist to help people create a look for themselves amidst racks of clothing, and accessories. Monica’s answer to the suggestion was always the same: “I love clothes, I love to buy them, and I love to wear them, but I do not want to sell them!” She was hoping that if Joyce was in the store from time to time, and got involved with arranging the lovely antiques she might become more interested in the store as it was, and forget about trying to transform it into a clothing emporium. There were very few things that Monica found irritating about her Mother, but the clothing debate had raged on and off for ages.
Monica chatted with Joyce for a few more minutes, gave her one more gentle blast about turning off her phone, and then hung up. She then told Erin about her Mother’s dash to the dentist, and while Erin was delighted that Joyce was alright, she felt for the card in her pocket and fished it out when Monica was in the kitchen. Glen Holmes Fine Jewelry was certainly no dentist, but best to keep quiet. As always things got sorted in the end. A little patience went a long way.
***
Just after 6:00pm the next day Police Chief Van Dyck dropped over to see Monica and Patrick and they invited the widower to dinner. After saying that he didn’t want to impose, he finally accepted after some gentle pressure from Monica. His wife had died in a car accident a few years back, and he kept loneliness at bay by working overtime, and spending late nights at the office. “What I really came by for was to tell you that we got the autopsy for the baby back today.”
“Anything interesting?” asked Monica passing Van Dyck a cold beer.
“Well, it is a relief to know that to the best of their knowledge, the baby died from natural causes. There were no broken bones or fractures. They also felt that the baby might have been premature. The skeleton was very small.”
“It is a relief that it was a natural death,” said Patrick offering a seat at the dining room table to the thin, grey haired 6’4” Van Dyck who seemed huge in the cozy room. “But, why it was in a hay loft in a box?”
“Yes, that’s the next question. I was going to call Giles Brewster in Lexington, Kentucky and have a chat with him. See if he remembers anything strange going on at their place before the family left.”
“Maybe, Erin and I could help you there,” said Monica placing pasta and sauce on the table beside a large green salad, the three dinner options she felt confident in making. Her culinary skills were not her strong point, and more than a few dishes got burned under an unwatched broiled, baked into a burnt crisp, or fell flat when they should have risen.
“Monica,” said Patrick gravely, “I thought you were going to Kentucky to look for antiques?”
“Oh, we are. But there’s no reason why we can’t go see Giles. Sometimes a face to face meeting is better than talking on the phone. You can see a person’s reaction when you ask questions. That’s right isn’t it Van Dyck?”
Van Dyck laughed, but didn’t want to enter into a debate between Patrick and Monica. “Patrick, I am sure the girls will be fine with Giles. And it would help me out. I am working on another nasty case involving a married couple, and a runaway daughter who is missing so my time is limited.”
“Patrick, if you wish, you may come with us. How’s that? Put your mind at rest?” said Monica.
Patrick smiled. “No, you gals go alone. I would be like an uninvited guest.”
“Ah, in the words of Jean de la Bruyère, the French philosopher” laughed Monica, “‘the first day one is a guest, the second day a burden, and the third a pest’.”
Van Dyck, Erin and Patrick laughed together.
“But you are still welcome to come along,” said Monica collecting plates.
“No thanks, my love,” said Patrick, “I will let you and Erin poke into dusty corners, and I am not just talking about antiques!”
***
“I wonder if we should go and have a look at the local library newspaper archives? There might be something interesting there about the hospital,” suggested Monica to Erin a few days later as they were closing up the store.
The Coppin’s Locks Library was housed in the former schoolhouse down a side street. While there were two entrances when the building was a school — one for boys and one for girls— the main door was now on the right side under the stone lintel that read BOYS. Mrs. Curry had been the librarian at Coppin’s Locks ever since she had come to the area decades ago, and she knew every nook and cranny in the old building. She was paid a very small stipend, but she saw her role as an important job in the small town and oversaw the buying, lending and caring for books. She looked up from her massive old oak desk when she heard the front door squeak.
“Hello girls, oh and Haggis too!” she said cheerfully, pulling a yellow pencil out of the snowy white bun that wobbled gently on the top of her head. Her glasses sat on her forehead attached to a gold chain given to her by a patron who knew that the elderly librarian was always losing her glasses on shelves, in files, and in book donation boxes. “Now, how can I help you today?” asked the diminutive woman who seemed to get smaller every year.
“Mrs. Curry, this is a long shot, but do you have any old newspapers dating back to the mid 70s. We are looking for information about the closing of the old hospital in Keysville.” asked Monica.
“Oh, I remember that,” said Mrs. Curry reaching out to pat Haggis. “There was a real kerfuffle when it closed. People were in a panic when the news of the closing became public. They were worried about where they could go in case of an emergency, or where they would go to have their babies. Of course, things settled down when the hospital opened in Manchester. Good thing too. The old place in Keysville was so terribly out of date. Now, old newspapers; you’ll be wanting the microfiche machine. Hardly gets used these days. Too old fashioned for most people I suppose.”
She placed a small card that read BACK IN A MINUTE on her desk and motioned for the two girls to follow her. The library was a warren of hallways and small rooms, and her destination was a rarely used alcove. It smelled musty, and a small window high on the wall let in a little light. A large machine that looked like a very old fashioned computer sat on the desk. “This is a microfiche machine,” she said, “and in my day when there were no computers, and scanners, we used these to preserve our photos, and newspapers.”
“That looks like it sailed in on the ark,” said Monica laughing.
“It served as very well,|” said Mrs. Curry archly, “the newspaper pages were photographed in high resolution film. The images were reduced and transferred to a sheet of transparent photographic film. Now to use this, just go to the files, pick the film by date that you want and place the film on the spool. Make sure it is securely in place, and then use the knob here to move the film backwards and forwards. Then, you can magnify the image and read it. We have a printer hooked up to this so, for a small fee, you can print out the pages you want to keep.”
“Sounds easy enough to me,” said Erin sitting down, “but how long have these dinosaurs been around?”
“Since the late 20s,” said Mrs. Curry wiping some dust off the machine. The United States Library of Congress began to microfilm their books. One whole book can be filmed and stored on a small roll of film because the images are reduced. ”
“Interesting,” said Monica who was going through the file cabinet full of films stored by date, “and many thanks. We’ll come by your desk on the way out.”
The girls decided to look at films dating back exactly 30 years hoping to find out the date of the hospital closure. They spent half an hour looking at the old newspaper headlines, laughing at the out dated clothing, car styles, and gasping at the price of eggs, milk and butter in the grocery ads. Monica finally found a front page headline dated May 30th announcing the closing of the hospital on October 1st of that same year. The weeks that followed had updates on the closure, with reassurances that the hospital in Manchester could accommodate all the patients and provide jobs for most of the staff. For fun, Monica stopped at the social pages, the once very popular section of the newspapers where charity events, balls, horse shows, and soirees were mentioned along with photos.
“Oh, my heavens look at that!” said Erin pointing at a grainy black and white photo. Three women stood on a stage behind a long dinner table, and the woman on the left was being presented with a bouquet of flowers and a gift wrapped in white.
The caption read: Long Time Head Nurse Retiring Today after 30 years’ service at Bellevue.
The lady in the photo getting the gift and flowers was no other than Enid Black.
“What’s the date on this page?” asked Monica.
“Ah, June 7th,” said Erin pointing to the date at the top of the screen.
“Well, well, isn’t that interesting. Enid Black told us that she left the hospital the day it closed, and she said how sad it was to leave it for a final time. But according to the date of this event, she left the hospital at least four months before it closed up.”
“Now why would she lie?” asked Erin thoughtfully.
“Most people lie when they want or need to hide something,” suggested Monica patting Haggis who was bored and restless. “Look, let’s print out the pages we want. I have some great hors d’oeuvres in my freezer, and some new wine I want to try. We can have a good think over a sip and a nibble, and we can plan our next move. Patrick is lecturing tonight so he will be late.”
An hour later, Monica had brought a plateful of hot cheese puffs from her oven — made and bought at Bonita’s Bakery — and her wine fridge had produced a bottle of Californian Chardonnay. The two girls sat down on the small deck off the kitchen door at Monica’s house and nibbled and sipped contentedly. In the paddock at the end of the garden, her two donkeys, Gin and Tonic munched their hay, and occasionally shook their heads and flapped their long ears to get rid of the flies.
“I am thinking that Enid Black retired early because of something she did, or that she knew about,” said Monica, “and she clearly didn’t want us to know that she had left the hospital much earlier than the actual closing date. Remember she mentioned her father was a successful building contractor. I will bet that he had some clout in the area. I am wondering that if there was some sort of scandal like Mrs. Honor suggested, and the newspapers might have kept it hush hush. As a wealthy man he was probably a very generous philanthropist and political donor, and it would have taken just one phone call from the Mayor to the newspaper editor to successfully suppress a scandal. That’s probably why we can’t find anything in these old papers.”
“Bet you have hit the nail on the head,” agreed Erin enthusiastically helping herself to her fourth cheese puff, “but now where do we look?”
Monica was thoughtful for a few moments. “Well, I have an idea,” she said, “but it may involve a little cloak and dagger business!”
“Oh really,” replied Erin, her voice rising in interest, “and where might we be going, and what will we be doing?”
“Do you remember Mrs. Honor saying that there were things left at the old Bellevue Hospital like office files? And, Enid Black also said she had gone back to the hospital. We both agree that she must have gone back to look or get something, and I bet it was something in a file. I am wondering if we might find something there that will point us in the right direction?”
“Perhaps,” agreed Erin cautiously, “but it is such a disgusting, and scary place. Do we really want to go there? So very dark and ominous.”
“J.K. Rowling of Harry Potter fame once wrote, ‘I sometimes have a tendency to walk on the dark side,’ and, so too shall we if we want to shed light on this mystery.”
“Great. Can hardly wait,” said Erin with not a shred of enthusiasm in her voice. “Snakes, raccoons, and rats!”
***
Erin was finally looking into the boxes of old books and magazines from Mr. Andrew’s house. Often, she and Monica bought a box of books knowing that 95% of them were worthless. It was a matter of ‘take ‘em all, or leave ‘em all.’ And, every once in while they came across a real gem: a first edition, or a signed book from a famous author. The box contained the usual old style books with torn dust jackets, or no jackets, and the reading material was outdated, and wouldn’t have held anybody’s interest for more than a minute in the present day and age. The magazines were also old, but the photos from Britain’s Country Life, and The Field made Erin nostalgic for her native Ireland with emerald green fields, stone cottages, and walled laneways. Looking at the photos reminded her of travelling the world with Monica, and it had been so much fun to rub shoulders with the best show jumpers, horses and riders. But after Monica’s near fatal fall in a competition, the two of them had had to accept that Monica’s time in the spotlight was over. Besides the shattered leg, now held together with pins, Monica had sustained broken two ribs, her left wrist and her collar bone. Her horse, later sold to an Olympic hopeful for a healthy sum of money was unhurt, had walked away from the fall unscathed, and Monica thankfully couldn’t remember a thing about the accident. It was time for a life change, and together they bought the old red brick store in Coppin’s Locks, refurbished it, and started Rocking Horse Antiques. They quickly fell in love with the quaint village, and Monica had bought Arkle Cottage, while Erin had moved to a little condo by High Point Lake just outside of town. Now, she had a ‘real’ home to come back to each night after work. No more living out of suitcases, catching planes, and taking care of 1200 pound equine children.
She flipped through the magazines and one by one placed them aside. Somebody would buy them, and put them here and there in a house; fun to flip through, and fun to reminisce over, a little nostalgia between the faded covers. Her reverie was abruptly interrupted thanks to the jarring ring from her 1930s wall phone. She picked it up, said hello, and a smile spread across her face while her heart did a flip flop in her chest!
Christmas in July in Coppin’s Locks had been a summer drawing card for thousands of people year in and year out. For the store owners and keepers, it was a time to set up tables on the sidewalk outside their store fronts, and to sell older stock, final sale items and lowest price items. The hope was that the shoppers would buy a few cheap items, and then wander into the store and buy the more expensive regular stock items.
By 10:00am the village parking lots were crammed with vans, trucks, sports cars and motorcycles. Dan Patch, a local farmer was giving wagon rides with his team of Clydesdale horses, and their sleigh bells jingled merrily as they plodded along. Queenie Devlin, a 17 high school student with eyes on a European semester, was selling ice cream cones, fudge bars, and ice cream sandwiches a mile a minute from her wheeled cart festooned with red and green balloons. Bonita’s Bakery and Tea Shop was enjoying a roaring business, and the patio was full of mid-morning tea and coffee drinkers. Jerry, owner of The Thirsty Toad Pub knew that when he opened his doors at 11:00am, he would be swamped with locals and tourists wanting a cold beer, glass of wine, and some of his famous British pub fare. To top it off, the sun was shining in a cloudless sky, and a gentle breeze was blowing. Perfection was the word that came to mind thought Monica even though Erin had arrived in a bit of a tizz that morning.
“What is up with you?” asked Monica who knew her best friends moods inside out.
“I got a phone call. Last night. We talked for over an hour.”
“A phone call? Who was it? George Clooney? Brad Pitt?” said Monica starting to drag boxes towards the front door.
“It was Sergeant Wickens.”
“Wickens? Wickens?” said Monica thoughtfully. “Who is that?”
“You know the nice policeman who came with Van Dyck when the store got broken into. He was the one who found the oil leak that....”
“Of course, of course. Now I remember. What did he want anyway?”
“Well, he actually asked me out on a date.”
“Ooooh,” said Monica raising her eyes, “and as I recall he was awfully cute too: Hair, a little long for a policeman, blue sparkly eyes, and a great sense of humor.”
“That’s the one!” said Erin smiling and loading small items onto the long tables outside the store front. “He asked me out this coming Friday. We are going to go over to the Fox and Hen pub in Winchester. Apparently there is an amazing outdoor BBQ pit over there and every Friday they do ribs, chicken, and all kinds of other BBQ specialties. There’s live music and dancing. Should be a blast.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Monica, “and it’s about time you had a date, and a good time.”
“You are right there,” agreed Erin, “it’s been a long time since I kicked up my heels!”
Joyce swanned in looking like a model for Senior’s Weekly magazine. She was wearing designer jeans, a white T shirt with sparkles on the shoulders, black patent skimmers, and enough gold on her arms and neck to start a jewelry store.
“Dressed for a long day at work, I see,” teased Monica with a laugh and giving her Mother an extra warm and long hug.
“Well, if I am going to be a working girl on the street, then I need to dress appropriately,” joked Joyce.
“We decided you should man the home décor and accessories table,” said Erin showing Joyce an outdoor table covered with old style flapper purses, long opera gloves, jewellery, belts and hair clips. Beside it was another table bearing up under a load of mismatched chinaware, silver cigarette boxes, candle sticks, vintage birdhouses, and chimney pots bought in the Yorkshire region of England.
“Now, if anybody wants to buy, just send them inside and we will deal with them at the cash desk. Any questions?”
“No, all clear,” laughed Joyce, a woman who had never had to work a day in her life unless it was the arduous task of flying first class to a new vacation destination. But, as much as Monica and Erin giggled at Joyce’s rather indolent lifestyle, she knew fashion inside out, and could take any house and have it looking ready for the pages of a top home décor magazine within days. She was the perfect salesperson for the two outdoor tables, and would advise, suggest, and cajole shoppers into buying, ‘just the right thing’.
By noon the streets were awash with people buying, eating, strolling around and enjoying the day. Roadblocks kept the main streets, and back laneways vehicle free, and pleasant music from a classical music quartet played in the gazebo in the centre of the village green. Monica was on cash, Erin was moving amongst the shoppers, and Joyce was in her element talking and selling a mile a minute. Erin was looking out over the large Mill pond with the church steeple in the background, a favorite photo op for tourists, when she saw two familiar faces. Janine and Michael Page were getting out of a van. They then opened the back door, and half dragged, half lifted a man into a waiting wheelchair. Erin looked a little closer. She was sure that the man was poor old Mr. Andrews who had beckoned to her from his window. The trio began to walk towards the line of shops, and after a few minutes they turned left towards Rocking Horse Antiques. The Page’s looked a little surprised when they saw Erin, but she extended a hand to them both, and welcomed them to the store.
“And, I haven’t been introduced to Mr. Andrews,” she added, putting her hand towards his.
With a great effort, the old man moved his arm towards Erin’s hand, and they shook hands limply. Erin felt a huge sense of sadness for the man who had once obviously been a vibrant human being, now reduced to a shell, totally dependent on other people.
“Nice to meet you Mr. Andrews. Have you been to our store before?” asked Erin
“He had a stroke. Can’t speak much,” said Janine abruptly.
Erin looked down at the old man and winked. “Perhaps you two would like to go inside and look around? It’s awfully crowded in there right now with people, so I can stay out here with Mr. Andrews if you like,” offered Erin hoping that they might take the bait so she could have a few minutes alone with their charge. She noticed Janine and Michael looking at each other.
“Well, maybe just for a minute. Are you sure?”
“I would be delighted. If you go into the top room to the left of the staircase you will see some of the old signs you sold us,” added Erin knowing that the signs were in the opposite room tucked in a corner. It was a ruse to buy time.
The couple disappeared inside, and immediately Erin crouched down beside the wheelchair. She put her hand on Mr. Andrew’s arm, and his other arm moved to grasp her hand. He opened his hand and pushed a torn scrap of paper into her palm, and then closed her fingers over it. She looked into his pale blue watery eyes that were asking, begging for help.
“Mr. Andrews, I was the lady at your house who saw you in your bedroom. I know you can’t speak very well. We must be fast so blink twice for yes, and once for no, ok? Are you being treated badly?”
Two blinks.
“Are they feeding you enough?”
Two blinks with a shrug.
“Should I call the police?”
One blink and another small shrug.
“I will try to come up to the house this week. I will sneak in somehow, ok? I will try to help you.”
The old man gave Erin’s arm a faint squeeze. He smiled briefly, and Erin squeezed his arm in return, and not a second too soon as Janine and Michael swung around the corner and stopped.
“Couldn’t find the signs,” said Michael grudgingly. “I hope he wasn’t any trouble.”
“Not at all,” said Erin kindly. We were just enjoying watching the passing parade of people on this glorious day.”
Without saying goodbye, Janine grabbed the back handles of the wheelchair, and began to make her way back through the wave of people on the sidewalk. But, not before Erin in a fleeting second had gentle squeezed Mr. Andrews on the shoulder. A squeeze that she hoped would reassure an old man who was clearly at the mercy of two unsavory people.
Erin turned away and opened the scrunched twist of dirty, grey paper in her hand. It was well frayed along the edges and had obviously been around a long time. She pulled the edges apart and gasped. The words HELP ME, torn from a newspaper or magazine, were printed along the top of the paper. I’ll bet that poor old man has been hanging onto this for ages. Just waiting for the right moment to pass it onto somebody he trusted for help thought Erin. She knew now without a doubt that Mr. Andrews needed help badly.
