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FRIDAY WAS A BIG NEWS day in Mahina. A front-page, below-the-fold item in the County Courier carried the official announcement that the remains on Art Lam’s farm were those of local anti-biotech gadfly Primo Nordmann. The article also mentioned that two “university employees” made the discovery, but fortunately for Emma and me, it didn’t get more specific.
Al Konishi of Konishi Construction called with glorious news. The work on my house was completed, the damage done by the falling tree was fixed, and I could move back in any time I wanted.
Most thrilling of all, Pat’s antique-dealer friend, Jeffrey, had unpacked the contents of the box discovered during my house repair, and I was about to find out more about my buried treasure.
Emma, Pat, and I met for lunch at the Pair-O-Dice Bar and Grill, just a few doors down from the offices of Konishi Construction. Even at noon, the Pair-O-Dice was nearly empty. A lone fan wobbled bravely against the humid air. One couple (an office romance, maybe?) huddled in the farthest, darkest corner, sharing a pitcher of beer and a basket of fries.
“So where’s my box?” I asked Pat, as we got seated. We chose a table for four, close to the window, behind the distinctive neon sign.
“I wanted to make sure we had a place to sit first,” Pat said.
Emma and I watched through the not-so-clean glass storefront as Pat went to his car (he was still driving that cooking-oil-burning Mercedes) and retrieved a cardboard box from the trunk. He came back inside and placed it on the table.
“Where’s my wooden soap box?” I asked. “The Twelve Trees, whatever it was?”
“I have it. It’s in my trunk. Jeffrey cleaned off the dust. He also rewrapped the silver items in this special tissue paper he has, and preserved the original newspapers the items were wrapped in.”
“How much did it cost?” I realized how ungrateful I sounded, so I added, “Thank you, Pat.”
“Here’s your bill, and an estimate of the values.” Pat handed me a printout.
“Seems like a lot just to unpack a box.”
“It’s a lot of work.”
Emma snatched the invoice from me.
“Is this how much Molly’s silver is worth? It seems like it should be more.”
“It’s free money out of nowhere,” Pat said. “I wouldn’t complain. The pieces are silver-plate, not solid, but they’re in good condition. Jeffrey says you should keep the collection together if you want to sell any of it. It’s worth more that way. And you don’t have to count on the Mahina market. He’ll auction them online and get you a better price. Or you can try to sell them yourself.”
I held out my hand, and Emma returned the paper to me. I scanned down the valuation list and made a quick mental calculation. Jeffrey had thoughtfully taken a photograph of each piece and placed a thumbnail image next to each line item. I saw a coffee pot, a teapot, an ice bucket, a creamer and sugar bowl, several teaspoons, a small cup, and a tray. The silver was so tarnished the pieces were nearly black.
“Well, this isn’t bad. If I manage to sell this, I’ll get something like a third of what Earl Miyashiro wants me to pay him to fix my front end.”
“Pat’s right,” Emma said. “It is money you didn’t think you had. So you shouldn’t look so disappointed.”
“I know. It’s kind of a letdown. Here was this mysterious long-hidden box, unearthed through a quirk of fate and bad weather.”
“So what did you want, a genie to pop out?” Emma asked.
I pulled the box toward me and lifted out one of the wrapped pieces. It was about the size of a baseball, probably a sugar bowl or creamer.
“Those’ll look nice once you polish them,” Pat said.
“Yeah. That’ll be a fun project for a rainy day. Maybe I will keep them. I don’t have any nice dishes or glassware or anything like that.”
“There’s something else. Jeffrey said he doesn’t want to carry this in his shop or sell it online under his store name. But he says someone out there might be willing to pay a lot for it.”
Pat produced a large manila envelope and pulled out a plastic bag containing a folded piece of newspaper. Jeffrey Voorhees had painstakingly unfolded, smoothed, preserved, refolded, and sealed it.
“Here.” Pat placed it in front of me. Even after the treatment, the paper inside the plastic was as brittle as piecrust. I picked up the bag by the edges and tipped my head until I could read it without interference from the reflected light from the window. It was an editorial cartoon.
“Ugh.” Emma reached out to grab it. “Burn it.”
“Wait.” I pulled the cartoon out of her reach.
It was ugly, no question: a caricature of Queen Liliuokalani, the last queen of Hawaii, dressed in a getup that looked like a showgirl costume for an African-themed Vegas show. The half-naked queen was offering the “crown” of Hawaii to a fish-lipped, hook-nosed pawnbroker.
“When was the overthrow of Liliuokalani?” I asked Emma.
“The coup was January 17, 1893.” Emma reluctantly withdrew her hand.
“The date on the newspaper is February 3,” Pat said.
“That’s why the pawnbroker in the cartoon tells her the crown isn’t worth a wisp of hay,” I said.
“The kingdom was lost by then.” Emma frowned.
“These caricatures are horrible.” I set down the bag. “Did anyone think they were clever?”
Pat nodded. “What, no drunken Irishman? I’m feeling kind of left out here.”
“So this is actually worth something?” I asked. “Who would want to pay for this thing?”
“It’s rare. Jeffrey told me there are no microfilms of this paper before 1901. There was a big fire. The building burned down, and the newspaper’s archives were destroyed.”
“So this might be the only copy of the cartoon?” Emma stared at it again.
“That’s right. Molly, you were lucky it was stored in your house, away from sunlight. Because of the post and pier construction, you had circulation under the house, so it must not have been too damp.”
“Please don’t tell anyone about this cartoon,” I said. “Either of you. I mean, it has historic value, so I don’t want to throw it away, but I really don’t want to be associated with it, either.”
“I don’t blame you,” Pat said. “Jeffrey felt exactly the same way. Oh, one more thing. The signature’s visible, and the artist might be someone of interest to collectors, so he offered to do some research on it if you want.”
“How much would he charge? Never mind, I’m sure it’s reasonable. Sure. Why not?”