Chapter 7

Dear Natasha,

I thought I would serve a charcuterie board with a mixture of meats and cheeses garnished with fruits at my book club meeting. But one member has told me that you’re not supposed to mix cheeses with meats. Is that true?

Cheese Lover in Colby, Kansas

 

Dear Cheese Lover,

While charcuterie means a selection of meats, there are no rules. People even make cookie boards and dinner boards! Mix whatever you want. I’m sure you are not the only cheese lover in your book club.

Natasha

The banging continued. Someone was being very persistent. Probably Jordan.

Crouching, I scuttled out of the office and peered around the side of the checkout counter. It wasn’t Jordan.

I had forgotten about Karl Roth, Orson’s previous business partner. It hadn’t taken long for word to get out to him about Orson’s will.

I crouched on the floor behind the checkout desk and waited for him to go away. It was a chicken-hearted thing to do, but I didn’t have to answer to him or anyone else about why Orson left his store to me. Besides, I didn’t know why.

When the racket stopped, I stood up and straightened my dress. Studying the key ring, I realized that there was only one key to the front door. That meant someone else probably had a key, too. I needed to change the lock. And I had to change my clothes if I was going to crawl around on the floor.

I left the lights on in spite of the electric bill because it seemed safer. People would think someone was inside. At the front of the store, I examined the lock. I knew I could dash to the hardware store and get a new one, but the plate looked antique, and I was concerned that replacing the lock might be complicated. I retreated to the desk and called a locksmith who said he could be there in two hours.

That worked for me. I left the building and carefully locked the door behind me. How would I know if someone entered while I was gone? The place was large enough for a person to hide and I would be none the wiser. Using an old trick, I found a piece of a dry leaf on the sidewalk and jammed it in the crack between the door and the door frame, very low, where it wouldn’t be noticed. If anyone opened the door, the leaf would fall.

I hurried home and changed into a skort, a sleeveless cotton shirt, and pull-on sneakers. The store wasn’t dusty, which led me to believe there must be a cleaning service that came in. Maybe if I looked back through recent bank statements, I could figure out who it was. There was way too much to keep clean in that place for one person to do it.

I suited Daisy up in her halter and leash and considered taking Mochie with me. He was remarkably good about not knocking things over. But maybe I should explore the whole place before he found a hole I didn’t know about.

I fed him before we left. On our way to the store, I stopped to buy a strawberry milkshake for me and a doggy ice cream cone for Daisy. When we arrived at the store, I checked for my leaf. It was securely in place. I unlocked the door. Daisy and I rushed inside, happy to be out of the afternoon heat.

I removed her leash and crossed my fingers that she wouldn’t bump into anything. She sniffed the floor and wandered around contently. I found a dog water bowl that probably belonged to Rosebud. I scrubbed it out, filled it with fresh cold water, and set it behind the checkout desk for Daisy.

Out of curiosity, I walked up the stairs to see what was there. It appeared to be a French country nook. Unlike the downstairs, most of the furniture didn’t appear to be antiques. It was packed with tablecloths and pillows in provincial patterns as well as a large selection of French style chairs.

At that moment, I heard a knock on the door and raced downstairs to greet the locksmith.

When he was working, it dawned on me that there must be a second entrance through which they brought large pieces. And where did they load them? I called Daisy, and the two of us explored the stockroom I had found earlier in the day. Sure enough, there was a back door that led to an alleyway large enough to accommodate moving trucks and vans. Nearby, an automatic garage-style door connected to a loading dock.

I returned to the locksmith and asked if he could change the locks on those doors as well. Then I sat down and looked through bank statements. The cleaning company, Dust Bunnies, Ltd., was easy to identify. It appeared Orson had had several employees. I looked up phone numbers and called each of them. Everyone except the Dust Bunny lady already knew about Orson’s passing. I arranged to be present for the next cleaning, so I could give them a key. You couldn’t let a place with this many items go without a regular cleaning! I told the employees we would be closed for at least a week. They were sad but understanding and relieved to hear they were still employed.

By the time the locksmith was done, I had had enough for one day. I locked up and walked Daisy home.

I fed Mochie and Daisy their dinners, then made my own little charcuterie board from leftover salami, morsels of Gouda and Havarti, a hard-boiled egg, a slice of lovely whole grain bread, a little butter, and a fresh pineapple tomato from the garden, mostly golden on the outside with beautiful red stripes inside.

After checking e-mail and phone messages, I went up to bed. It had been a strange day. I still didn’t know what to make of Orson leaving me his antiques store. Nothing about it made any sense at all.

 

In the morning, I spent a couple of hours writing my advice column and taking care of business. I couldn’t afford to let that slide.

Apologizing to Mochie for leaving him alone, I pocketed the new keys, harnessed and leashed Daisy, and headed back to Orson’s store, dressed again in a skort and sleeveless top, ready for any eventuality, like dusty parts of the storeroom.

But this time, we cut through the alley behind the store to the loading dock and back door. I stood there for a few minutes, studying the rear of the building. The back door had only a peephole. It didn’t need a window. Still, I wondered if Orson had been concerned about burglaries. Next to the door was the loading dock with the garage door. It had high windows to let in the light, and mock handles and hinges, as if it opened like two doors. And next to that was a window.

For a moment, I thought it must belong to the adjoining building, but the brick was different on the place next door. Both buildings had red brick, but the brick on the neighboring store appeared a little lighter in color.

On the second floor, there were four large windows. On top of that was an attic.

If I considered the building as whole, then the extra window on the main floor seemed to belong. But where was it? I hadn’t noticed any rear windows on the main floor.

I unlocked the back door. Daisy bounded inside, dragging her leash behind her. I took care to lock up, in case Jordan thought he would pull a fast one and enter that way.

I hadn’t given him much thought, actually. Probably because I was so stunned by Orson’s bequest to me. Why hadn’t he left the store to Stella? He must have had a reason.

Entering the main part of Chatsworth Antiques was like walking into a different world. Most of the street sounds disappeared inside. Beautiful statuettes and assorted porcelain, dogs, cats, birds, and bulls watched as I walked around turning on the lights until I noticed broken glass on the front door. My first thought was that someone had been unhappy that their key no longer worked and had broken the glass to enter the store. But it could easily have been someone without a key who intended to steal something. With so much inventory, how would I ever know what was missing?

I shooed Daisy away, worried that glass shards might cut her feet.

I started toward a broom and dustpan when it dawned on me that the person could still be in the store. I stopped dead and listened.

I didn’t hear anything except Daisy. Still, to be on the safe side, I pulled out my phone and pressed 911 to report the break-in.

While I waited for Officer Wong, I called the glass store to have someone replace the glass. How annoying it all was! Then I fetched the broom and dustbin and began the tedious cleanup.

As I swept, I noticed a small piece of fabric snagged on a shard that was still in the door frame. No more than an inch at its longest part, it was light blue and somewhat plush. I didn’t dare touch it. While I knew the culprit would never be found and arrested, Wong didn’t need me messing up the crime scene.

By the time Wong arrived, I was on my knees, going over the floor with a soft cloth to be sure I hadn’t missed any tiny shards.

“What happened here?”

I looked up to see Wong on the outside of the door looking in at me. “Your guess is better than mine. Were any other stores broken into last night?”

“None have been reported.” She tried the door handle. “It’s still locked.”

Silly me. I fetched the key and unlocked the door for her.

Daisy came running, eager to see her friend. Wong had been assigned to the Old Town beat some years ago. I loved to see her arrive at the scene of a crime because Wong was sharp. She didn’t miss anything. She could read people well and noticed details that others might overlook. Wong had kept her husband’s name when they divorced, but she had told me he was the wrong man for her by a mile. She wore her hair in a sleek bob that framed her face and suited her. Wong battled her weight like I did. We were pushovers for sweets, especially cupcakes.

Wong pointed at the blue tuft of fabric. “Is that yours?”

“Nope. I noticed that. It’s just the way I found it. I came in through the back.”

Wong sighed. She pulled on a glove, plucked the fabric off the glass, and deposited it in an envelope. “I hate to break the sad news to you, but we won’t be sending anyone to dust for fingerprints or collect evidence.”

I pointed toward the dustbin and asked facetiously, “What? Are you sure you don’t want all the shards of glass?”

She smiled at me. “At least it will be on file if you make an insurance claim.”

“Insurance.” I hadn’t given it a single thought. “Thanks, Wong. I’ve called someone to replace the glass.”

“Is it true that Orson left you his store?”

I nodded. “I’m more shocked than anyone. A short time before he collapsed, he asked me to come by the store. He said he wanted to discuss something personal.”

“Oh no! And now you’ll never know what it was he wanted to tell you.”

“Exactly. Do you know his previous business partner, Karl Roth?”

Wong nodded. “I’m afraid I do. He’s as much a character as Orson was.”

“He came by yesterday afternoon and banged on the door and shouted. Is he the type who might have broken into the store?”

“As far as I know he has never been in trouble with the law. He prides himself on being southern. He acts like a gentleman, though I’m not sure that he is if he’s banging on the door and shouting. I’ll go by and have a chat with him.”

“Go by where?”

“He has an antiques shop”—she made air quotation marks with her fingers when she said “antiques shop”—“on the other end of town.”

“Let me know if he says anything interesting.”

“Will do. Good luck with the store!”

I dragged a sofa over to the door to block Daisy from wandering out and to prevent someone else from slipping inside through the gap left by the missing glass.

That done, I faced the rear of the store. The door on the far right led to the storeroom and the back door. Nearing the middle was the powder room. Had I missed seeing a window there? I opened the door to have a look.

Orson couldn’t help decorating everything in style, even the powder room. What appeared to be an inlaid antique dresser had been repurposed as a vanity topped by cream marble with a sink. A black and gold chinoiserie mirror flanked by double sconces with black shades on both sides hung over the sink. There was even a clawfoot tub with a curtain in case anyone needed a bath!

But there was no window. I stepped out and continued my search.

Close by was the door to the store office. The room was a good size with two gorgeous desks. Several desk-height, burled wood filing cabinets lined the wall on the right.

The missing window should have been in the rear wall, but it contained built-in bookshelves.

Confused, I went upstairs and counted windows. There were four, as I expected. I opened the window on the far left, leaned out and looked down. There was the missing window. It had to be downstairs in the building.

After closing the window, I returned to the main floor and walked to the front door, which appeared, as far as I could tell, to be approximately in the middle of the store. To my far left in the back was the door to the office.

Could the window have been boarded up for some reason? These old buildings had been through countless renovations over the centuries. Maybe it had been covered from the inside, but left looking like a window for aesthetic balance on the outside.

I returned to the office one more time. The bookcases at the end wall could be covering the window for some reason. I tapped on the wood, but that wasn’t particularly helpful. I removed some of the books for a better look, but that didn’t prove helpful, either. I would simply have to accept that the window had been blocked for some reason. Maybe Stella knew why.

But as I replaced the books, I heard a click and the bookcases swung open into a hidden room. And there, against the back wall, was the missing window.