Finders Keepers (3 page)
“Zachary Chalmers can’t tear down the mansion!”
“I guess he can, too. It’s his, you know.”
“It belongs to Ambleside as much as to anybody.”
“Make a good parking lot, Phil says. I’ve got to tell you, I agree with him, Liz. Our business would just about double if we had better parking around the square. As it is, folks are liable to get themselves killed trying to cross the street over there by the pavilion.”
“I don’t want a parking lot beside Finders Keepers. I want Chalmers House.” Elizabeth could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Pearlene, what would Ambleside be without the mansion? It’d be like a smile with a front tooth missing.”
“You’re just attached to that old house because you loved Grace so much.” Pearlene swept a pile of leaves off the curb. “Most folks think the mansion is an eyesore. Why, it’s like something out of the Addams family. Besides, who’d ever want to buy it? There’s no central air, the heating system must go back a hundred years, the plumbing’s from the Dark Ages. And take a look at that ivy, would you? You can tell it’s eaten clean through the mortar. I bet if you gave those vines a jerk, the whole house would fall right down.”
Elizabeth propped her broom against the wall of her antiques shop and studied the old mansion next door. Movers had been carrying Grace’s furniture onto the expansive lawn since just after dawn. Already the crowd that had gathered for the auction threatened to overflow onto the street.
“Are you going over?” Pearlene asked. “There’s probably some good antiques you could snap up for resale in your shop. Phil was in the mansion a time or two, and he told me the place was loaded. Last night he said, ‘Who’d want that old junk, anyhow?’ and I said, ‘Liz Hayes would, that’s who.’ And he said, ‘That furniture’s probably full of termites. They ought to put the whole mess in a bonfire and be done with it.’ But that’s Phil, you know. He doesn’t understand antiques.”
Out with the old, in with the new,
Elizabeth thought, recalling her conversation with Zachary Chalmers. She’d never had much in common with Pearlene’s husband, and she had a feeling he and Grace’s nephew were two of a kind.
“Look at old Jacob Jungemeyer over there,” Pearlene exclaimed. “He just up and leaves the market anytime he feels like it. And then he blames the kids when his gumball money turns up missing. I’ll swan.”
“I’m going to take a look,” Elizabeth blurted out. She opened her front door and flipped the sign from Open to Closed. As she turned the key in the lock, she could hear Pearlene grumbling. Bad enough the Corner Market stood abandoned at nine in the morning, she was probably saying. Now Finders Keepers was shut down, and who knew which other store owners would lock their doors just to take a gander at the auction?
“Might as well shut down the whole town,” she muttered as Elizabeth crossed the crowded lawn.
“Morning, Boompah,” Elizabeth greeted the old man. He took off his hat and gave her a little bow. “Are you here to buy some of Grace’s books?”
“Where can I put more books in my little house, Elizabeth? No, I am here to say good-bye to Grace. Ach, it is a sad day for Ambleside.”
“There’s her blue vase.”
“Her hats thrown into a basket like so much dirty laundry.”
“Her crystal.”
“The painting of the horses.”
“Her favorite chair. Oh, Boompah, I think Pearlene was right. I shouldn’t have come.”
The old man took her hand and patted it. “You want to come with me to Dandy Donuts? We have a cup of hot tea together, Elizabeth. Maybe we feel better.”
“Good idea.” They started across the grass, but as they passed the books, Elizabeth couldn’t resist running her fingers over their familiar leather spines. Gilt-edged pages ruffled in the breeze. Classics that Grace had loved to read in the evenings lay scattered across card tables.
Moby Dick. Jane Eyre. Pride and Prejudice.
“Her Bible!” Elizabeth picked up the old black leather book and hugged it close. “How can Zachary Chalmers sell Grace’s Bible? Where is he? I’m going to give that man a piece of my mind.”
She scanned the crowd. Oblivious to the intricate wooden fretwork overhead, Zachary Chalmers stood on the porch and conferred with the auctioneers. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, and his dark hair ruffled in the river breeze. A pair of sunglasses concealed his eyes. Grateful she wouldn’t have to actually look at him, Elizabeth tucked the Bible under her arm, left Boompah’s side, and started for the house.
“Ma’am,” a man called, catching up to her. “You can’t separate the merchandise. I’m sorry, but that Bible belongs with the other books on the table. It’s Lot 39. You can bid on the whole batch when the number comes up, but we can’t let you carry off one book.”
She glared at the man. “I’ll have you know this is Grace Chalmers’s Bible.”
“I don’t care if it’s the Declaration of Independence. You can’t cart it off. It belongs to Lot 39.”
“You don’t seem to understand.” She flipped open the book, its pages underlined in inks of blue, black, red, and green. Notes in Grace’s trembling hand filled the margins. “This Bible is a record of a woman’s faith journey. It was a part of her daily life for years and years. She treasured every word.”
“Maybe so, but you still can’t take it from the table.”
“But this Bible is not like the other books. This was personal.”
“That’s the nature of an auction, ma’am. Its purpose is to sell off personal goods. And we sell things in lots.”
“Fine.” She set the Bible back on the table. “Come on, Boompah, let’s go get some tea.”
“You’re not staying for the auction, Miss Hayes?” Zachary Chalmers inserted himself between her and the old man. “I’m not too crazy about hanging around here myself. Mind if I join you two for a cup of coffee?”
Elizabeth looked at her reflection in the man’s sunglasses. “I’m afraid Mr. Jungemeyer and I would bore you,” she said, unable to keep the flint from her voice. “We’re part of the old guard, you know. We value the heritage a person leaves. We consider old tables, old vases, and old books worth preserving. We would never tear down an old house and put in a parking lot, Mr. Chalmers. So you’ll just have to excuse us.”
She took Boompah’s arm and stepped off the curb. If the new was so eager to send out the old, he could find someone else to have a cup of coffee with. Maybe Phil Fox would join him.
“A parking lot?” Zachary Chalmers said behind her. “Where’d you get that idea?”
Elizabeth swung around, her heart suddenly lifting. “You’re not planning to tear down the mansion and put in a parking lot?”
“No,” he said, “I’m going to tear it down and build a new office complex.”
What was
her
problem?
Zachary studied Elizabeth Hayes as she walked away from him. Her blue eyes had flashed fire a moment before, and the way she tossed that thick mane of chestnut hair spoke volumes. She clearly thought he was some kind of brute.
Nacho.
He chuckled. Funny little kid she had adopted. Cute, too, with his big green eyes and mop of black hair. Zachary wondered what would possess an attractive, young, single woman to take on the responsibility of mothering an orphaned child. He had grown up with a raft of little brothers and sisters, and though he occasionally pondered the idea of marriage and family, he was in no hurry. He hadn’t climbed the ladder of success this far to weigh himself down with such responsibilities.
Picking up the Bible that had provoked such emotion in the pretty Miss Hayes, he studied the worn black leather. Stamped in an intricate gold design of grapes and braided vines, the cover bore the words:
I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit.
Much fruit. Zachary doubted he’d brought forth much of anything that God would consider worthy fruit. Unless you could count the church he’d designed in Jefferson City. Maybe he’d get a star in his crown for that one.
Reflecting on his childhood salvation experience, Zachary recalled the evangelical Christian church where he had been taught the tenets of his faith. His commitment to Christ had been real enough, but somewhere along the way he had gotten too busy for the rigmarole of church attendance. He hadn’t picked up a Bible in years. Wasn’t even sure he could find one at his apartment in Jefferson City.
“Your aunt was a real churchgoer,” someone said at his elbow. Zachary looked up into a round, doughy face framed with a thatch of salt-and-pepper hair and a beard that was trying hard to conceal a second chin. “Name’s Phil Fox, Mr. Chalmers. I own the barbershop catty-corner to the mansion. I run the bus stop, too. As a member of the Ambleside City Council, I’m happy to welcome you to our little town.”
“You’re a busy man.” Zachary shook his hand. “Looks like quite a crowd here today.”
“You ought to earn yourself some nice pocket change off this old stuff.”
“Miss Hayes seems to think I’m making a mistake to sell.”
“Liz owns the antiques store next door. She thinks everything ten or more years old ought to be worth a fortune.” Fox laughed and shook his head. “I went into her place the other day, and I’m telling you, I never saw so much ratty-looking junk. She showed me this old white kitchen cabinet with peeling paint and dinged-up shelves. It looked like it came straight out of somebody’s barn. Still had some hay stuck to the back and cobwebs all over the thing. When she told me the price, I like to had a heart attack. I’d have given maybe a buck to chop it up for firewood!”
Zachary smiled. “You never can tell what someone will find valuable.”
“Now, that’s the truth.” He pointed a beefy finger. “You, sir, are an intelligent man.”
Unsure of a response to this comment, Zachary set the Bible back on the table, excused himself, and started toward the porch where the auctioneer had begun the bidding. He’d never been to an auction, and he thought he’d like to watch the process for a few minutes before driving back to his office in the city.
“I guess a man like you wouldn’t have much use for this old house,” the town barber said, matching him stride for stride. “You probably noticed the condition it’s in. You planning to sell?”
So that’s what he was after. “I have plans for the property, but I’m not going to sell it.”
“You’re not going to try to live in it, are you? I mean, the heating system could blow any day now.”
“I won’t be living here.” He stopped and faced the man. “I’ve rented an office above John Sawyer’s law practice, and I’ve rented an apartment near the river.”
“So you’re moving to Ambleside?”
“Looks that way.” He nodded and made to leave again. Was this whole town full of busybodies snooping into each other’s business? He had no desire to share his plans with this man or anyone else.
“They say you’re an architect,” Fox said. “I don’t know what you’re going to find to design around here. These old buildings have been here more than a hundred years, and nobody’s got any plans to tear them down. Unless you’re planning to get rid of the mansion and put in a new building. We’ve got a new subdivision going up—lot of new houses. Or maybe you’ve heard that talk about a mall going in on the edge of town. I think that’d be a real dandy deal.”
“Most of my clients are in Jefferson City. I’ll be commuting.”
“That’s not a bad drive. You know, you could do a lot to help this town, Mr. Chalmers. Mind if I call you Zachary? Ambleside’s in sad shape, I’m telling you. If I had my druthers, we’d bulldoze the whole square and start over with brand-new offices and stores, good air-conditioning, new sewer lines, sidewalks that nobody’d trip over. This could be a real nice place. Real nice.”
Zachary thought Ambleside was real nice already, which was why he had decided to move here. He was tired of the city, tired of the competition, tired of the traffic, tired of the bureaucracy and politics. A person couldn’t find a prettier, more congenial town than Missouri’s capital, but Zachary had worn himself out in his struggle to rise to the top of his field. He was ready for a rest.
Detaching himself from the barber once again, he wandered over to one of his aunt’s gold brocade settees. When he sat down, the metal springs prodded him through the seat cushion. A mouse must have nibbled a hole in one corner, he noted, because the matted horsehair was showing through. Why anyone would want such a piece of furniture when they could have a solid wood, foam-upholstered recliner was more than he could understand.
Here came Elizabeth Hayes now, escorting her elderly friend back across the street after their trip to the donut shop. They stopped again by the table of books and sorted through the pile, intent in discussion. The auctioneer’s rapid-fire calls drifted over the heads of the milling crowd, and Zachary wondered how anyone could keep track of the price.
Though he knew Elizabeth considered his decision to sell the mansion’s furnishings despicable, he realized he found the woman more than a little attractive. It wasn’t just her glossy brown hair and bright blue eyes that drew him. Zachary realized he hadn’t met anyone with such fire in a very long time. She’d been downright passionate about protecting the mansion from vandals the day before. And she certainly would have run Zachary through with a sword if she’d had one handy.
Treachery,
her eyes seemed to flash as she glared at him.
Villainy! Treason!
He stood and ambled through the crowd toward the table. If she spotted him, he’d get another tongue-lashing. Oddly, he looked forward to a lively interchange.
“She would have wanted you to have this,” the old man was saying in his thick European accent. “I am sure this Bible Grace would give to you, Elizabeth. You were her friend. You loved her.”
“I’d like to have it, Boompah, but I really ought to open my shop. Some of this crowd is bound to wander over to Finders Keepers, and if I’m closed, I could miss sales.”
“Listen, the auctioneer is almost ready to call the lot. You make a bid, Elizabeth. You keep Grace’s Bible safe.”
She squared her shoulders and faced the porch. “All right, I will.”
In a moment, an auctioneer’s assistant gathered the contents of the lot and carried it to the front of the crowd. Curious, Zachary took a spot slightly behind Elizabeth. What would she pay for an old, marked-up Bible? What had been so special about his aunt? And if Grace Chalmers had been such a terrific lady, how come Zachary’s father never once spoke the name of his eldest sister?
