Shadows at the Spring Show (27 page)

The people who’d volunteered to be porters weren’t coming until four, but Kayla and Kendall volunteered to help Will unload now, and Eric and Abdullah went to help Ben.

With that many porters, loading in was going to be easy, Maggie thought. At too many shows she’d had to heft and carry all her inventory and racks and table covers and tools herself. It often took over an hour just to get everything from her van to her booth.

Her van. She tried not to think about the logistical issues of not having any transportation, as she kept an eye on the door while Gussie supervised the unloading.

She’d mentioned the lockers to Al, and he was off making sure everything there was secure. If he needed a shower tonight, he assured her, he’d briefly unlock just one area.

So far, so good, Maggie said over and over to herself. No more threats. No more shootings. No more explosions.

Maybe whoever had done all this was satisfied he or she had already gotten enough people upset and wouldn’t try anything else.

Maggie’s fingers were crossed, and she looked around quickly for some wood to knock on.

“Your table covers or mine?” asked Gussie. “I think the guys have unloaded everything. Ben and I can set up our part of the booth, but you’ll have to put up your Peg-Boards and racks.”

Just like a regular antiques show, thought Maggie. She followed Gussie into the gym. She’d put Will’s booth across from theirs, and his porters had been working just as quickly. It looked as though almost everything he’d planned to display was piled on the floor between his tables.

They chose Gussie’s table covers, which were navy blue. Maggie’s were black, and today, they both decided, something a little brighter would be good. Ben set Gussie’s folding bookcases on the back of her tables, forming a wall of sorts to fill with dolls and toys, while Maggie attached Peg-Boards to the tables on the other side of the booth, so she could hang prints on them.

Setup would be much faster than usual, since she hadn’t brought many prints. She put a high rack in the corner to hold Victorian lithographs of children and used lower racks on the tables for the children’s illustrators she was going to feature.

She put Winslow Homer wood engravings on one end of the front table. No matter what show she did, she always took her Homers. Some Thomas Nasts were right for this show, too, since he had lived in New Jersey and his Christmas engravings featured Santa Claus and children. Even in May there were customers looking for Christmas gifts and collectors looking for Santa Clauses.

Several groups of hand-colored and lithographed flowers fit well in one corner of the booth, with a rack holding astronomy and astrology behind them.

There was less room for anatomy prints than she’d planned, so Maggie left prints of animal anatomy in her portfolio. She pulled out the 1912 foldouts of the digestive system of man, and of the stages of human pregnancy, and a wonderful Victorian lithograph illustrating where to provide pressure should the pictured mustached gentleman have the unfortunate luck to be bitten by a mad dog. Parts of the ear. Parts of the eye. Skeletal structure. Muscular structure. All wonderful prints for doctors, nurses, physical therapists, surgeons, and others professionally involved with the human body. At her last show she’d sold several skulls to a father who planned to give them as graduation gifts to his daughter, who was studying to be a psychiatrist. Skulls were always dramatic to put in front.

There. She pulled out one of a skull, front and back and top views, and one of a series of skulls showing anatomical differences in anthropological divisions of
Homo sapiens.
Interesting. She checked the date. Was this still as true as had been believed in 1888? Or was it politically incorrect now? She looked at it again. And then a third time. The skulls were labeled as different races, but many of them were what we would now call different cultures. Maggie put it in back of the other prints and stood back.

Not bad. Her part of the booth had come together better than she’d hoped, considering the short time she’d taken to go through her portfolios and then to plan what she would bring, and how she would display everything.

And, as often happened, going through her prints had calmed her. Had let her see life in a little different light.

Ben was arranging a group of cast-iron banks in the shapes of horses, elephants, and bank buildings on one of Gussie’s bookcases, while Gussie set up a lovely pink, flowered Victorian dolls’ tea set. “Make sure that’s not too close to the edge of the table,” Maggie advised. “There will be more children than usual at this show.”

“You’re right,” agreed Gussie. “In fact, I thought of that when I was packing.” She pointed at her front table. It contained more twentieth-century toys than Gussie usually brought, but they were certainly all collectible, from early Tonka trucks to elaborate pink and blue plastic 1950s dollhouse furniture. And Gussie had added a sign:
EVERYTHING ON THIS TABLE $15 OR LESS.

Maggie gave her a “thumbs-up.” “Good marketing! And once you get the children occupied . . .”

“Then we entrance the parents with your prints and my nineteenth century French fashion dolls. The ones arranged far from the edge of the table.”

Chapter 36

Gathering Corn.
Wood engraving from 1865 by Edward Forbes. Black man dumps basket of corn into a wagon pulled by a pair of oxen, one black and one white, who are nibbling on cornstalks. One white man shucks corn, while another removes cornstalks. 11 x 15 inches. Price: $60.

By three thirty Maggie was glad she’d finished setting up her booth early. Dealers and their vans and trucks lined the parking lot. She walked through the lot, checking to make sure she knew everyone there, and handing out name tags.

If people inside the building were not wearing name tags, they’d be stopped by Al or one of his assistants so their identity could be verified. If they didn’t have a good reason for being there or were just trying to get an early look at the merchandise, their names would be recorded—as they were accompanied to the door.

Luckily this was not far from standard procedure at many antiques shows. None of the dealers would suspect there were any more reasons to be concerned than the need to protect their antiques. But there are no secrets at antiques shows; within an hour of their arrivals, Maggie knew all the dealers would have heard about her van being blown up.

Violet, one of the students who’d volunteered to be a porter, arrived. Kayla and Kendall left to pick their children up at day care. George Healy stopped in to check on Eric and make sure everything in the gym was all right.

Ann arrived with two friends, demanding that porters unload the small refrigerators she’d brought, along with cartons of napkins, cups, sodas, hot dog rolls, and what looked like four cartons of electric deep fryers (“So we can cook hot dogs!”) and frying pans (“For the onions and sauerkraut!”).

Maggie sent Abdullah and Violet off to find Eric and see if there were any additional dollies they could borrow for Ann. Gussie was still setting up her booth, but Josie Thomas had stopped in to see where the admissions table would be on Saturday, and Maggie recruited her.

Would she stay and check the dealers in, see that they paid the rest of their booth rent before they set up, give out the name tags everyone should be wearing by now, and keep a current list of dealers who’d requested porters? In the order they’d requested them, please.

Josie nodded and went to work.

Volunteers were wonderful.

Paul Turk arrived, as good as his word, to be a porter, and so did Oliver Whitcomb. Maggie put aside any hesitations about ordering a philanthropist to get his hands dirty. She asked Oliver to find George Healy and check that there was enough power for all the electrical appliances Ann and her café staff were unloading.

Another note for future shows, Maggie thought: ask café people how much power they’ll need.

And if there wasn’t enough power, Oliver would be the best person to tell Ann.

Was Ann really going to sue OWOC?

If she was going to do that, then why go to all this trouble for the show?

Maggie had a sudden horribly funny vision of Ann as the
wicked witch in
Snow White,
handing out poisoned apple muffins to everyone at the agency.

It was not the moment to share that thought with anyone.

Abdullah was helping Will set up his booth. Where were all the other people who’d promised to be porters?

She breathed a sigh of relief when an OWOC parent waved to her from an SUV and unloaded six teenagers, four girls and two boys.

“When should I come back for them?” called the mom.

“Seven o’clock,” Maggie called back. All the dealers should have their inventories in their booths by then. They might still be setting up, but they wouldn’t need porters at that point. The busiest time was the next hour, with tired dealers anxious to unload and start arranging their booths. Many had left home early this morning to get here by setup time.

At quarter to four Maggie let the dealers come in, see how the gyms were arranged, find their booths, and identify the door closest to their booth to use for unloading. Several grumbled. Others quickly moved their vans to more strategic parking locations around the gymnasium.

All part of a usual setup, especially for the first show in this location. If the show was held again next year, all would know their booth locations and the best parking spaces.

Maggie said a mental prayer that if there
were
a show here next year, she would
not
be the one managing it. Once was enough. Maybe once was too much.

Josie figured out the logistics like a veteran. Mothers seemed to have a lot of logistical skills, Maggie noted.

She made new name tags for each of the volunteer porters, most of whom she recognized from OWOC adoptive-parent parties and picnics. She spoke sharply to one dealer she overheard trying to bribe a girl to unload his van before helping someone ahead of him on the porter list.

Finally, at four, porters assigned, Maggie gave the word. Dealers could unload.

Dealers and porters streamed through every door into both gyms. Many of the dealers had already piled cartons outside their vans or even carried their inventory to right outside the doors of the gym. Others had loaded their own dollies while they were waiting.

Maggie walked through, nodding and waving and answering important questions. (“Are there special restrooms for dealers?” No.) (“Is there free coffee for dealers?” Soon.) Many dealers were already frazzled after long days. Tonight most would unload and set up as well as they could. They’d come back tomorrow morning at eight to rearrange and perhaps bring in some particularly special items they hadn’t wanted to leave in the gym overnight. And check other dealers’ booths for any bargains before the show opened at ten.

She looked over at the café. Oliver and George had determined what was needed, and Ann had two tables of electrical appliances already set up. Coffee was perking. Maggie poured herself a paper cup of one of the no-name sodas the agency was providing for the dealers and porters during setup. Even no-name diet cola was better than no diet cola. She made a mental note to take her gift carton of Diet Pepsi home.

Everything was working. Maggie kept walking down the aisles, keeping an eye on the dealers and porters and the few other people approved to be here now.

Aisles and booths were jammed with boxes and furniture. Most of the tables were now covered to the floor with black or blue or white or red flameproof fabric table covers. Walls surrounded three sides of some booths. Oriental carpets were on the floors of others.

Maggie reminded one dealer that not even masking tape could go on the gym walls; another, that he could only attach spotlights or lamps to the outlets he had requested and paid for. The ones already in his booth.

The merchandise was as varied as Maggie had hoped. One dealer specialized in metal lunch boxes and pottery cookie jars.
Another in oyster plates and sterling silver. Pine colonial furniture was arranged in one booth; a careful selection of grandfather and grandmother clocks in another. One dealer displayed nothing but barometers, antique microscopes, and early surgical equipment.

“Did you find anything for me at the estate library?” Maggie asked Joe Cousins, as he unloaded a dolly full of boxes of books.

“That sale was a bust,” Joe said sadly. “The idiot running it didn’t know the difference between a first edition and a book-club edition.”

Maggie shrugged, smiled, and waved as she walked on.

Maybe everything was going to work out. Maybe there would be no problems.

She kept an eye on Claudia, who was portering for a woman who’d brought several dozen cartons of printed tablecloths and aprons and dish towels dating from the 1920s to the 1950s. Linens were popular at many shows, but a dealer would have to sell a lot of dish towels to equal one grandfather clock. In fact, the clock dealer would probably consider this show a major success if he ended up selling one clock. A strong show for him would be making contacts with one or two people to repair clocks they already owned.