Shadows at the Spring Show (9 page)

“Great,” said Maggie. “Maybe I can get a couple of the student volunteers, too.”

“And then everything will pretty much stay as is until the show is over?” said George Healy.

“Yes and no. Everything will be as it should be, but I’ll still want some backup help. Toilet paper, remember. And once the dealers all turn their booth lights on, and the air-conditioning is operating, we don’t want any surprise blackouts.”

“There’s an emergency generator. If there should be a power problem, there will still be small lights in the corners of the gyms by the exits. But the room would be pretty dark.”

“Then let’s hope we don’t have to rely on the generator,” Maggie said, mentally crossing her fingers. “Will you have any problem getting people to work that weekend? I know Eric is going to be here, but just in case we need anyone else.” Maggie hoped she wasn’t being too obvious. Eric might be great for cleanups, but he probably couldn’t handle a major electrical or plumbing emergency. And with his brother missing, how could he concentrate on housekeeping details?

“It’ll be double time for some of them.” Healy hesitated. “But I’ll do what I can.”

Oliver, quiet until now, spoke up. “If you have trouble finding people to work, or getting the money to pay them, let me know. I’m in back of Maggie and the OWOC antiques show one hundred percent, and if there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”

Ever since Oliver had found out his wife had given a child up
for adoption long before she’d known him, he’d been interested in adoption, and Maggie hoped he’d write a nice contribution check to OWOC as well as using his influence with the board of the college to let them use the gym.

“And, Maggie, if you need help setting up tables or measuring out booth spaces, let me know. I can be here, too.”

“Thank you, Oliver,” said Maggie. She didn’t really need another boss to help set up the show. But, then again, if there were any problems, Oliver had the influence to take care of things. “I’ll let you know once I talk to each of the committee heads one more time.” She hesitated. Should she mention anything about the potential security issue?

No. That would just be between her and the people responsible for securing the building. Why bother the electricians and plumbers and tennis coach? They had enough problems to worry about in their own areas.

“I think we’re all set, then,” said Maggie. “If you have any questions about the schedule, please get back to me as soon as you can.” She handed them each a card with her home and college telephone numbers. “I’ll be at the college off and on through noon Wednesday, but after that I can be reached most easily at my home. Leave a message if I don’t answer. I really appreciate all the work you’ve put into getting this show ready to go. And the earlier we know about a possible problem, the better chance we have of solving it.” Maggie thought about the problems she couldn’t solve, such as someone who sent hate letters. Or someone who shot Holly.

She stopped Eric as they were leaving the room and asked quietly, “How’s your mother doing?”

Eric looked at her, then past her, into the empty hallway. “She had surgery yesterday. Mr. Healy asked me to come in for this meeting, so I did. But we don’t know how she is yet.”

“I’ve been thinking of her.”

“So have we.” Eric looked at her. “I’m just here for the meeting. We decided to stay home this week. All of the family. Sort of
moral support, you know.” Eric shifted his weight from one foot to another. He seemed full of nervous energy.

“And have you heard where . . .?”

“No one knows anything,” he said, and turned and walked away quickly.

No one knew where Jackson was? No one knew who had shot Holly? Or maybe Eric meant exactly what he said. “No one knows anything.”

Chapter 10

Foreign Children.
Illustration for Robert Louis Stevenson’s
A Child’s Garden of Verses
by Ruth Mary Hallock. Caucasian child eating porridge at small tea table with Japanese doll seated opposite, with rice bowl and chopsticks. Pictures of Native American, Inuit, and Japanese children on wall. 1923. 8.75 x 7 inches. Price: $40.

Winslow Homer was waiting as Maggie turned the key in the back door of her 1920s-era suburban colonial. She might be weary, but Winslow’s winding his way around her legs reminded her he was glad to see her. And that it was lunchtime. He had priorities. When Maggie came home, he expected at least a tidbit.

Maggie dropped her armload of books on the nineteenth-century pine kitchen table, bent down, and scratched his head. He’d been part of her life since last September, when he’d arrived and refused to leave. Since then she’d looked at prints of cats with a new eye. But no cat in a print looked enough like Winslow to convince her to take a print out of her inventory and hang it on the wall. After all, she had the original. Winslow was just a basic gray and white cat. Perhaps like the cat she had named him after in Winslow Homer’s engraving
The Dinner Horn,
but a more
domesticated creature. His idea of a wild adventure was peeking out the door to the ramp leading from her workroom/study to her driveway. Winslow was definitely an inside cat. An inside cat who wanted a taste of mackerel. Now.

Maggie complied and rinsed and filled his water dish.

It was a beautiful spring day, she noticed belatedly, realizing she should have left some windows open. She walked through the downstairs and opened several to let in fresh air. Despite her work last night, in the daylight her study looked more disorganized than usual. She sighed. At least she’d finished grading exams and filing the grades. And she’d made a start at sorting her prints for Friday’s show.

She kicked off her shoes. Winslow was speedily working his way through the mackerel. He looked up and meowed a loud “Thank you” and then returned to his dish.

Even Diet Pepsi was elegant in Edinburgh crystal, Maggie thought, as she selected one of the tall glasses she’d purchased with abandon at a show last winter when she’d realized they matched the brandy snifters she’d bought the year before. She took a long drink and looked around.

The house had become more hers since Michael’s death. Little changes, such as the crystal glasses, and the forest green recliner she’d bought last month, had made a difference. The recliner helped her muscles feel less as though she were reaching the “vintage” stage herself. It was so comfortable, in fact, that she’d rearranged her study to accommodate it.

The small table next to it was now covered with her telephone and answering machine, paper, pens, and a coaster with a picture of Pemaquid lighthouse on it. Literally, all the comforts of home.

She’d picked up the Pemaquid coaster in Maine last summer as a souvenir. That seemed a long time ago. She was definitely ready for another summer. And for a vacation, if she could afford one.

This was the closest to a vacation she could get right now. Caffeine. A comfortable chair. No immediate panics.

Knowing this week would be crazy, she’d stocked up on her favorite brand of frozen pizza and the fresh mushrooms, onions, and black olives she liked to add to it. Easy, filling, and if not totally virtuous, well, that was too bad. There were a few advantages to being widowed. Not being expected to put a full three-course dinner on the table every night was definitely one of them. Now the small refrigerated wine cooler was almost empty, and her freezer held more cherry vanilla ice cream and Lean Cuisine dinners than she’d care to admit.

Maggie put her glass down on the coaster. She reached for her blinking answering machine. Twelve messages on a Monday afternoon? People who managed antiques shows for a living were masochists. She had no clue how some of them managed to organize a show every three or four weeks in different states.

She hit the speaker button and readied her paper and pen.

Two dealers who were coming to the show wanted to change the number of tables they’d ordered. Luckily, their change-of-table needs canceled each other out. She made a note to adjust her floor plan.

One dealer wanted more posters advertising the show. She’d call Skip Hendricks about that. It shouldn’t be a problem, but it needed to be done today.

A student wanted to know if he could get his grades early; his father had promised him a new car if he got all As. Maggie sighed. That was certainly not a critical issue. He could wait for his grades like everyone else. She wondered for a moment what grade she had given him. Whatever it was, he’d earned it. Whether he’d earned a car or not was up to his father.

Gussie had called to check up on her and find out whether Jackson was home with his family by now and Holly was feeling better.

The next message was from Carole Drummond. “It’s important, Maggie. Sorry to bother you, but call me as soon as you get this. At home or at the agency.”

Maggie hit the stop button on the answering machine and dialed Carole’s number.

Chapter 11

Baa, Baa, Black Sheep.
Hand-colored steel engraving, 1860, of classic nursery rhyme, showing brother with crossbow and sister with a bouquet of flowers talking to a black sheep on a hill overlooking the ocean. 4 x 6 inches. Price: $40.

“Carole? It’s Maggie. What’s happening?”

“Thank goodness you called. How was your meeting with the facilities people today?”

“No problems. We’ll have the building maintenance coverage we need for the whole weekend. Holly’s son Eric knows the basic setup and will be our contact for the weekend. What he doesn’t know, I’m assured, he has telephone numbers to find out.”

“Eric Sloane. That’s interesting. But you feel there’s no problem there.” Carole’s voice implied there might be an issue of some sort.

“Should there be a problem? Eric seemed fine today, and I guess he’s been working in the gym area for a couple of months.” Maggie paused. “How’s Holly? Eric said she’d had surgery.”

“She’s much better, but still in the hospital. They removed the
bullet. The police still haven’t figured out who shot her, or why. It’s pretty scary. Her family is taking it hard.”

“I was surprised Eric was at work today, but he said he’d come in especially for the meeting; that the family was staying home for the week.”

“Of all the kids, I think Eric is probably the closest to Jackson. They came to the Sloanes about the same time, and they share a room. He must be upset, even if he didn’t show it. Some of the younger children are having strong reactions, too. After all, they’ve all lost mothers before. This one promised to be there for them. There’s some real fear and anger there.”

“But they can’t think Holly wanted to be shot! It wasn’t her fault!”

“No, of course not. But, emotionally, they feel she left them. After all, she’s not with them right now.”

“Carole, are you serious?”

Carole paused. “Absolutely. Separation and desertion are major issues for adopted children. Especially for older children who’ve repeatedly been moved from one family to another. It’s not an issue of understanding, Maggie. They know something happened to Holly that she didn’t plan. It’s an emotional response.”

“I still have a lot to learn about adoption.”

“Don’t worry. You’re learning every day!” Carole’s voice dropped. “Even Hal, who didn’t know the Sloanes that well, has spent the past couple of days in his room, just playing with his computer. Losing a mother is an issue much too close for his comfort. And I haven’t been free to spend as much time with him as I should.”

Maggie grimaced a little. Last night she’d heard some negative thoughts about adoption from Ann, and now this cheerful information from Carole.

“Maybe this is none of my business. But at the meeting Saturday I noticed scars on Hal’s arms. Are they from the fire?”

Carole’s answer was blunt. “Those are scars from where his bio parents burned him with cigarettes when he was little.”

“I didn’t know; I’m sorry.”

“He’s had a rough life. No doubt.”

Maggie felt uncomfortable knowing too much about Hal. But no wonder he had needed an adoptive family. Not all children who needed homes were orphans. “What about Jackson? Has he come home yet?”

“No one knows where he is. He’s probably with a friend, but it’s strange he hasn’t called. The news about his mother has been on the radio and in the newspapers. Maybe he feels guilty; maybe he feels if he’d been home, nothing would have happened. According to Rob, he’s never disappeared like this before. I just wish he was with the rest of the family. They don’t need to worry about him as well as worrying about Holly.”