I walked her to the door and then turned off the downstairs lights, checked on the kids, and finally dropped to the edge of my bed. I slowly undressed and got into my bathrobe, debating the merits of a long, hot bath. The day had left me tense and so tired I could barely move, and tomorrow—tomorrow I would have to go down to the Chintz 'n China and face the reality of what still seemed like a nightmare.
My shop. My beautiful shop. I started to cough. I'd managed to repress my tears all day, but now they grew thick in my throat. Leaning forward, I fought against the growing lump in my chest. I wouldn't cry, damn it! I wouldn't give in to the bastards who'd trashed rny shop.
Then I remembered. Miss Kitty! I still had Miss Kitty. I belted my robe and made my way downstairs. Picking my way over the chilly ground, I rescued her from the Jeep, then trudged back to my room and set her on the night-stand. Whimsical, I thought. Nothing in her world ever went wrong. She would live in a Winnie-the-Pooh world, where misplaced honey pots were the worst that could happen.
My lower lip began to tremble. Oh, for the days when I could run to Nanna, crying over a skinned knee or an imagined slight from a playmate; when all bad experiences could be remedied by a cuddle on her large, comfortable lap. She would take me in her arms and listen to my story, then tell me to buck up as she kissed me and handed me a cookie. Nanna... how I missed her. If only she was here now; maybe she could help me understand what was going on.
I picked up Miss Kitty and gave the statue a gentle kiss. "Oh Nanna, where are you? I need you so much. I don't know what to do. Nanna? Please, help me."
The curtains rustled as a delicate hand rested on my shoulder. As had happened several times over the past years, a golden glow enveloped me, and I knew that Nanna had heard me. I peeked over my shoulder, and there she stood, outlined in the gentle glow of the lamp, apron stretching across the Bavarian print dress she'd worn on her last day in this world. She leaned down, and I sensed more than felt her kiss the top of my head. "Cry, my beautiful Emerald. Go ahead and cry." Her voice lilted along on a sudden and unexpected draft that rushed through the room.
"I'm trying to be strong. I'm really trying—" My voice caught, and I pressed my knuckles to my lips. I could try all I wanted, but it wouldn't change the fact that someone had wantonly destroyed everything beautiful I'd worked to build in an orgy of theft and vandalism. The shields I'd built through the frustrating, bewildering day came crashing down, and I hiccupped once before the floodgates opened. All the while, Nanna remained, hand on my shoulder, watching over me as I gave in to the anger and fear.
Five
I DIDN'T WA N T to call Walter Mitchell and admit that I was having problems, but after a battle with myself that raged through breakfast, I broke down and picked up the phone. If they were on schedule, he and his mother should be nearly finished with the assessment of the property they'd recently inherited, and I'd be able to pick up the china they promised to give me after I was almost killed in their old house last winter. Maybe I wouldn't have to close the shop until I could reorder stock.
Walter was pleasant enough when I reached him. He'd better be, I thought. I'd saved his ass. But as surprisingly benign as he seemed, he wasn't the bearer of good news. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch with you lately," he said. "There's been a snag. We have to go through the appraisal again with a new firm." He coughed, sounding embarrassed. "It seems that our appraiser was recently arrested for tax evasion, and now all of his records are suspect. It's going to take at least two or three more weeks before things are sorted out. You don't need the plate right away, do you?"
I could actually hear a spark of regret in his voice. Damn! I let out a low sigh. "I understand. I'm grateful for the gift, and I'm not going to complain about a little delay." I paused, feeling like I had to give him some explanation for calling, and even though I hadn't planned on it, found myself spilling out the news about my shop.
Walter was a cold, ruthless man. Not only had he cheated on his late wife, but rumor had it that he beat her up regularly. I shouldn't like him, and I didn't, at least not on principle. But he had a certain charm that was hard to ignore. He murmured a sympathetic response. "Do you need a loan to tide you over?"
Hasty backpedal! Under no circumstances would I allow myself to become indebted to good old Walt. The china was my reward for saving his butt; anything more would be far too intimate. I thanked him and extricated myself from the conversation.
I pulled out my calendar and glanced through the upcoming events, ticking off notes as I went. I'd have to cancel the tour from Abbottsford, BC, due to arrive Saturday. They expected a full shop, and if I wasted their time, I'd chance Ipsing them as customers. We wouldn't be making much money for the next couple of weeks, not until the insurance check showed up. I could restock the shelves on my own credit, but what if Applewood Insurance didn't come through? Nope, restocking would have to wait for a few days. A glance at the clock told me it was time to head out to work and try to make the best of a bad situation.
Before I opened the shop, I crossed the street and tapped on the window of Hodges & Sons. Mr. Hodges let me in, even though it was fifteen minutes earlier than his store opened. He handed me back my dragon, wrapped in a layer of bubble wrap. "Well, I don't know who made it, but it's an exquisite piece. Emerald, do you have any idea how old this is?" There was a queer tone in his voice.
I shook my head. "Fifty or sixty years? That's why I brought it to you. What did you find out?"
"Not much, but enough for a start." He cleared his throat. "The only thing I can tell you for sure is that this statue is close to five hundred years old, from the latter part of the Ming dynasty and, I'd say, worth over five thousand dollars. You'll need an expert on art from that period to pinpoint more accurate information."
I gaped at the little jade figurine in my hand. "Five hundred years old? Five thousand dollars?"
With a nod, Mr. Hodges handed me a paper on which he'd written a few names. "You might consult one of these people. They're all experts in Chinese porcelain and art, and one lives in Glacier. That's not too far away. Emerald, whoever sculpted this was still somewhat inexperienced, I think, but must have developed into a master craftsman. I'd bet the statue either comes from a private collection or wasn't discovered until recently. I couldn't find any records for it, but that doesn't mean much, considering this isn't my area of expertise. I certainly don't advise that you leave it lying around."
In shock, I thanked Mr. Hodges, paid him his fee, and returned to my shop. So the dragon was old, very old, and valuable. Daniel Barrington had been carrying an antique worth far more than any piece I'd ever owned. Why had he kept it wrapped in a handkerchief in his pocket? And why hadn't it been in a safe-deposit box? If it was a family heirloom, where had it come from and how had the resigned and desperate man who'd been in my shop come across it? Had his family been wealthy at one time? And just who were they? So many questions!
With a sigh, I unlocked the door and locked the dragon in my desk drawer. My questions would have to wait until later. Repairing the Chintz 'n China was going to take every bit of my energy today.
CINNAMON CROOKED HER head around the corner. "There's a television reporter and a cameraman out here. They want to talk to you."
A reporter? Cameraman? Puzzled, I smoothed my hair and made sure my skirt was smooth, then strode out to meet them. The minute I saw who it was, I knew we were in for trouble. Cathy Sutton. Her watchdog had a camera around his neck instead of a leash. "May I help you find something?" I asked, extending my hand as I spoke.
She pumped my hand like she was trying to jack up a car. "Pleased to meet you. Cathy Sutton. I heard that your shop got vandalized and wanted to interview you for our six o'clock news."
I gave Cinnamon a surreptitious glance and she rolled her eyes. "Since when do vandals robbing a shop warrant a television interview, Ms. Sutton?"
She looked confused; I supposed people usually clamored to be on television. "Well, it's news. You're news. You did solve the Mitchell women's murders,."
Oh goodie! Now I rated right up there with other B-list celebrities who managed to hit television for one odd reason or another. "Yes, but that has nothing to do with my shop being vandalized."
She flashed me a breezy smile. "Emerald—may I call you Emerald? Emerald, isn't it possible that whoever ran down Mr. Barrington thinks that you saw him do it and is sending you a warning, trying to convince you to keep quiet?"
I glanced at the cameraman, who was moving around, eyeing me with his camera. "Uh, don't point that thing at me."
Cathy broke in. "This is Royal, our cameraman. Don't be shy; he'll always shoot your good side if you ask him nicely."