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.”
“Just testing film speed, babe… just testing my film speed.” His voice was too smooth; it sounded like he’d been weaned on Scotch whiskey.
I glared at him, and he backed off. I turned back to Cathy. “Listen, I have a long day ahead of me, and I’d rather pass on the interview. Thanks anyway.”
She shifted her weight to her other foot and scrunched up her face in one of those, “yes-but” expressions. “You know, we really don’t bite. Maybe if you talked to us, we could help find whoever did this to your shop?” Cathy was doing her best to put me at ease, but she was trying too hard, and it set me on edge.
I leaned against the counter. “I’m not the only person who saw the van that hit him. It sped away so fast there was no chance to catch the license plate or anything. We were all too busy trying to help Daniel.”
Cathy flashed me her award-seeking smile, then nodded. “I can see your point, but surely you have some ideas about who killed Mr. Barrington? Did he say anything to you during your conversation that might point to the identity of the killer?”
That’s right, just hold on and don’t let go, I thought. Cathy had the instinct of a pit bull, I’d give her that much. “I’m sorry, but my readings with clients are confidential. Did you ever consider that this might have been a random hit-and-run, with no premeditation? That some jerk might have been out for a joyride and took the corner too fast, which happens all too often, and Daniel happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“I suppose that might be the case,” she said, conceding my point. She dropped the microphone and motioned to the cameraman. “You might be right, Emerald. Crime in Chiqetaw seems to have skyrocketed, though. I’m wondering if we don’t need a stronger police force? Tad Bonner is a good man, but he doesn’t seem to be doing much to lower the rising crime rates. Maybe it’s time for a change at the helm.” Her eyes flashed with a triumphant gleam, like a cat who was on the verge of catching her mouse. I knew she was up to something but couldn’t pinpoint what.
Tired of the head games, I began herding her toward the door. “I really don’t know. Maybe… but I’m not the person you should be asking. You’d be better off asking the police themselves what they think.” I shrugged.
She murmured some noncommittal answer and cleared her throat. “Thank you for your time. Maybe next time we can have a longer chat. Meanwhile, are you going to take any new measures to protect your shop? Do you think the vandals will be back?”
Overwhelmed, too tired to fend her off, I told her about my plans for security monitoring and how I wished it wasn’t necessary but that under the circumstances, it was the safest thing to do. “As to whether they’ll be back, I don’t know. I hope not.”
Cathy studied me for a moment, then motioned to Royal, turning off the charm like she had a light switch hidden in her pocket. “Okay. Let’s go.”
I couldn’t help myself. My mouth shot into overdrive before my brain could catch up. As she headed for the door, I said, “A piece of advice, Cathy. Don’t try too hard. This isn’t New York, and you’re not Diane Sawyer.”
Cathy turned around, her face a blank slate. “Excuse me?”
I gulped. Had I really just said that? “I mean, there’s nothing here to use as a stepping-stone to fame.” I stopped, suddenly aware that I’d insulted the woman a second time. Month after month of listening to her drone on must have fried a few brain cells.
“You can say that again,” she said through a forced smile and clenched teeth. “So, do you have any other advice for me?”
I mentally kicked myself in the shins. Never anger people who can make you look stupid on air. “Noooo,” I said, then added, “Have a good day, and come again.”
She raised one eyebrow and set her lips in a firm, almost prim, line. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll meet again, Ms. O’Brien. You seem destined to land in the news.” Her heels clicked against the tile as she quick-stepped out of the shop. Royal broke into a crinkled smile and gave me a thumbs-up and a wink as he followed her.
“I dunno, Emerald,” Cinnamon cleared her throat. “There’s something about that woman that I don’t like. You probably should have stopped while you were ahead.”
“You’re probably right, but you know what? I don’t give a damn. Life seems to be going to hell in a handbasket this week; I might as well pile on the carnage.”
Before long, I was running ragged, stock or no stock. All my regulars who had heard about the damage flocked to the shop. I knew full well that Drew didn’t need another Limoges box, and that Perky Tremont had all the tea she needed for a good three months, but they filled their little shopping baskets with all the trinkets and tea and packages of English biscuits that had remained intact.
The tearoom was filled, and nobody complained about sitting on folding chairs at the card tables we’d borrowed until I could have the chairs reupholstered. Amanda Weddle slapped a stack of paper plates and some Styrofoam cups on the counter for me—a good thing because I’d forgotten to pick any up. I gave her a grateful smile.
As customer after customer traipsed in and found something to buy or to eat, my heart swelled. Each tinkle of the shop bells meant yet another person who’d accepted me into the heart of Chiqetaw. On occasion, I had wondered whether the people here truly liked me. I was a different breed than most of the matrons of this small town. By the end of the day, I had no doubt that they considered me one of their own.
What little stock I’d had left was gone. The cash register was jammed with bills and checks, and Safety-Tech had come and gone, installing our security system. The shop was now monitored constantly. I sighed and asked Cinnamon to run over to the ban
k with the deposit. After she left, I walked through the shop, staring at the empty shelves. If I’d ever wanted to make changes as to what I sold, now would be the time. But I loved the chintzware and the china, the tradition of teatime, and the delicate porcelain. No, we would restock. The Chintz ’n China would live.
I PUT THE dragon back in the étagère when I got home. Too afraid to leave it at work, even though we now had a security system, I tucked it into the back of my cabinet, hoping it would be safe. What the hell was I going to do with it? Finding Daniel’s next of kin seemed the logical place to start, and the police were going to be of no help, so that was one more task I had to tackle.
A message had come in from Andrew. I punched in his hotel number and was surprised when he picked up on the first ring. Our first few moments were awkward—they always were after one of our disagreements—but soon he was telling me all about Hollywood and how tomorrow was the first meeting on the script and his agent thought he had a good chance of landing the contract to write the screenplay.
I murmured at the appropriate times, excited for him and yet feeling distant. Hollywood was a world apart from Chiqetaw, and big deals and producers and stars didn’t play any part in my life except when I went to the movies. After he ran down, I told him my own news, that the shop had been trashed.
“Then come down for the week. There’s nothing stopping you now!”
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Did you hear what I said? My shop was destroyed. I lost everything, Andrew, including a sizable amount of cash.”
There was a sudden pause, and I could hear the wheels turning in his head. “I’m so sorry, Em. I don’t know what I was thinking. What did the cops say? What are you going to do?” He had quieted down, and I could hear the remorse in his voice.
“The cops haven’t got a clue; and it isn’t for lack of trying. Murray’s heading up the investigation. I’m waiting for the insurance check, and Safety-Tech came today to install an alarm system; I ended up handing over a check that is going to really bite into my budget, but I don’t have a choice. Andrew, we were doing so well, the kids and I, and now this. We’ll be okay, but I’m kind of scared.” It took a lot for me to admit my fear, but I needed his support, his encouragement.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sure the insurance will cover your losses.”
“Losses, yes, but I lose money when there’s nothing to sell. I lose time. I have to cancel shopping excursions from my little old ladies’ fan club up there in British Columbia. It adds up, and these things aren’t refundable.”
An edge of impatience sliced through his voice. “I’m sure your shop will be fine, Em. Now, want to hear about my week so far? You’ll never believe who I met!”
Unable to muster up any enthusiasm, I looked up as Randa skipped into the room and waved to catch my attention. “Andrew, I have to go. Miranda needs to talk to me. Have a great meeting tomorrow and all the luck in the world to you. I hope everything goes just the way you want.” He stammered out a quick good-bye as I replaced the receiver and turned to Randa. “What’s up?”
She curled up on the sofa next to me. “Was that Andrew?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Did you guys make up? Who won?”
So she had heard us fighting the other night. I shrugged. “Let’s just say we’ve settled on a truce. Some arguments are too complicated for anybody to win.” She seemed to accept this, pondering it for a moment, and then filing it away. I reached over to run my finger along her cheek. “You are such a pretty girl, and so smart. I’m proud of you, know that?”
A winsome grin flitted across her face. She arched an eyebrow at me. “Ah, very good, Mama-san.” She straightened up, serious again after the all-too-brief moment of play. “Mom, I need your permission for something.”
My heart dropped. What now? A trip to NASA? A first-class ticket on the next space shuttle? “What do you want?”
She held up a notepad. “I’ve made a list of reasons why this is a good idea. Don’t say no till you hear me out, okay?”
Uh-oh. The list. Probably something unreasonable. Too bad. Since I’d almost been killed, we’d been developing a rapport that we’d never had before, and now I’d be forced to destroy the bridge we’d made. I nodded for her to go ahead.
“I’ve been thinking about how much time and money I could save if I skipped into high school this fall. Or maybe even college. I doubt I could manage that far but—”
The look on my face must have stopped her, because she slammed the list down on the sofa and jumped up. “You promised you’d listen before you decided!”
Taken aback at her sudden fury, I held up my hands. “Have I said a word? You’d better think twice about using that tone of voice with me. Now slow down and give me the specifics.”
With a sigh, she began again, her enthusiasm growing as she spoke. “I found a program that offers what they call accelerated learning. I’d take a bunch of tests and, if both you and the school administration agreed, I could skip a few grades and that way I could get into college faster.”
I stared at her. So this is what all those extra books were about; she’d been lugging stacks of them home from the library over the past few months. “Give me a clue here, hon. What makes this so important? Why do you want to skip ahead? Are you having trouble with the kids or teachers?”
She bit her lip and stared at the sofa. “I’m bored. I make straight A’s and I’m bored. The kids are all a bunch of idiots. Well, most of them. Not Lori, but otherwise, I feel like I’m in kindergarten.” She looked up at me with a ghost of a smile on her face. “Mom, I don’t want an ordinary life. I know what I want, and I just want to go after it.”
I don’t want an ordinary life. My brilliant Miranda. So driven, with her head in the stars. If I could only hand her the resources, I knew she could manage to achieve anything she wanted to. She was two when she looked into the night sky and made her first wish on a twinkling star. Now her head was filled with visions of galaxies and star clusters and black holes. Going on fourteen, but still my little girl. Skip a grade, or more? I knew it could be done, I had friends who had managed it, and they did just fine. But there was a price to pay, and a check wouldn’t cover the costs. Could Miranda handle that price? Could she leave her peer group behind without regret?
I glanced out the window. Horvald Ledbetter, our neighbor from across the street, was inspecting his tulips. Obsessive-compulsive as far as I could tell, he could be found out in his yard at all hours of the day or night if he thought something was wrong with his garden. I stared at him for a moment while I thought.
Finally, I turned back to Randa, who was waiting quietly. I knew she expected me to say no outright. “Here’s the deal. I don’t know. I really don’t know what to say about this one. Why don’t you get me the names of whoever I’m supposed to talk to at the school, give me a copy of your notes—and I don’t just want to see the positive spin on things—and let me think about it for a while.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean you really will think about it?” I nodded, and she jumped up and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I wish you’d just say yes, but at least you didn’t say no yet.” By this time tomorrow, I’d be loaded down with more research than I ever wanted to see.
I flipped on the television and found myself staring directly into my own eyes. Oh no, Cathy Sutton was airing that damn tape. I couldn’t believe the gall of that woman! Miranda leaned over my shoulder as Kip pounded down the stairs. He skidded to a half by my chair. “Mom, you’re on TV! Sly just called to tell me.”
I shushed them and turned up the sound. Cathy’s nasal twang came over the airwaves loud and all too clear. “Ms. O’Brien denied knowledge of any connection between Daniel Barrington’s murder and the destruction of her shop but had this to say when questioned further.”
My face suddenly splashed across the screen. Thank god I’d been wearing makeup, but I still looked irritated and unp
leasant. Again, Cathy’s voice-over startled me. “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?”
The film cut to a shot of the outside of my shop as my voice rang out loud and clear. “I really don’t know… maybe…”
“Damn it, I told her I didn’t want to be interviewed.” I jumped up, shaking my finger at the television. “They said they were just testing film speeds! That wasn’t even the question that I was answering! They pieced together clips of what I said.”
Cathy wound up her story. “Whatever the case may be, as unhappy as she is about the fact, Emerald O’Brien seems destined to be a fixture in our local news. I’m sure we all look forward to more of her adventures that add such local color to our area.”
Infuriated, I zapped the TV with my remote. “How dare she! I’m calling the station and lodging a protest right now.” But even as I grabbed the telephone, I knew it was a lost cause. My shop was a public place. The media had a right to be in a public place. If they could televise their attempted interviews with politicians and suspected criminals and alleged victims who didn’t want to be taped and kept saying “No comment,” Cathy Sutton could air her tape of me and make snide comments and I didn’t have a leg to stand on. Even if I could win a retraction, it’d be aired on some last-moment late-night broadcast when everybody was turning off the television to get ready for bed.
I dropped back into my chair and stared numbly at the kids. “Damn.”