Murder by the Spoonful: An Antique Hunters Mystery (11 page)

“Can I have your phone number?” the woman asked Anne.

Anne rattled off her number and the woman jotted it down on the top of the check. “Thanks.” Trying to look casual, Anne glanced around, saw a small doorway marked
Do Not Enter
. Opening the door slowly, she saw no one around. She darted in, closed and locked the door. She slipped on the pants. A perfect fit. She turned and gazed at herself in the mirror, admiring herself from every angle. Exactly like Stevie Vann, if she said so herself.

Opening the door slowly, she once again checked around before stepping out of the bathroom. Walking into the dining room, she saw CC standing in front of the crystal and china laden table. Martha was holding her camera up to her face. “Anne, those pants look perfect!” Martha said.

“Yes, they do, Anne.” CC gave Anne a sharp look. “Where’d you get them?”

“Just now. Aren’t they marvelous?” Anne twirled around.

“They’re fabulous,” Martha agreed with her. “Please stand next to CC.”

Anne posed, sticking one leg out in front of the other as she’d seen contestants do on
America’s Next Top Model.

After Martha had finished taking her pictures, CC paid for her purchases. She and Anne then headed to the car with their bags. “Where’d you get those pants?” CC asked, holding a small bag.

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you at lunch.”

“I want to let the dog out. Let’s go to my house. I’ll make us something,” CC said.

Anne thought about her checking account and remembered the check she’d just written. Lunch at CC’s was a good idea, she realized.

CC looked in her fridge. She hadn’t gone shopping since she’d gotten back. The only thing left was a few chicken breasts. She thought about her mom’s smothered chicken recipe. Heating olive oil in a pan, she dredged the chicken breasts in flour and added salt and pepper and her extra spicy mix. She put the chicken breasts in the pan. In another pan, she melted some butter, added mushrooms and onions. She went out to the garden and grabbed some romaine, Early Girl tomatoes and chives to make a fresh salad. After the onions and mushrooms had caramelized, she added sour cream and allowed it to simmer.

Placing the chicken breast on a plate, she covered it with the mushroom/onion mixture and added the salad. “Anne, lunch is ready,” she called downstairs to Anne who was looking at eBay on her computer. The silver set was now up to $200, way past her limit.

Anne went up to the table and sat down. CC poured them both a glass of white wine. “This looks fantastic, CC,” Anne said, taking a bite of the chicken.

CC put her fork down. “Oh, I almost forgot. Our list has gotten bigger. We’re now up to over 200 items to search for.” She pulled the list out of her purse which was dangling off the back of the chair.

“You know if we’re going to be putting all this time and effort looking for items for other people,” suggested Anne, “don’t you think we should charge them something for our trouble?”

CC thought about it for a moment. “I think it’d be okay to make a small profit, just enough to cover expenses.”

“Yeah, just enough to cover expenses. That’s all,” Anne agreed. As Anne continued eating her chicken, CC read from the list.

“A 1929 Baglietto brass ship bell.”

“Ship bell?” Anne looked up from her plate. “Let me think. I don’t know what year it is, but I have a brass ship bell in my storage locker.”

“What? What are you doing with a bell?” CC asked.

“I bought it when they shut down the Great Lakes Navy Base along with some office furniture and bunk beds.”

“Really? Bunk beds?”

“Yeah, they’re all in my storage locker,” said Anne.

“Maybe we should take a ride to your place and go look at it.”

The two rushed through the remainder of lunch, cleaned up and then headed ten miles west to Anne’s storage locker. “It’s locker #325, #425,” Anne said, as she searched in her purse and pulled out a set of keys.

“How many storage lockers do you have?” CC asked, driving around the alleyway.

“Just the three.” They pulled up in front of locker #532. Anne unlocked the padlock and opened the large overhead door. CC jumped as a box fell on top of her foot. The locker was overflowing with cardboard boxes, garbage bags and everything. There was no order to any of it.

“How in the world are you going to find a bell in this mess?” CC asked, moving the box.

“I know exactly where it is,” Anne replied, climbing over a desk chair and squeezing past a metal footlocker, then pulling a moving blanket carefully off a teetering pile. There it was––the brass ship’s bell. It was quite heavy, but Anne managed to retrieve it without doing too much damage to the stained glass windowpanes that surrounded it. She followed her steps backward over the pile and laid the bell at CC’s feet with a flourish.

CC was still concentrating on the teetering piles of odd-sized boxes. “Really, Anne, three storage lockers like this?” CC examined the bell. “It wasn’t a Baglietto but it was inscribed with
bella
in Italian. “I think this is pretty close,” CC said. “It looks pretty old. It’s in great shape.”

While CC took pictures of the bell with her iPhone, Anne looked at the Formica table and avocado green stove. She opened the stove and looked inside. She twisted some of the knobs. “I don’t know,” she said out loud. “I really like this a lot. I think I could make it work in my kitchen.”

“What are you talking about?” CC looked up.

“Sharon at work was looking for some furniture for her new place. She has a 1960s motif.”

CC walked over and looked at the stove. “That would work. That’s a 1960s Hotpoint. Did you know the sheet metal they used was from the Gary plant I told you about?”

“Okay. Good to know for next time,” Anne said with a giggle. As they walked back to CC’s car, Anne gave the stove one last look. It would take a lot for her to part with it.

Later that night, CC sent the pictures of the bell to Tony Tedesco. Then she sat down at her computer to write her next blog entry. “Dear Friends,” she started as she sipped from her steaming hot French press coffee. “Today, Anne and I traveled to another fabulous sale run by Mr. Ripley. He is gaining quite the reputation for holding high-end sales. This sale was at the home of the former Hollywood costume designer, Nancy Packwall. I found this fantastic poster, which I will hang in my bathroom,” CC wrote, uploading a picture of the colorful B movie framed poster.

“Anne found several things but the most important was a pair of flowered pants.” Here CC uploaded a picture of the pants that she’d taken before Anne had left. “I have a feeling that we are going to be seeing much more of these pants so prepare yourselves.”

As she was writing, Tony Tedesco’s name popped up in the “waiting” comments section. She opened his comment and read, “The bell looks exactly like what I’ve been looking for. How’d you find it? And, how can I get it from you? How much do I owe you?”

She wrote him a quick reply, briefly explaining how she’d found the bell. She also said that she could drop the bell in the mail. His reply came back before she could shut down the computer.

“I’m in Chicago working at the Chicago Yacht Club. If you’re in the city, I could meet you,” he wrote back.

“I work in the city just a few blocks from the Yacht Club. I could bring it over on my lunch hour,” she typed back quickly.

“That would be great. How about Tuesday?” he wrote back.

“Sure. I’ll be there about noon,” she typed back. With the plans confirmed, she shut down the computer and went to walk Bandit.

Chapter Twenty-Two

On Tuesday, CC walked past the long low white building set on the shore of Lake Michigan. Moving along the cement pier, she walked past the schooners and sailboats, looking for the one called
Annabella
. She stopped and asked a teenage boy who was scrubbing down the pier. He pointed to a 50-foot wooden sailboat.

As she walked up to the boat, Tony Tedesco came out of the cabin, wearing denim shorts and deck shoes. He brushed his long salt and pepper hair away from his eyes and wiped the sweat from his face with his t-shirt. He saw CC and put his t-shirt on. “CC, hi! I’m Tony,” he said with a melodic Italian accent.

It’s the man from the train
, CC thought. She stared, not answering.

“You are CC, right?” Tony asked again.

“Yes, yes. Hi, Tony,” CC stammered. She reached into her Trader Joe’s bag and pulled out the brass bell that sparkled in the midday sun.

Tony jumped off the boat and took the bell from her hands, looking it over, smiling. “Yes, it’s perfect. Great job, CC,” he said, holding onto the bell.

“Is this your boat?” she asked.

“No, I’m just restoring it,” he said. “The bell’s for my boat which is docked in New Buffalo. That’s where my marine shop is.”

New Buffalo; that’s what he was doing there
, CC thought to herself, nodding.

Tony stopped and took a closer look at her. “Have we met before?”

“Not that I recall,” CC said.

“Do you want to see the boat?” he asked.

“Sure.” CC nodded.

“Careful; the planks are a little wobbly,” Tony said, putting his hands around her waist, lifting her up and twirling her onto the boat. She felt like Beryl Grey dancing
Swan Lake
at age 15. “I’ve been regrouting the deck. Mahogany breathes really well, but with all the shifting, the grout becomes loose. This has been a three-month project so far,” Tony said, showing her around the boat.

She recognized one of the tools she’d seen in the white pickup truck. “What’s that for?” she asked, pointing at one of the irons.

“That’s used to clear out the old grout between the mahogany planks.”

“You do everything by hand?”

“That’s really the best way to restore one of these old wooden boats. The craftsmanship is remarkable. All these planks were hand sawn and perfectly matched. You can see the slight bow which is normal in any plank. The bow is even throughout all the planks. Each piece was specially chosen so it would line up perfectly,” Tony explained, pointing at the deck of the boat.

“It’s beautiful work. I can see why it would take so long to regrout and refinish it,” CC said.

“Yes; you need to treat these yachts with respect. Each one has a personality. You can feel it in the wood when you touch it.”

CC smiled. She understood how Tony felt. She appreciated craftsmanship too. She’d spent her whole life admiring skilled steelworkers and metal cutters. She understood what it meant to build something with your hands. She could see the passion in his eyes when he spoke about the boat. The same passion she hoped she exuded when she spoke about steel.

“I’ve bored you. I’ve talked too long, haven’t I?” Tony asked.

“No, no; it’s quite interesting. Do you know how you can tell it’s African mahogany versus Honduran?” CC asked.

He shrugged.

“African mahogany tends to have more ribbon striping.”

“I never knew that.”

“Yes, that’s why it’s more expensive, because it’s more difficult to match,” CC explained.

“I really appreciate you finding the bell and bringing it down here. How can I thank you?” While he was speaking, his hands danced and the sun reflected off his wedding band.

“You can start by paying me,” CC said, her tone suddenly more businesslike than friendly.

“Of course.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a check. “Sure I can’t buy you lunch? You’re missing your lunch hour because of me.”

“No, that’s okay. I have a lot to do at the office. It was nice meeting you. Thanks for the tour.” She turned quickly and headed down the gangplank. When she got to the bottom, she promised herself that she wouldn’t turn around to see the man from the train again. This time she kept her promise.

She walked along the lakefront. It was a beautiful day. The seagulls danced overhead. The lake was very calm. The Chicago skyline was a glistening backdrop. She’d spent many nights dreaming about meeting the man on the train someday. About what that would be like. About what
he
would be like. And now she knew. She found herself walking out onto the horseshoe, as it was known. The horseshoe was a long cement pier curving partially back towards shore. It was lunchtime and fisherman were out trying their best to catch some lake perch. She strolled along, peeking in buckets to see who’d caught what. She walked to the end of the pier and sat on the edge, looking down at the 10-foot drop and the lake water crashing into the cement pillars. She stared across the lake and wondered if her double was sitting on another pier staring back at her. What was that CC like? Had
she
just met her man on the train? Was she turning 40 and alone? What would her life have been like if she hadn’t married the wrong man at the wrong time? What would her life have been like if she hadn’t thrown herself into her work and made it the most important thing in her life?

CC leaned back on her elbows and looked up at the powder blue sky. The air was sweet, fresh and cool. She could hear a radio turned to the Cubs’ game. There was something about listening to baseball on the radio. Much better than watching it on TV.
The mind always paints better pictures than the eyes,
she thought.