The Key in the Attic(43)
Mary Beth chuckled. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
14
It had been a slow business day, a day full of customers who hemmed and hawed, and took a lot of time but didn’t buy anything, a tedious, never-ending day, and Frank Sanders was more than glad to see the end of it. He was just about to lock the front door when the telephone rang.
“Antiques and Oddities.”
“Is this Mr. Sanders?”
The voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Yes, it is. How may I help you?”
“Mr. Sanders, this is Annie Dawson. I … uh … I’m sure you remember me from the other day.”
His professional cheerfulness vanished. “Yes, Mrs. Dawson, I remember you. Thanks to you and the local police, I’ve had a busy week.”
Annie Dawson laughed a little. Embarrassed, no doubt, Sanders thought.
“I’m really, really sorry about that. I was so upset that day. I guess I just wanted to blame someone. My late husband always told me I should cool down and think things through before I did anything foolish. I know I should have listened.”
“Yeah, maybe. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’m sure you already know this, but the police have made it absolutely clear that they didn’t find any evidence you were involved with the theft of my friend’s clock. You have to admit it was quite a coincidence that it disappeared right after you were at Mary Beth’s, but sometimes those things happen.”
He didn’t say anything. He just waited for her to say whatever it was she was trying to say.
“Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for all the trouble you’ve been through.”
He smiled to himself, glad she couldn’t see his face over the telephone. “Well, as you say, those things happen. Yes, it was a pretty unlikely coincidence. And—all in all—there was no real harm done. If they don’t recover the clock, I hope the insurance will make good the loss.”
“I think the insurance at the repair shop will eventually cover it. We’re waiting to see.”
“Well, then, it seems everything has been taken care of. I appreciate the apology, and really, don’t give it another thought.”
“That is very kind of you.”
“Think nothing of it. Now, if there’s nothing else … ?”
Again the woman laughed nervously. “Just one other thing. It’s not a big deal, but I was hoping you might be able to help me.”
“I suppose I can try. What is it?”
“Mary Beth told me that while you were at her house examining the clock you took several pictures. If you wouldn’t mind, I was wondering if you could email them to me.”
“Pictures?”
He had taken several while he was there—good clear photos of the fine detail work on the clock. Why would she be interested now?
“Yes. She said you had a camera—a digital one, wasn’t it? They almost always are these days.”
“Ah …yes it was.”
“Then could you email the pictures to me? And I’d be very grateful if you could do it right away. Tonight.”
“I’m sorry, but they’re all gone.”
“Gone? All of them? Oh no. Are you absolutely sure?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And they can’t be recovered somehow? It would mean so much to Mary Beth to at least have some photographs if she doesn’t get the clock back.”
Sanders made a few silent taps on his keyboard and opened the first of the pictures he had taken, a detail of the clock face. Just what did they want with pictures? And why did they want them right now?
“No, I’m sorry. I would have liked to keep them. It was a beautiful piece, and I wanted to find out more about whoever made it. But my camera had a meltdown. It wasn’t much of a camera anyway. It’s in some landfill by now, I suppose.”
For a very long moment, there was only silence from the other end of the line.
“Mrs. Dawson?”
“I’m sorry. I just—I really was hoping Mary Beth would at least have those pictures.”
“I wish I could help.” No, he thought, I wish I knew what you were up to. Why the rush all of a sudden?
“Thank you anyway, Mr. Sanders. And, again, I’m sorry about the trouble I caused you. I’ll try to remember my husband’s advice in the future.”
He made his voice cheerful and pleasant. “You do that, Mrs. Dawson. Good night.”
As soon as he hung up the phone, Sanders sat down at his desk and leaned close to his computer screen, clicking through the pictures he had taken of the clock—the face, the carvings, the works. What was it? And what had that woman suddenly figured out?