Shadows at the Spring Show

by Lea Wait

  “I’d love to! And if it’s all right with you, I’ve cleared my schedule for Thursday through Sunday so I can help with the show.” Claudia shrugged and brushed back her hair. “I guess all the advertising for Mother’s Day got to me this weekend. I’m not ready to be a mother, but I figured maybe I could do something for kids who needed one.”

  Maggie almost hugged her. “Claudia, that’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all morning. You know a lot of the players, and you’d be a great help.”

  “Thank you!” Claudia’s smile was broad.

  Claudia was Maggie’s right-hand person on campus, and she could use all the help she could get before and during the show. Especially if there were any unanticipated problems.

  Maggie was the last to arrive at the conference room in Whitcomb Gymnasium. The room had originally been designed as a small library on sports and athletics, conveniently located between a large conference room and the offices of the gymnasium director and coaches. But it turned out the college needed more space for weight machines and treadmills than for sports reference materials, so the college library had absorbed the books, the conference room was now a weight room, and the space designed for a library contained two small oblong tables, one of which was now topped by a coffeemaker and remnants of what must have been doughnuts for an even earlier meeting.

  Maggie’s stomach growled. She’d skipped breakfast, and there would be no time for food until midmorning. She should have brought some pastries for the meeting.

  Oliver Whitcomb was there, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and dripping a bit. He used the gym as his personal exercise site. Still, he was elegant despite the sweat. Oliver had retired from Wall Street, and last fall he and his wife, Dorothy, had rediscovered Sarah, the daughter she’d relinquished for adoption many years before, and Sarah’s five-year-old daughter, Aura. Oliver had accepted their entry into his life with remarkable grace.

  Sarah had taken this semester off to manage some medical issues and get to know her mother. Maggie hoped she’d be back in class next fall. She’d volunteered to help out at the antiques show, so she would be at the Wednesday meeting.

  Maggie put down her notebook. George Healy, the facilities manager who had responsibility for the gymnasium, was there, plus two men she didn’t recognize. One of them looked familiar. He was in his early twenties; a tall, light-skinned African-American. She’d seen him somewhere. Had he been in one of her classes? She tried to get to know all her students, but some years her classes were larger than she would have liked.

  He looked at her, smiled, and raised his hand in greeting. He’d been leaning back in his chair, but now he put his hands squarely on the table and looked at her intently.

  She must know him. Drat. She hoped she wouldn’t have to introduce him to anyone. The other man was perhaps ten years older; receding brown hair, an athletic body, and a frown on his tanned face.

  “Good morning, everyone! Thank you for freeing up your schedules so we could get together one last time. And a special thank-you to Oliver Whitcomb, who donated this wonderful facility, and helped me convince the Somerset County College Board of Trustees that this benefit antiques show would be a good use for it. Our World Our Children is thrilled that we’ll be setting up the show in the two gymnasiums usually used for basketball and indoor tennis. I hope everything is set for this weekend; today we’re just going to review the final details.”

  The older of the two men she didn’t recognize spoke first. He was attractive. And not happy. “I’m Mike Colletto, Professor Summer. I haven’t met you, but I teach tennis here, and no one asked me what I thought about a bunch of people moving in tables and chairs and then asking hundreds of people wearing hard shoes to walk on my courts. As I told Mr. Whitcomb, those floors could be ruined. And he knows how much they cost to maintain.”

  “Maggie, what about that? I told Mike here you’d have an answer, but I didn’t know what it was, so he should just come this morning and ask you himself.” Oliver looked at Maggie with confidence.

  Maggie nodded, hoping her answer was acceptable. “When the president of OWOC and I first approached the board of the college, we promised not to damage anything in this wonderful new facility. The floors of both the tennis courts and the basketball courts will be covered with plastic liners, and then with padding and thick indoor-outdoor carpeting on Thursday, the day before the dealers arrive. Even if it rains, no dampness will get onto the floors, and the padding will protect them. We’ve told our dealers nothing can be attached to the walls of the gyms or the hallways. Not even masking tape.”

  Mike hesitated. “I’d like to be here to make sure no damage is done, even by the people putting down the carpeting.”

  Maggie pulled out a pad of paper. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted us to meet today. Mike, if you’ll take responsibility for making sure there are no problems with the floors, I’d really appreciate your help. The company putting down the plastic and padding will be here Thursday morning at eight thirty.”

  Mike nodded slightly. “I can’t take total responsibility, but I’ll be here. I still don’t understand why an adoption agency has to use a college fitness facility for something like an antiques show. One mark on that floor and thousands of dollars could be needed to restore it.”

  Oliver just smiled at him.

  The young black man leaned back in his chair again and started drumming on the table with the fingers of his left hand.

  Maggie went on, “And, George, I’d appreciate some members of your staff being available when we set up and then during the show itself. I need someone who can take care of possible maintenance problems. We hope there’ll be hundreds of people here over the weekend. We need to make sure the doors are locked or unlocked when needed, the lights are on, and the bathrooms are clean and working and we don’t run out of soap or toilet paper.”

  Maggie grimaced to herself. Never had she thought of antiques shows in terms of logistical issues involving toilet paper. As a dealer, she never had to. As an organizer of a show, whatever went wrong was her fault. “George, when we talked before, we estimated how much power we can use. We may need air-conditioning this weekend; there’s no predicting what kind of weather we’ll have in May in New Jersey. Have you arranged for your electricians to lay down wires with outlets? The dealers who’ve paid extra for their booths to have power will want it there when they check in Friday afternoon.”

  “When can we start working on the electric?” asked George. “The floors would have to be covered by then, and we’d have to know exactly where you want the wires and outlets.”

  “The electric will have to be finished by Friday afternoon, before four. It might help if someone could work Thursday night,” said Maggie. “The carpeting company estimates it will take most of Thursday to cover the two gyms and tape the carpet so it won’t separate. Thursday night I’ll be here with several other people to measure out booths and lay tape on top of the carpet to show the dealers what spaces they have to set up in.”

  “Okay. We’ll work together on that. I’ll see if I can get someone to at least start working Thursday night, to follow you as you outline the booths.” Healy took some more notes. “And I brought Eric Sloane with me today so you could meet him.”

  Eric Sloane. Of course. That’s who the young man was; one of Holly and Rob’s children. She’d met him at an adoptive parent picnic at their house. She wanted to ask him how his mother was, and whether his brother had come home. But this wasn’t the place. If anything disastrous had happened, he wouldn’t be here. Maybe there would be a moment after the meeting.

  “Hi, Eric,” she said, hoping he would think she’d recognized him all along. “Good to see you again.” No wonder his T-shirt looked crumpled and his hair was askew. He and his family were living through a nightmare.

  “Eric’s been in charge of basic daily cleanup in the gyms for the past couple of months. He’s volunteered to be available from the beginning of your setup until the show closes to help
with small emergencies like spilled coffee and missing toilet paper. I’ll be in and out and so will the electricians, but Eric will also have reach numbers for everyone you might possibly need during the show.”

  “That’s wonderful, Eric. Thank you for volunteering, and I’ll look forward to working with you,” said Maggie, nodding at him. “Sounds as though you’ll be an important point man during the setup and show, although I hope to have enough volunteers to take care of minor emergencies like spilled coffee!”

  Eric smiled and nodded, but he was still drumming his fingers nervously on the table.

  She looked down at her notes. “So, we were talking about taping the outlines of the booths Thursday afternoon and evening.” She already dreaded that part of the exercise. Spending long hours with duct tape and tape measures was not her idea of an exciting evening, but some of the dealers would bring their own measuring tapes and check to make sure they got exactly the size booth they had paid for. They would also be arriving with portable walls and heavy furniture, and no one would be in a mood to adjust boundaries at that point. Thank goodness Will would be here to help.

  Maggie touched her regard ring for luck.

  “We’ll leave a note in the middle of each space with instructions for the electricians as to which booths get power and which don’t.” Maggie hesitated. “I think I’ll have the carpet rental people do the basketball courts first, since they’re farthest away from the main entrance. As soon as they’re finished I’ll start measuring the booths. That way, by afternoon, maybe even by one o’clock or so, your electricians could start working in that gym, George. If they don’t finish by the time they have to leave that afternoon, they can work Friday morning while the tables and chairs are being put down.”

  George looked relieved. “That would be a lot easier. My guys weren’t enthused about working late hours, especially between semesters.” He looked at his list again. “You were going to check on the furniture. Are the tables and chairs ours?”

  “The chairs, yes, but not all the tables. The college has enough folding chairs to allow two for each booth and extras for the café area, for admissions, and for some seating at the ends of the gyms. We’ve had to rent”—Maggie glanced down at her notebook—“ninety-six extra folding tables.”

  “Will you need help with them?” Healy was taking notes again.

  “The company we’re renting from will bring them into the gym, but, yes, they’ll still need to be put in the right booths Friday morning or early afternoon. If you have some people to help, that would be wonderful. Again, I’ll have a map. Some booths get six-foot tables, some get eight-foots. Others don’t want any, because dealers are bringing their own furniture and display areas.

  “The dealer contracts say they can start unloading their vans and cars at four, but some will be here early, and anxious to set up. I’d like everything to be absolutely ready by three thirty.”

  “I can help with tables,” said Eric.

  “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.