Upon returning to Artisans Alley, Katie fired up her computer and began her net search for the Black Magic china pattern. Francine had been wrong, at least about that particular pattern. A second-hand china website had dozens of examples of that pattern, be it dinner plates, bon-bon dishes, salad bowls, or demitasse cups. The only reference she found concerning the pattern‘s history came from a Pinterest post, which said the Black Magic pattern had been manufactured during the nineteen-fifties. Was that an accurate assessment or merely anecdotal?
What the Internet would never be able to tell her was who had sent her that particular cup and saucer and why. It had to have some special meaning or else why would someone have paid almost a ten-spot to mail it to her?
The idea that she might never know weighed heavily on Katie’s mind.
That Old Black Magic
Black Magic… what an unusual name for a china pattern, especially when there were far more roses in the design than the color black. And yet, Katie found the pattern mesmerizing. Whenever she looked up from her work, she saw the wounded cup, and from the depths of her memory fragments of an old song surfaced that she’d heard recorded by a myriad of artists on records from her Aunt Lizzie’s album collection
Later that afternoon, after Artisans Alley had closed, Katie found she couldn’t bear to leave the cup behind. Once again she surrounded the pieces in bubble wrap and walked across the tarmac toward her home. And yet she wondered about her sanity when it came to bringing an already broken piece of china to a home with two curious cats who delighted in knocking delicate pieces from high—and what she’d thought of as safe—places. And so she found herself placing the cup, it’s large chip, and saucer in the refrigerator. Her cats were smart, but lacked the manual dexterity to open the fridge.
And that night she dreamed about the cup, drinking from it, admiring it, wondering who on Earth had owned and given up such a magnificent piece of art.
The next morning, Katie drank her tea from a rather ordinary mug. Oh, it had a rose pattern imprinted under the glaze, but nothing like the beautiful Black Magic cup. Somehow, it just wasn’t the same.
Before leaving for work, Katie gathered her cell phone and purse and ended up slipping the bundle of wrapped china in a plastic grocery bag and hauling it back to Artisans Alley. After all, it might feel lonely or abandoned should she leave it in that cold, dark fridge.
The work day dragged. Katie paid bills, took a stint walking security, and manned the register when Rose took an early lunch before she met up with Andy outside Angelo’s Pizzeria for their every other mid-day meal. The weather was raw and the sky a leaden grey, but seemed to brightened when they exchanged a brief kiss.
“I didn’t hear from you last night,” Katie said, pulling up her collar and hunkering deeper into her jacket.
“It was crazy, but I love it when it rains or snows. Thanks to my delivery guys, profits rise about ten percent because nobody wants to go out to eat and nobody wants to cook. Anything interesting happen yesterday?”
“Well, I did get a mysterious package in the mail.”
“Mysterious how?”
“Mysterious because I have no idea who sent it or where it came from.”
“There was no return address?”
“Rain did a number on inkjet printing.”
“I’ll say,” Andy agreed. “So what was inside? A flask of poison? A cobra?” His sarcasm needled her.
“It was a teacup.”
“Aw, that’s hardly mysterious,” Andy complained as they turned the corner heading south down the sidewalk toward the strip mall where Del’s Diner resided.
“It is when you don’t know who sent it.”
“And there was no note?”
“There was, until Ida Mitchell interfered and—”
Andy raised a hand to stop her. “You don’t have to tell me about it. Let me guess. She swiped it and then disappeared.”
“I don’t know that she stole it, but it definitely disappeared after she tossed the box—and its contents—in the trash.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I’m afraid the cup was broken during transit. I only left it on the counter for a couple of minutes, but she decided to take it upon herself to throw everything in the Dumpster. I made a couple of trips out there to search, but couldn’t find it. Unfortunately, Ida left the Alley and hasn’t returned any of my phone calls.”
“That’s too bad,” Andy said and changed the subject. “I wonder what Del’s soup of the day is.”
That was the end of the cup discussion.
A grilled cheese sandwich and cup of Manhattan clam chowder later, and the lovers returned to Victoria Square, again indulging in yet another fleeting kiss before Andy went back to dough prep and Katie returned to Artisans Alley. Except … on impulse, she decided to make a quick detour to Wood U, the Square’s wood-themed gift shop. She found former detective Ray Davenport sitting behind the register/counter, working on a Santa carving while several customers wandered around his shop.
“What can I do for you this fine day, Katie?” he asked, looking over the top of his reading glasses.
“I just thought I’d stop by and ask your opinion on something.”
“Opinions are free; the merchandise isn’t,” he said with a wry smile.
She told him about the apparently not-so-mysterious box she’d received in the previous day’s mail, and he listened with more interest than Andy had shown. Andy never could get excited about her collection of bone china—not that she displayed it. Her apartment over the pizzeria was tiny so she’d never gotten around to unpacking that particular box.
“So, what do you think?”
“Was the box mailed priority rate?” Ray asked.
With her elbows resting on the counter, Katie could only give a half shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Was there a barcode on the package?”
“Yes and, come to think of it, it was intact.”
“Then all you have to do is take it to the Post Office and have them scan it.”
“It can’t possibly tell me who sent it,” she pointed out.
“No, but it will tell you the package’s mailing origin—and that might narrow down the possibilities of who sent it.”
“That’s a great idea. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
A woman walked up to the counter holding a heart-shaped cutting board made of different species of wood.
“I’ll let you take care of your customer,” Katie said, straightening before she headed for the door. “See you later.”
“Bye, Katie,” Ray called after her.
Katie returned to Artisans Alley, her heart lighter. She had nothing planned for the rest of the afternoon, and unless something cropped up, she was determined to visit the local Post Office to figure out from where the cup had been mailed.
Among the Missing
Even though the rain had returned, Katie resisted the urge to jump into her car to drive to the Post Office, which was only two blocks from Artisans Alley. Instead, she stashed the now-dry box into a plastic grocery bag, donned her coat and cap, grabbed the umbrella, and started off on foot.
Her feet felt soggy by the time she entered the Post Office and she was glad to see there was only one other patron there. This meant the counter person might not feel pressured to hurry her along.
“Next,” called a man of about forty in the long-sleeved blouse of the postal uniform. The name tag on his pocket said “Randy.”
“What can I do for you, young lady?”
They were probably only a decade apart in age, but as Katie approached her thirty-second birthday, Katie decided she would never grow tired of being called young.
She explained the situation and proffered the box.
“Gee, I don’t know if I’m allowed to do this.”
“It was a retired Sheriff’s deputy who suggested I come,” she said, hoping that might change his mind. “As you can see, the rain obliterated
the return address as well as most of the one that got it to me.”
“So it has,” he agreed.
“I wouldn’t want the sender to think me ungrateful by not acknowledging the gift,” Katie added for extra emphasis.
The guy shrugged, picked up his hand-held scanner and slid the red laser beam over the bar code, then scrutinized his computer screen. “Fort Lauderdale, Florida.”
“Florida!” Katie echoed, incredulous.
“That’s where it came from.”
“But I don’t know anybody in Florida.”
“Are you sure you didn’t order it online? Lots of times people forget they ordered stuff—which is why we see a lot of returns come through here.”
“I think I would have remembered ordering a teacup. Which, by the way, arrived broken.”
“Nobody marked the box fragile,” he pointed out.
If they had, it, too, had been obliterated by water.
“Anything else I can help you with today?” the man asked.
Katie shook her head, stuffing the box back into the bag. “No, thank you. But I appreciate you letting me know where the box came from. Now if I could only figure out who sent it.”
* * *
When Katie arrived back at Artisans Alley, quite a few customers were queued up to purchase merchandise, so Katie shucked her jacket and jumped onto Cash Desk 3.
“Where’ve you been?” Rose asked as she keyed in another sale.
“To the Post Office. I found out where the teacup package was mailed.”
“Are you still fixated on that?” Rose asked, sounding chagrinned.
“I wouldn’t say fixated,” Katie said, handing her first customer change and bidding her a good evening.
“And where did it come from?”
“Fort Lauderdale, Florida.”
“And who do you know there?” Rose asked as she handed another item to her wrapper to package up.
“Nobody.”
“Then you really have got a mystery on your hands.”
Katie nodded. “I don’t suppose Ida came in today?”
“If she did, I didn’t see her.”
“I’ve been leaving messages on her answering machine, but she’s ignoring me.”
“She ignores a lot of things—like good manners,” Rose said and shook her head.
“We both know that Ida is a little bit different than the rest of us.”
“And how,” Rose muttered.
“I just hope she comes in on Sunday when she’s scheduled to work.”
“Have you ever known her to shirk a shift?”
“No,” Katie admitted, “but there’s always a first time.”
The line at Katie’s register had dwindled to nothing and she glanced up at the clock. Only half an hour until closing.
Katie retrieved her coat, hat, and the bag with the box and returned to her office. The broken cup still sat on her desk where she’d left it, looking like a child who’d lost a tooth; a very big tooth, but a tooth indeed. “Maybe I should call you Chip, like the character in Beauty and the Beast,” she told the cup. It didn’t answer. And honestly, it wasn’t just a chip that was missing—it was a honking big hunk of china.
As Katie studied the cup, she wondered if she might be able to repair it. Back to the computer she went and in no time had read through several different tutorials—as well as a video—that described in detail how to repair china and porcelain. It wasn’t rocket science, she mused, but it did require some specialized glue. Would the local hardware store stock it? Google again proved to be her good friend and in no time she was on the phone. Yes! They did indeed stock it, but like Artisans Alley, they would close in only fifteen minutes. Not wanting to wait another day, Katie again grabbed her hat, coat, and umbrella, and practically jogged through Artisans Alley’s main showroom. “I have to run a quick errand, but I should be back in time to close,” she called to Rose on her way to the main exit.
Once outside Katie found that jogging with an umbrella was a useless gesture, so she closed the bumbershoot and broke into a run.
Ten minutes later she was back at the Alley, and Rose and vendor Gwen Hardy were handling the last of the day’s customers.
Katie returned to her office, shrugged out of the sleeves of her coat and was about to toss her hat on top of the file cabinet when she noticed something amiss. Her broken teacup was no longer sitting in the middle of her desk.
Had she put it somewhere safe? She hadn’t remembered doing so, but checked the drawers of her desk and the file cabinets just to be sure. No sign of the cup.
Rose gave one last shout-out on the PA system, telling any potentially lingering customers that the Alley was now closed, but instead of heading to the front of the store to help close down the registers, Katie donned her jacket, abandoning the cap, and flew out the back door to check the Dumpster once again.
More soggy coffee grounds, greasy McDonald’s papers, cups, and French fry boxes, but no sign of the broken Black Magic teacup.
Emotion welled up inside Katie, and she fought the urge to cry. Was that poor cup cursed? First it came a very long way to be broken in transit, then it was trashed, rescued, and now missing. What more could the poor cup endure?
Feeling heartsick, Katie entered the Alley once more, abandoned her wet coat, and headed for the front of the building.
“I walked through the entire building,” said Liz Meier, the stained glass artisan whose job it had been to walk security during the day.
Rose held the zippered bank wallets that contained the cash and receipts for the two registers for the day. “Not such a great shopping day. The rain kept customers away,” she said, handing the wallets to Katie. She frowned, studying Katie’s face. “Are you okay? Your eyes look funny.”
“I’m okay. I’m just….” Katie heaved a sigh. “My teacup has disappeared.”
“Where?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Then how?”
“I don’t know that either. All I know is that when I went out on my errand it was sitting on my desk, and now it’s gone. Who on earth would want to steal a broken teacup?”
“Now, now, Katie,” Rose soothed, “you’re getting all upset over an inanimate object. The cup itself is worthless. You can’t even drink out of it without getting hurt.”
“That’s not the point,” Katie said as a thread of hot anger began to shoot through her.
“I know, dear,” Rose said sympathetically. “Are you sure it didn’t fall on the floor?”
Katie shook her head. “Who could have even known about the cup?”
“Just about everybody here.”
“Oh, yes,” Liz agreed. “That’s all everyone’s been talking about.”
“I never mentioned it to anyone but Rose.”
Rose had the decency to blush. “I’m sorry, Katie. I probably shouldn’t have spoken about it. But it seemed like such an innocuous topic.”
Not to whoever had been fascinated enough to take the cup and saucer.
“I’d better secure the money,” Katie said, and turned away.
“I’m sure everything will work out,” Rose called to her back, but Katie wasn’t interested in platitudes. She wanted her cup—broken or not!
Still A Mystery
That evening, Katie returned to her home in a foul mood. Mason and Della seemed to sense her sour attitude and steered clear, taking up residence by the baseboard heat in the kitchen—their favorite spot since she’d had to turn on the heat back in early October. Even a visit from Andy didn’t lighten her mood.
“It’s just a cup—and a broken one at that,” he said, sounding exasperated after she’d vented for at least five minutes.
“I suppose you’re right,” she grudgingly agreed and leaned into him. He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close.
“It’s just that I may never know who sent it or why—and now I don’t even have the cup or saucer to remember it by.”
“Didn�
�t you say you found the same thing online?” She nodded. “Then why not treat yourself and buy a copy.”
“It wouldn’t be the same.”
“You had the cup for two days. That’s hardly enough time to forge an emotional attachment to it—especially since you have no idea who may have owned it in the past.”
His assessment made sense, but it didn’t erase the disappointment she felt.
They sat on the couch in front of the muted TV in companionable silence for another five minutes before Andy’s cell phone’s text tone interrupted the quiet. He checked the message. “It’s Danny, downstairs. I’d better get back to work. Are you staying up late tonight?” Andy asked,
Katie shook her head. “I’m totally drained. I’m going to bed early with a good book and a couple of kitties—if they’ll forgive me for ignoring them tonight.”
“They always do,” Andy assured her.
Yes, they did.
Andy kissed her once—then again, and was going in for thirds when his phone twittered once more.
Katie pulled away and smiled. “It must feel so good to be indispensable.”
“If it were only true,” he said giving her one last kiss before heading out the door.
She closed it behind him and looked around her small kitchen. The cats got up from their warm haven, suddenly antsy for their evening meal. Katie fed them, but instead of turning in early as she’d threatened Andy, she found herself drawn to the bedroom closet. In the back, under an overflowing laundry basket filled with dirty clothes and surrounded by shoes was a large carton. She hauled it out and trundled into the living room, setting it on the floor. She grabbed a pair of scissors before she sat down next to it and slit the tape that imprisoned the flaps, pulled them up and dug into the sea of Styrofoam peanuts, pulling out the first of what she knew would be ten bone china teacups and saucers. Five of them had belonged to her Great Aunt Lizzie.
They weren’t the prettiest in her collection, but they held the most meaning. She knew all the patterns by heart; Old Country Roses, Silver Maple, Blue Willow, and Ivy Love among them, but none of them had the charm of Black Magic. Still, she treasured them all, and it was long past time she figured out a place to put them where she could admire—and even use—them on a daily basis. Maybe she’d ask Vance or Ray to make her a shelf—or just order something online, but she was determined to do something. A collection wasn’t worth much if you couldn’t see and/or use it.
The Broken Teacup Page 2
