He proceeded to tell her how he had seen the food trucks, how he had almost walked away, and how the sight of Shug Blackwell had stopped him.
Velveteen gasped. “Shug Blackwell! Oh Charlie, you’re lucky to be alive! What was he doing at Heritage Financial? Oh no! Was he applying for your job?”
“No, turns out he was looking for an investor.”
“For the market?”
“Robert Walsh was more than happy to tell me about it.” He had her attention.
Charlie had stepped out of the elevator more out of curiosity than an interest in fulfilling his appointment with Robert Walsh. He boldly strode up to the two men.
“Robert!” Charlie stepped in front of Shug and shook the hand of his former employer. “Good to see you, old friend.”
“Price,” Shug growled, “what are you doing here?”
Charlie hadn’t planned what to say in response; he was thankful Robert answered for him.
“We go way back! Not surprised you two know each other. What was the name of the town?”
“Coraloo,” Charlie and Shug replied in unison.
“Right, like the market.”
“The market?” Mention of the market was enough to keep Charlie around longer.
“Mr Blackwell is looking for a buyer, and I have to say, we’re very interested. Old Charlie’s the one I should run this by. He had his own share of success with assessing small businesses in his day.”
Shug crossed his arms across his chest, exposing the tip of the Oakeshott blade on his forearm. “I believe I read about that in the paper. Was it a food truck, Price?” He spat the words.
Again, Robert took the lead. Charlie had forgotten how much the man liked to talk. “One deal gone south won’t kill a man.”
Charlie stood tall; he wasn’t going to let Shug Blackwell win the day – one deal had almost killed him, but the one forming in his brain was about to give him life.
“It was good to see you, Shug. Let’s catch up back at the market.” With that, Charlie Price ushered Robert Walsh back into his corner office, leaving Shug with his mouth open.
Velveteen stared at Charlie with eager eyes as he recounted the day’s events. “So what did he do?”
“Who?”
“Shug Blackwell! After you left him out in the hall?”
“I don’t really know. He probably left.”
Velveteen fell back against her neatly organized cushions. “I can’t believe he’s trying to sell the market, Charlie. It’s been in the Blackwell family for years.”
“He’s not trying; the market is as good as sold. Walsh said it’s a solid investment.”
“Does Stephen know about this?”
“He does now.”
“You told him! Oh, Charlie, if Shug finds out you were the one who told… Should we purchase a gun? Or maybe we can put up some of that pokey wire around the house –”
“Barbed wire?”
“Yes! That’s it… We’ll hire someone to deliver our groceries, and I guess I’ll be forced to homeschool Gideon. Oh I wish Shug would just go ahead and get it over with!”
“Get what over with?”
“Skinning us alive!”
“I doubt he will try to skin us from jail.”
“Jail!”
“It’s temporary. Roy Blackwell is holding him until he cools down a bit. Walsh and I had a nice long talk. I had already told him most of our story, so I filled in a few of the missing pieces – the history of the Blackwells, the vendors, Granny’s. Told him he would be an idiot if he didn’t buy the market.”
“So, now they’ll all be coming after us? It’s just like Melba all over again when the count’s men tried to storm the palace!”
Charlie squeezed her hand. “I called Stephen from the office. I wanted his permission before I ran the numbers. Walsh wanted me to look the deal over since I had so much experience at the market, and I wasn’t part of the family. I could never make sense of the fact the market was always inches from shutting down or work out why Shug was so hot to have the vendors leave.”
Velveteen sat up. “Shug didn’t want the market to survive, did he?”
Charlie loved how she, in her own unique way, was always a step ahead of him. “That’s my guess. From what I could see, a portion of the market’s profits filters into an account marked repairs… except there is no record of the money being spent on repairs. Whatever he was up to, it put the market in the red – they would need an act of God to keep it up.”
“He was stealing! Granny Blackwell is probably rolling over in her grave, Charlie. How could her son do this to the family?”
“I don’t know – yet. I’m going to let Roy and his officers get it out of him.”
“Oh, Charlie, Heritage must be thrilled to have you back! Will they let you work from home? Or maybe you could open a branch here, in Coraloo. I have the best idea for a remodel – we’ll go for a masculine flea market meets industrial chic!”
“Vee…”
“Yes, Charlie?”
“I turned it down.” He didn’t want her to worry for even a second, so he went straight for the point. “I can’t do it again; I can’t have that life. I’ve seen the other side. I’ve seen the freedom of being with you and Gideon. I want to be my own boss. I want to set my own hours. I know it’s different, but I don’t want to drive to the city once a month to sit around a big table with a bunch of hotheads spouting numbers, and I don’t want to wear a suit. Granny said the shoes fit. She’s right – I’m a businessman, and I’m good at it, but not in the city. I want to be here. So… that’s what I told Robert Walsh.”
“You told him you didn’t want to wear a suit?”
“Along with the rest of it. You see, I remembered something. Walsh is a family guy. I must have heard a hundred times how Heritage was founded by his great-great-great-whatever. I told him Coraloo had to stay in the hands of the Blackwells. I told him about all the crazy stories –”
“It’s history, Dad!” Gideon yelled from the other room.
“You didn’t tell him about the funeral, did you?” Velveteen asked, her hand covering her mouth in shock.
“I did! He loved it! He loved all of it! So just like that, I had an idea. I said, ‘Robert, I have a proposal for you.’ And he said, ‘All right, what is it, Charlie?’” Charlie’s heart pounded and his face hurt from the permanent grin. “I said, ‘You buy it, I’ll run it. I know the market, and I know the industry.’” And with that Charlie triumphantly grabbed a macaron and shoved the whole thing in his mouth.
Velveteen was on her feet now. “What did he say? What did he say?”
Charlie started to speak, but Velveteen couldn’t make out a word he was saying.
“Chew, Charlie, chew!” She moved her mouth up and down as if to show him the proper method.
Charlie swallowed the bite. “These are so good, Vee.” He reached for another one – knowing his smile already said it all. She playfully smacked his hand away.
“Charlie Price, if you don’t tell me what he said, so help me I will start throwing these macarons at your face… And you know I will, Price! You know I will! It wouldn’t be a Toft house first either!” She fought to withhold her laughter.
“Do it Mom!” Gideon called from the kitchen.
Charlie clutched his stomach and fell back down on the sofa. He laughed so hard his side began to cramp. Velveteen picked up a macaron and flipped it from one hand to the other. “Heads will roll, Price! Heads will roll!”
Charlie pulled her down onto his lap. “Walsh wants me to oversee the transition. Then, Heritage will be hands off. I’ll work from the market… marketing, managing, branding, all of it. Heritage will make a percent, but the rest goes back to the family. I ran it by Stephen and he thought it was a great idea… it should keep anyone else in the family from getting too greedy. We discussed a salary. What the market will pay me is more than fair. Walsh’s team is projecting the market and the town to be the state’s next big tourist draw
, but we won’t make any major changes without consulting the family.”
Velveteen covered her eyes with both hands as happy tears threatened to overcome her.
He pulled her hands and polished nails away from her face, revealing two beautiful watery eyes. “My first point of business is to get one of the market’s key attractions back up and running. It’s going to need someone to take it over.”
“Do you mean Granny’s? Who do you have in mind?”
“Well, it would have to be someone with a great mind for artistic detail. Someone who is creative, loves her co-workers…” He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face as earnestly she nodded along, “Vee – Stephen, Clover, and I think you should run Granny’s.”
“I couldn’t Charlie. I could never…”
“Apparently, Granny thought you could, or she wouldn’t have spent so much time with you.”
“Really?” She paused, openly astounded. “But what about the others? I mean, so many of the Blackwell ladies could do it.”
“They have their own businesses to attend to. What do you say, partner? Want to try something new?”
“What does it pay?” Velveteen asked, slowly smiling, “Would it be enough for this partner to get her hair done, at an actual salon? I’m not very good at it; I tried. I really did. And I love our home, but you know the water shuts off occasionally, and if I’m stuck again with Cocoa Blanket in my hair –”
“Then you call the Blackwells.”
“Charlie!”
“Of course you can get your hair done. I’m sure Sylvia Toft will be more than thrilled –”
Velveteen reached over and grabbed the tray of macarons, then paused. “I haven’t worked since before we were married. What if I burn down the market?”
“Then we help to rebuild it.”
“What if the customers don’t like me?”
“They won’t like you; they’ll love you.”
“What if I fail, Charlie?”
He had asked the same question of himself on the drive home. “We try again.”
“Can I make macarons?”
Charlie picked up one of the treats from the center of the tray she was holding. “As long as you promise not to throw them at anybody.”
CHAPTER 32
One month later, Charlie Price called a meeting of the Blackwells. Despite Charlie and Shug’s public disdain for one another, Charlie tried to be as gentle as possible. Shug was family. With Stephen by his side, he explained that Shug had had big plans for the market – he wanted to turn it into a bustling tourist attraction complete with a food court, go-carts, and slew of kitschy souvenir shops that bled down into the town. It was his idea of improving the market.
But Shug’s bad decisions had caught up with him. Apparently, after selling replicas of eighteenth-century weaponry to overseas buyers, they’d discovered his deceit. Mix that with the interest rising on an unpaid gambling debt, and Shug was forced to change his plan. His new plan: to sell the market and move south. Charlie knew all too well that money had a way of shifting a man’s motivations. With the profit, Shug would be able to pay his debts and make some extra on the side.
His plans discovered, Shug was currently serving fourteen years in prison – seven for the swords and seven for skimming off the top.
After the initial shock of Shug’s betrayal, the family was ready to talk about the future of the Coraloo Flea Market. For three hours the Blackwells asked questions and made suggestions. Ralph Walsh answered and responded to every single one of them. He told the family the acquisition of the Coraloo Flea Market was more personal than business. He believed in family and proceeded with the speech Charlie could now recite from memory: “You see, Heritage Financial has been in my family for nearly one hundred years…”
As was the Blackwell tradition for voting, they cast their shoes into the center of the meeting – a left for no, and a right for yes. By unanimous decision, the Blackwells agreed to support Charlie Price. Ralph Walsh took both his shoes off and tossed them into the pile because he wanted a reason to walk around barefoot as Charlie and Stephen gave him a tour of the market.
Charlie spent the next month at the market planning, contacting vendors, and casting his vision. With the grand re-opening of the market only weeks away, and Shug’s shop locked up, Charlie felt it was time to repurpose the space or find someone else to tend to it. The police had gone over the shop when Shug was arrested. As well as confiscating files, they uncovered the stolen Kipling – another of Shug’s attempts to rid the market of the one man he feared would uncover the financial damage done to the Blackwell legacy: Charlie Price.
Charlie waited for Innis Wilkinson to unlock the door and then stepped inside Shug’s. Stacks of antique china, a vintage wedding dress, oil lamps, chandeliers, military uniforms, and tools welcomed him. He felt a twinge of regret as he recalled the days of picking, finding, and researching his treasures, only to turn around and sell them for a higher value.
He had been in this part of the market twice – both times Shug had asked him to leave. Charlie sat down in a nineteenth-century antique French carved armchair, a basket filled with wooden shoe forms on the floor beside it. He picked one up and ran his hand over the smooth wood.
Charlie closed his eyes and allowed himself to be transported back to a time when the building hummed and bustled as a newly mechanized shoe factory – and before, as the children told, the home of Mungo Blackwell himself. But as with most things, something bigger, better, and faster had come along, wiping out the old and, for a brief moment, becoming the new, until the cycle repeated itself. Charlie opened his eyes, surrounded by Shug’s den of antiquities. The history, the memories – it was the one part of the market he and Shug had in common. It would be sad to see it all go. He turned the shoe form over. Engraved in the wood was the name M. Blackwell. Charlie had an idea.
Charlie, Velveteen, Gideon, and the entire Blackwell family stood outside the arched stone doorway of the Coraloo Flea Market. A red ribbon tied into a bow at the center held back the tourists and vendors. Mr and Mrs Wilkinson waited at the ready for any custodial mishaps. A columnist from Wayfaring magazine stood by with a camera in hand asking Velveteen a series of questions regarding the new management and what patrons could expect from the bakery. Having succumbed to the belly-freeing freedom of maternity fashion, she looked like a celebrity, waving at a bundle of Tofts who said they had ventured up the hill for the event to make sure the Blackwells didn’t do anything illegal.
“It’s perfectly quaint! It will rival anything you find in the city. You have my guarantee, sir.” Velveteen pulled the purple scarf around her shoulders.
The reporter jotted a few words on a piece of paper as Velveteen stood on tiptoes to see what he was writing. “And the shotgun?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The shotgun, ma’am. Rumor has it Granny kept a shotgun behind the counter in case a feud broke out.”
A slow smile formed on Velveteen’s face. “Let’s just say, some things at the Coraloo will never change.” She winked.
The reporter scribbled.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Charlie’s voice echoed across the crowd. “Welcome to the grand reopening of the Coraloo Flea Market. Stephen, would you do the honors?”
Stephen Blackwell stepped up to the door. “This building has been in my family a long time. It’s a part of our history; it’s who we are. We are artisans and collectors. Our ways may be peculiar and our stories –”
“History, Dad,” Danger interrupted.
“Our history somewhat strange, but it is the way we love one another that keeps us going. However, sometimes, you need a little help.” Stephen reached over and shook Charlie’s hand. “Sometimes, you need help from the outside to get back on your feet. Thank you all for being here today. If it weren’t for you, well, we’d have a lot of stuff piling up inside. Thank you for believing in us.” Stephen smiled and scanned the crowd. “Innis, would you join me please?”
Innis Wilkinson stepped up to the ribbon, removed the large pair of scissors she wore around her neck, and uttered, “I’ve been keeping them safe for a long time, Mr Blackwell.”
It was as though this was how it was meant to be all along. Charlie was a little surprised that it wasn’t one of the Blackwells who would ceremoniously usher in the new era in the family history, but he had an inkling there was more to the Wilkinson couple than meets the eye. As part of the transition, Charlie had stumbled across a handwritten note from someone named Smith, naming Mr and Mrs Wilkinson the official custodial staff of the Coraloo Flea Market. That was it. There was no background check or employment application, just a note. Charlie had started an investigation of sorts to learn more about the strange couple, but nobody could remember a time when they weren’t there. Curious, Charlie did the best he could to research the scissors Innis wore around her neck but, not finding any connection between the hand-forged iron scissors he found online and Innis’s, he’d decided one day to ask her outright why she wore them. Her response was simple but suitably cryptic: “To protect them from the morticians.” Charlie didn’t ask any more questions.
Stephen nodded. “Thank you, Innis.”
Innis pried open the partially rusted scissors and then snapped them shut, slicing the ribbon in two. Stephen broke a bottle of mulled wine on the side of the archway. The attendees cheered and poured through the entrance as Charlie handed them a map and brochure of the market. On the back he had carefully, with the help of Danger, the self-proclaimed family historian, written the history of the Coraloo Flea Market.
Inside, soft white canopies accented by streamers of Aunt Sorcha’s hand-dyed ribbon provided mini-shelters for the vendors to display their treasures. It was Velveteen’s idea – a way to make the hodgepodge of finds look a little less disorganized and more visually appealing. Not much changed in the shops – Charlie said they were perfect the way they were. Aunt Moira had suggested she have a security guard stationed out front of her shop to make sure Sylvia Toft and her mother didn’t try to sneak in. Charlie said it wouldn’t be necessary and had to convince her, as well as a few other Blackwells, that the Tofts should be allowed to shop the market.
The Death of Mungo Blackwell Page 26
