Shadows at the Fair

by Lea Wait

  “Sometimes,” Maggie agreed. “But I wouldn’t take their interest to the bank. And while we’re waiting for them to make up their minds, we have to figure out who wanted Harry dead.” Maggie stood in the aisle just outside both of their booths so she could talk with Gussie and still keep an eye on her own merchandise. She wouldn’t want to miss a sale or encourage someone to walk off with a print. At some city shows theft was a major problem, but at all shows it was a possibility.

  “Gussie, I’ve been thinking.” Maggie lowered her voice and glanced around at the J. COUSINS, BOOKSELLER sign in back of her. “There are at least two people I haven’t talked to who might know something about Harry—Vince and Joe. Would you mind keeping an eye on my booth while I try to find Vince? I’ve already asked Will, but I’d rather have two people do it, in case one of you gets a customer.”

  “Okay. As long as you booth-sit for me later, when I need to take a break.”

  “It’s a deal. And if things slow down a bit, maybe you could talk with Joe.”

  “I’ll try. He’s right across the aisle. I just don’t know him that well. He’s always kept pretty much to himself.”

  “But he must have seen us talking with Susan yesterday. And certainly you, of all people, want to know as much as you can. It’s Ben they’re holding!”

  “You’re right. I’ll try to talk with Joe.”

  “See if you can find out where he was last night. I didn’t see him at all. I would expect him to be pretty upset. He and Harry obviously had a close relationship. And maybe he knows more about the situation between Harry and Susan. I’m really not as clear about that as I’d like to be.”

  “Excuse me, but is this your booth?” A woman in yellow shorts pushed a stroller containing two-year-old twins (also wearing yellow shorts) into Gussie’s booth, blocking the entrance. “I’m collecting ‘twin things.’ You see—I have twins! Do you have anything that is twinnish?”

  Gussie began telling her about a Dionne-quintuplets book she had, but Mother of Twins was not to be distracted. “No. I’m just interested in twins. No supertwins.”

  “Sorry, I don’t think so. Unless you count Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy?”

  The twin lady didn’t think so.

  “Why don’t you ask across the aisle?” Gussie suggested. “There are several groups of twin books—The Bobbsey Twins, The Twins of Different Nations series, the…,” but the twin lady had already turned and blocked Joe’s booth with her stroller.

  “Well done!” Maggie congratulated. “If he makes a sale, he owes you one. And even if not, you tried—at least he owes you a thank-you!”

  “Unless, of course, that double stroller blocks his booth and keeps out customers looking for autographed Hemingway first editions,” said Gussie.

  Maggie’s search for Vince was further delayed by the arrival of a large man wearing bright blue slacks and a knit shirt embroidered with a yachting club logo. He was searching for a print to give his son to commemorate his graduation from dental school, a print his son could hang in his first office. Maggie was happy to show him a selection of several plates of cross sections of teeth, and of jaws with teeth, all originally produced as plates for nineteenth-century medical books.

  That sale was immediately followed by one of an 1867 wood engraving of women dressed in full-skirted dresses, heeled kid shoes, and mandatory hats and men in suits (and hats) playing croquet in a pastoral setting overlooking a river. Older couples chatted and children romped in surrounding areas, ensuring that the young couples remained well chaperoned.

  “Did you know,” Maggie explained, “that croquet was the first sport in which it was acceptable for women to compete with men?” She read a line from the article accompanying the engraving, which she had attached to the back of the mat that now framed it. “‘To the interest of the game is added the relish of out-of-doors, and, possibly the strongest charm of all, the little coquetries and gay flirtations which summer pastimes may innocently include.’”

  The woman who bought the print, a croquet enthusiast, was thrilled with both the print and the information. “I can’t wait until I tell my husband! I’ve finally convinced him to buy us a new croquet set for our summer place. We can hang this print right above the rack I’m having built to hold the mallets!”

  Often Maggie sat at a show and twiddled her thumbs for long minutes at a time between customers. Today, when she wanted to leave her booth, customers kept buying. Nice, but ironic.

  She finally drained her soda can and motioned to Gussie that she was going for a short walk. Gussie nodded back as she continued her discussion of toy stuffing with an earnest-looking man holding three teddy bears. On her way up the aisle, Maggie also nodded at Will, who was trying hard not to get in the middle of a disagreement between two people, presumably husband and wife, about what size their fire-place was.

  Across from Will’s booth Susan was sipping a cup of tea. A half-eaten bagel sat next to her cash box. That was good. Susan should eat something. And Lydia would know the right kind of tea to help Susan get through the day.

  Vince’s Show Management booth was quiet. A couple of porters waited behind the desk for requests to carry newly purchased Queen Anne bureaus or mahogany sideboards to a buyer’s car or truck. A representative of a local trucking company was also present, so customers could arrange to ship furniture or anything else to the far corners of the country.

  “Can I help you?” one of the porters asked, glancing at her dealer’s badge. “Do you need a porter at your booth?”

  “No, thanks. I was just looking for Vince.”

  “And here he is.” Vince came up in back of her, his arms full of brochures for future shows and subscription forms for antiques magazines and journals. “What can I help you with, Maggie?” He dropped the piles on the desk and started re-sorting and straightening them. “We had too many materials for the information tables between the buildings, so I thought I’d leave some piles here, in case anyone was interested.” Maggie noted that brochures for his future buying trips to Europe and the Far East were on top.

  “I just wanted an update on the investigation. We’re all pretty upset, you know.” Maggie fluttered her eyelashes a little. It wasn’t her usual style, but maybe Vince would think she was just a concerned and silly woman. “Harry and Susan had the booth next to mine. And, of course, with Ben being arrested, we’re very concerned.”

  “Yes. The police are right on top of the situation, aren’t they? It’s all so very unfortunate. A mentally disabled young man, confused, and poor Harry a victim.”

  Maggie took a deep breath. “Vince, I’m sure Ben didn’t do it. He’s a very kind and friendly young man, and he had no reason to hurt Harry.”

  “Well, the police don’t seem to agree with you, Maggie, and they’re the experts.” Vince rearranged another pile of brochures. “I heard Susan spent the night with you and Will last night. That was good of you. Susan and I are friends, you know, and I was concerned about her. And I had so many things to take care of, with the police here, and the show opening today and everything.” He looked at Maggie as though he were waiting for her to say something else. “How is she taking it?”

  “Having her husband murdered at an antiques show where she thought she was among friends and colleagues was obviously upsetting. But she’s tougher than some people think. You know, she’s working her booth today.”

  “First thing this morning I told her she could go home; forget the show contract, I told her. This is a unique, a tragic, situation. A couple of other dealers volunteered to fill her space, and I could have gotten porters to help her pack up and get out before the show opened.” Vince shook his head a little. “I wouldn’t have held it against her. I would have offered her a contract next year.”

  “You’re a generous man, Vince,” Maggie said dryly.

  “I try to be,” he agreed. “Susan’s a special lady. And she and Harry were a special couple.”

  “Maybe. But, after all, they were getting
divorced, so I guess their relationship wasn’t quite what it used to be.”

  Vince started slightly. “Getting a divorce? I didn’t know. Who told you that?” He had turned visibly paler behind his gray and black mustache. Clearly, Susan and Harry’s divorce was news to him.

  “Susan told me yesterday. She said they were signing the final papers next week, and that Harry was buying out her share of Art-Effects. She was going to stay on as an employee, though.” Maggie looked carefully at Vince to see if any of this meant anything to him. Something did; he looked like a pigeon who had plumped himself up and was ready to sputter.

  “I’m sure Susan mentioned it to me; I just must have forgotten.”

  Sure he had. But why hadn’t Susan told him if she’d told everyone else?

  “Lydia Wyndham saw you and Harry talking last night.”

  Vince looked straight back at Maggie. “As I told the police, Harry and I had a short discussion after the show. Harry was going out to the Coast for a while, and he asked me to keep an eye on Susan. He said she hadn’t been feeling too well.”

  “Really? Did you agree to do that?”

  “Well, normally, of course, I would have been glad to help out. I told him I was sorry about Susan. She’d have gotten a little faint several times when we were in the Far East last month. Once I had to hold up the tour for her. Luckily, not too many people complained. But I can’t keep watching out for her. I have other commitments in the near future. A tour to the UK and Paris, for one. She was his wife, not mine. I told him she was his problem. He’d have to find someone else to help out.”

  “Does Susan know you’ll be away soon?”

  “I’m sure she knows about the tour; there are brochures all over, and some of the people who went on the Far East tour are going. The trip’s been fully booked for almost a year.”

  “Why was Harry going to California?” Susan hadn’t said anything about Harry’s planning to go out of town.

  “He didn’t say. Something about business. Said he’d be leaving soon.”

  Instead, he was killed.

  “Did you talk with Susan last night?”

  Vince looked around impatiently. “Listen. I’m not on trial here.” He paused for a moment. “But I have no secrets. Susan and I talked off and on all day. She helped me with dealer registration. After Harry’s body was found I was with the police most of the time. At first they actually wanted to cancel the show for today! Can you imagine what the dealers—and the customers—would have said? It took me most of the night to convince them that none of the dealers would leave today. The best way to keep us all in town was to open the show. They had us all imprisoned by economics. Right, Maggie?” Vince shook his head. “But then, luckily, they found their prime suspect, your friend Gussie’s nephew. That made them feel better about the show’s opening, and there was no real reason to hold everyone else up.”

  “But they don’t have good evidence against Ben,” Maggie said. “No one actually saw Ben knock Harry down.”

  “I think several people mentioned his behavior to the police. He spent a lot of time yesterday hanging around here, staring at Susan. And then, last night, a couple of us saw him running around the field. He was sweaty, and he looked very anxious.” Vince shrugged. “And I understand he confessed.”

  “He said he’d run into Harry and Susan last night. He certainly didn’t say he’d murdered anyone.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  Maggie changed the subject. “Then you didn’t talk with Susan after the show closed last night?”

  “I don’t think so.” Vince shook his head and touched his mustache. “I talked briefly to a lot of people. It’s a lot of work to make sure a show this large runs smoothly, Maggie.” He looked thoughtful. “No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. She was working at her booth last night; I had to play host and organizer. After the show closed, I locked the area and then walked around the buildings with Officer Taggart to make sure everyone had left and the buildings were locked for the night. We had just finished doing that when…we all heard Susan.”

  Maggie frowned. She was missing something, but she couldn’t think what it was. “If you think of anything that might help, Vince, would you let me know?”

  “Maggie, there are police investigating Harry’s murder. You have a beautiful booth, where dozens of people are probably standing with their checkbooks open right now. You had a rough winter, but this is spring.”

  Vince put his arm around Maggie and headed her back in the direction of her booth. “You go and make lots of money, and then come back and tell me what a wonderful show this is, and what a wonderful promoter I am, and by that time the police should have had this totally wrapped up.” He looked at Maggie as she started to say something. “I know this is difficult for Susan. I want to help. I even went out this morning and got her some fresh-squeezed orange juice, the way she likes it.”

  Orange juice would certainly make a difference when your husband had just been murdered.

  “You’re a caring person, Maggie, and Gussie is your friend. But Harry Findley is dead. And the police have found his killer. Just leave well enough alone. After all—the show must go on.”

  Maggie headed back to her booth. Vince knew something. But what? And why would Harry ask Vince to take care of Susan?

  Maggie wove through the crowds of customers who filled the aisles and most of the booths. Vince was right. It was silly to leave her booth. She needed the sales. Gussie and Will would both try to keep an eye on her booth, but no dealer could speak for another, and neither Gussie nor Will knew much about prints. The antiques business was so specialized that everyone in the business, dealer or collector, spent sizable chunks of money and time on buying and studying reference books that helped to separate the old from the new, the desirable from the merely interesting, the popular from the trite. To know more than a few areas of antiques in depth was rare. Auctioneers tried; appraisers tried; but even they depended on specialists for advice and counsel. There was simply too much to learn about antiques.

  And not enough to learn about Harry’s murder. How could it have happened so fast, with all of them so close by? Vince’s reporting of his conversation with Harry didn’t really give any clues, other than that Harry had been concerned about Susan’s health. Well, maybe if she ate more than vitamins and vegetables, she’d be healthier, Maggie thought. What a problem! Susan was too skinny. True. But a good talking to and maybe a dietitian would solve that problem. It wasn’t a matter of life and death. Or, was it?

  Maggie stopped at the concession stand to get a couple of tuna sandwiches to share with Susan and Gussie, then headed back to her booth.

  Chapter 17

  The First Day of the Season, a hand-colored wood engraving by John Leech, who was known for his humorous sporting illustrations, published in The Illustrated London News on November 22, 1856. Group of elegant gentlemen on horses in hunting attire greeting each other before the fox hunt begins. Price: $75.

  The minister and her husband were thrilled when they saw Maggie’s N. Currier (the company originally founded by Nathaniel Currier in 1835, before he formed a partnership with his brother-in-law, James Ives, in 1857), The Tree of Intemperance (1849). Originally part of a pair (the other half of which was, of course, The Tree of Temperance), the print was of a dark green tree emerging from roots labeled “Wine,” “Beer,” “Cider,” “Rum,” “Gin,” and “Brandy,” its trunk encircled by the snake named “Alcohol.” Its branches, Lea Wait labeled “Disease,” “Misery,” “Poverty”—and Maggie’s personal favorite—“Insanity,” were broken and yielded fruits ranging from “Degradation,” “Ignorance,” and “The Wrath of God,” to “The Alms House,” “Robbery,” “Murder,” and “The Gallows.” On the right side of the tree were a sobbing woman and her three children. On the left side were two men brawling in front of a tavern.

  “I love it!” the minister said as she read yet another “fruit”: “‘A Feeble Body.’ ‘Blasphemy.’ �
��Failure in Business.’ My husband and I have been collecting temperance materials—posters, books, political buttons. We hang them on the walls around our bar. This is perfect!”

  Her husband agreed. They left their names in case Maggie found a copy of the matching print. “It would be lovely to have the pair,” the young minister said, smiling. “And if you ever have any other temperance or Prohibition materials, please, give us a call!”

  Maggie filed their names with her list of customers looking for specific materials, then turned the sales book to a clean page.

  Her booth had been busy since she’d returned; both Will and Gussie were no doubt glad she was back. Sales, after all, were why they were all here. Being asked to watch a friend’s booth was not an unusual request, but it could mean having to choose between your own customers and those in another booth. Not an easy choice.

  Maggie glanced around. The early steady stream of customers had abated, but a good number of people were still browsing through the aisles.

  Gussie was talking with an elderly couple who had brought two dolls to the show, hoping to sell them to a dealer. Will was reading a book in between customers. Maggie couldn’t see Susan, but occasionally her voice rose above the partition separating her booth from Maggie’s. Abe Wyndham must have gone for a walk; Lydia was showing berry forks to a young woman.

  Maggie straightened her cash box and reorganized a few prints that customers had left in the wrong piles. It was hard to concentrate on keeping her booth arranged and smiling for customers when she knew a killer was nearby. A killer who was no doubt relaxing, since he—or she—knew the police had a suspect. She wondered if Gussie’s friend Jim had been able to get Ben out of jail. Could a young man with Down’s syndrome be held legally responsible for a crime? In many ways he was a child. But he did know right from wrong. It was lucky that Gussie’s friend was a lawyer.

  Gussie had told her stories about Ben years ago. He was always the gentlest of children, the child who cried when the boy next door made a game of stepping on ants or throwing stones at herring gulls. Ben had never understood that some people couldn’t be trusted; Gussie often mentioned his wandering off and befriending anyone he met until his anxious family could find him. His parents were always scared for him; Ben was never scared for himself.