The Curious Case of the Cursed Spectacles (Curiosity Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Constance Barker

  "For a minute." They left me with him and I held his hand and talked to him, telling him what Enid had said and what was going on. None of my news stirred him. It wasn't a satisfactory conversation.

  Suddenly I saw Edgar coming in the room. "Hey, old guy," he said to Mason.

  "Where were you?"

  He tipped his head. "Next door. The lady in there just died."

  "And you wanted to watch?"

  "I'm trying to figure out this ghost thing, the whole life after death issue."

  "Did you learn anything?"

  "I wondered if maybe she could tell me something… the dead her. I didn't see her."

  "Maybe like no one seeing you."

  "Could be."

  "I think it's complicated."

  Edgar nodded solemnly. "Must be." Then he smiled. "Can we buy some brownies on the way home? With nuts?"

  "Brownies?"

  "I suddenly remembered eating some, must've been… oh a long time ago."

  "Before you got put in the box."

  "Way before then. Before I got assigned to the pen. It's kind of hazy though."

  I knew it would be. The answers I wanted always seemed to be.

  "We might as well go home."

  Edgar went over and stared at Uncle Mason. "He isn't going anywhere soon."

  As we left, I wondered exactly how Edgar meant that. Suddenly my world consisted of far too many dimensions, assumptions and questions. At the nursing station I made sure they had my cell phone number and knew to call me if there was any change. "Any change at all," I said.

  "Of course," the woman said. It wasn't reassuring.

  Chapter Eight

  During the next week, Clarence and I divided our time between cleaning up the shop and reading tabloids. The robbers hadn't messed it up that much, but once we got to cleaning we became infected with the idea of organizing it a bit and possibly finding a ledger that will tell us more about the stolen objects from the back room. Seeing that the shop probably hadn't been organized since it was first opened in 1835, and perhaps hadn't been then, it was, shall we say an interesting endeavor. And filthy. I came to think dirt from the 1800s is more tenacious than the modern kind.

  Edgar wanted to help and we didn't want him to, so he kibitzed.

  Clarence kind of sulked. The lawyer, Jeffrey came by and expressed his pleasure at the way things looked. "Amazing how nice the place can look," he said. He'd brought papers that gave me control over the store and Uncle Mason's bank accounts. "It's good to have a power of attorney over the business and financial things as well as his medical care," he assured me. "Mason signed the papers just in case something like this happened."

  I thanked him and Clarence gave him a cup of tea. Then he left.

  "Do you think he knows anything about the cursed antiques?"

  "I don't," Clarence said.

  "How about you Edgar?"

  He snorted. "So I only exist when you need information?"

  "Stop sulking."

  "I never saw him in the back room. I don't remember him at all."

  "So probably not."

  "So what happens now?" Clarence asked. "About the business, I mean?"

  "The good news is that, for the moment, you are still on the payroll."

  "For the moment?"

  "Maybe even longer. Unless Uncle Mason can rise up and tell us what to do, we have a mess to clean up that is bigger than this store. That means I'm stuck here. I figure we might as well keep the shop open while we try and recover the objects, or until I work out what happens next."

  We worked hard, but I'll admit the tabloids were fun to read. I especially enjoyed reading all the stories about Elvis being found on the moon in the backseat of a 1958 Chevrolet making out with Marilyn Monroe and other earth shaking events. Sure I'm exaggerating, but not by much. We had to read them all, because the only guidelines we had for picking out likely candidates for reports of the cursed objects were the clippings Uncle Mason had collected—the leads he'd followed the first time when he'd gathered them.

  As a rule, we decided that we were looking primarily for unexplained occurrences, especially when accompanied by some kind of tragedy.

  "I'm sensing a trend in these stories, in that the objects seem to call to people," Edgar said.

  "They shout their names?"

  "No, not verbal, just they attract people. They have some appeal that makes people want to handle them, the same way you couldn't resist opening the pen box."

  I didn't like being reminded of that. "It reminded me of something."

  "It was no big deal to you but curiosity got you to open it and… ta da, Edgar is free and haunting you forever more! Well, not free, but out of the cursed box." Then he laughed. "Cursed box, did you get that?"

  "Yeah," Clarence said. "You should be a comic. A regular standup ghost routine. Maybe we can get you your own show."

  Edgar ignored him. "The objects have an aura of otherworldliness, because, well because they are otherworldly. It's strong enough that even humans can sense it, but they aren't afraid of it, for some reason, the way they are often afraid of things that are different."

  He was right. Thinking back to when I went into the back room and found the box, I remember being intrigued. All I thought about was how interesting the box looked and that the design was unlike anything I'd ever seen. I wanted to know what was inside it. If all other cursed objects are like that then it's no wonder they wound up getting used, with odd results.

  "You were in there a long time, right?"

  "A lifetime in gecko years," he said.

  "Then you must've seen some of the other objects. Even if you just remembered a few… I'd love to make a list of them so that we know how many there are and what we might be looking for."

  "No idea, really. To be honest, they were just a bunch of dusty and grimy knickknacks. None of them were memorable and some I have no idea what they were. There was nothing I'd want in my home. And I just wandered in hanging around with… that guy."

  "Mason?"

  "Right, the now inert Mason Parish. Yes, that's it. I was just along for the ride. For that matter, that's all I'm doing now, it seems, going along for the ride."

  "Don't be so grumpy. Read newspapers."

  "Can I have the sports and entertainment sections?"

  So I threw a paper at him and we got back to reading. Eventually, one story piqued my interest. "Remember that story about the Cassandra of East New Hampshire?" I asked Clarence.

  "Yeah. I do. The person saw bad things."

  "Here's another one that sounds just like the guy in New Hampshire, but this one is recent and closer to home. He predicted a major accident on the freeway—a ten car collision. The writer says that he heard him describe it but didn't think anything about it until he saw the story of the accident on television. It was exactly as the guy described it, even down to the name of the company that owned the truck that jackknifed and caused the pileup."

  "And you're thinking that our first Cassandra might've used an object to make his predictions… one that was stored away until just recently?"

  "Exactly. And now another anonymous prophet managed to make a detailed prophecy of doom that came true." I sighed. "I wish we knew what the object was that let him tell the future. I wonder I it has to be a doom and gloom thing that's going to happen before he can see it?"

  "Or before he bothers telling anyone. Kind of like Mason's doctor in not wanting to encourage hope," Edgar said.

  I ignored Edgar. "This writer claims he was in a diner and heard the man make his prophecy. Of course, people will say all sorts of things, say that this or that will happen. But the guy had been so specific that he took notes. Then, after it happened, he remembered it and checked those notes. This guy had it exactly as it happened." I flipped through the pages of Mason's heavy leather book, looking for the original story that he clipped out and filed. "It's far too similar a story to be a coincidence. Unfortunately, neither story mentions any object, cursed or
otherwise."

  "Well, according to our resident expert here, the objects are commonplace. It wouldn't be obvious and who would be thinking to look for a common object," Clarence said. "But even if this is a real story, not something the reporter came up with after the fact, and if it was made possible by a magical object, say one that used to be in the back room of this shop, where does this get us? Right now all we have is the name of the town it happened in. The writer didn't give our prophet's name. How do we track him down and see what he can tell us about any recent acquisitions of cursed objects? And after that, how do we get him to give it up?"

  I smiled and held the paper up, tapping my finger on the byline. "One step at a time, Clarence. We don't have the prophet's name, but we have the writer's name. If we track him down, maybe he can tell us where he met the prophet and who he is."

  "She's clever," Edgar said. "I wouldn't have thought of that."

  Clarence tipped his head and read the name. "Maybe if we call the paper they can tell us how to get in touch with this guy."

  "That's the spirit," Edgar said. "Of course, all this assumes that you really want to come face-to-face with another cursed object when you're still unsure of an innocent pen that is home to an extremely friendly ghost."

  "Do we have a choice?" I asked.

  Edgar smiled. "I've always found running away to be a useful option under almost any circumstances."

  I sighed. Edgar had a point and the truth was, I wasn't exactly sure why I felt committed to finding all the objects, other than to learn more about some rather intriguing mysteries that Uncle Mason had clearly been up to his neck in. It would've made life easier if Enid would tell all she knew, but she seemed reluctant to spell out why Uncle Mason had been the one to collect them. She simply implied that he felt responsible for keeping them safe. And although I was now officially cursed with Edgar, I had no idea what that meant in real-world terms, assuming the real world had anything at all to do with anything any longer.

  I had a momentary vision of my old life, my job sorting mail—my late job, that is. In retrospect, it had many merits, the primary one that is was tranquil if not fulfilling. I thought about how recent events had pushed me to this spot and time. That wasn't a good line of thought. The idea that losing my job, learning of Uncle Mason's illness, me arriving, and then the theft were all coincidences was even more difficult to accept than say, being haunted by a ghost, via a box containing a cursed pen. Or was it a cursed box that contained a pen and a ghost? Despite liking Edgar, I wasn't really thrilled about either version.

  Ultimately I really needed to get a handle on the mechanisms. Just finding them wasn't enough, but that's where we had to start. It was all we had.

  Chapter Nine

  According to the story in the paper, the man who made the prophecy had done so in the town of Koin. This little burg was also home to Kenneth Parker, the man who wrote the story. Clarence called the paper and by telling them that he had some information for him, got his number. Then I called Kenneth Parker and got him to agree to meet with us.

  "That went too easily. What did you tell him?" Clarence asked. "You didn't tell him the truth, I hope?"

  "I resorted to the time-honored ploy of offering a free lunch and claiming that I had a story for him."

  "And he agreed?"

  "Most journalists are perpetually hungry for stories and food," I said. "It makes for a combination that is irresistible bait."

  It was a fairly long drive to Koin from Destiny's Point and I had no idea where we'd go from there. I rented a car from an agency in town, getting one that was somewhat larger than Steve's toaster, and taking it by the week. I hoped this project wouldn't take much more than that but however long it took, I had a hunch we'd be making a few trips before this was over.

  We met Kenneth at a diner in the center of the little town, cleverly named "Koin Diner." Although it was lunchtime, the diner was quite empty. I spotted a rather handsome guy with short brown hair sitting in a booth with a computer on the table. "Has to be him," I said. As we walked in, he waved us over.

  He closed the lid as we walked up. "Since you are the only customer here, I assume you're Kenneth Parker," I said.

  He flashed a shocking white smile. "Since you're the only strangers in town, I assume you must be Cecelia Parish."

  "And this is Clarence Copperfield, my associate.”

  "He has nice teeth," Edgar said. "They are much nicer than yours Clarence." I'd asked Edgar to stay invisible and it seemed he was behaving. Getting him to shut up wasn't even worth trying but it was funny watching Clarence resist the urge to make a snappy comeback.

  We sat in the booth with Kenneth and ordered lunch. The waitress was bored and frowned when I asked if they had anything besides the sandwiches on the menu. "Like a special?" she asked.

  "Sure," I said hopefully.

  "No way. They do a burger with mashed potatoes for dinner though." Knowing we would be eating in a diner I'd set my heart on something homemade, like Martha's meatloaf, which was a disappointment. She saw my look. "Henry makes his own fries though."

  So we ordered and as the food came Kenneth focused on me, while actively ignoring Clarence. I figured that since he couldn't see Edgar that didn't count. "So you drove all the way from Destiny's Point?"

  "This morning. Have you been there?"

  "No, never."

  Kenneth struck me as charming… a little bit of a flirt. It had been long enough since a man had looked at me that way that I couldn't object. I liked it. All this had Clarence growing annoyed, but then I thought he'd been irritable quite a bit lately. Edgar's comment on teeth certainly hadn't helped his mood at all even if he didn't understand it.

  "We read your story in the paper, Kenneth. Can you tell me a little about this prophet of gloom and doom you wrote about?"

  "The accident guy?"

  "Yes. Did you follow up with him?"

  He scowled. "No. Why would I?"

  "To see what he thinks about his prediction coming true. It sounds like that was a first time experience for him and I'm curious about that."

  "That's not a story my editors would be interested in."

  "In that case, would you introduce us to him? I'd like to meet him."

  Kenneth laughed. "You aren't very good at this, are you?"

  "What?" I asked.

  "Playing people. Wheedling information out of them."

  "Wheedling?"

  "Sounds archaic, doesn't it? I think it's the perfect word. The point is that if you want to get someone to talk, you have to at least pretend to give something in return. In this case, you lured me here with the promise of a story, and you should be dropping hints that there is one." He paused. "Which I'm sure there isn't."

  "You're right," I said. "I lied about that, about there being a story, but only because it's very important that we talk to this guy. He is in danger."

  That got me a smile. "In that case, maybe there is a story here after all." He considered his options. "Tell me why it's important that you meet the guy. Important for whom?"

  "For him. Like I said, he'd be in danger."

  He tapped his spoon on the saucer. "Details, please."

  "What?"

  "I need you to give me some specific details. If I'm going to share that information you have to convince me that he's in danger. So what, exactly, do you know?"

  I took a deep breath. "I know how he was able to make that prediction."

  "You do? That's a stretch. How can you when you don't know him? Telling me that you don't know who he is but you know how he does it and that he's at risk is not credible."

  He had a point. If I were him, would I trust me? Heck, I wasn't sure I trusted me. "I think we have to tell him," I told Clarence.

  "We could beat it out of him," Clarence said, turning away so Kenneth wouldn't see him smile.

  "Yes you might try that, but I think you want my help." He stared at me levelly, waiting.

  "Your prophet gained his insight wh
en he came into possession of a cursed object."

  Kenneth kept staring and then a smile spread over his face. I could tell he thought we were putting him on. "Like a crystal ball?"

  "Nothing so obvious or trite," Clarence said. "It's a more commonplace object than that."

  I wondered if it was. "Why couldn't it be a crystal ball, Clarence?"

  Kenneth snapped his fingers. "I should've known. I saw a sale on cursed objects online the other day. Of course, that's how it happened."

  "The object was stolen and he found it."

  Kenneth chuckled. "Well, I have to say I didn't see one when he was in the diner."

  "It wouldn't be obvious," I said.

  "Or even big," Edgar said.

  "Then what sort of thing do you think it is?"

  "We don't know," Clarence said.

  "It could be almost anything," I said.

  Kenneth drew some kind of picture on the table with his finger. "Tell me this… how can you know he used one if you don't know what it is?" It was a logical question.

  "What we do know is that a variety of cursed objects went missing a little over a week ago and we need to track them down. They have powers that let people do exactly this kind of thing. But what this particular object is, well, we don't know that part. No one took a complete inventory before the robbery, or if they did it went missing with the objects."

  Kenneth looked from me to Clarence and back to me again. "You two are serious, aren't you?"

  "Definitely," I said.

  "Clearly," Clarence said.

  "The guy, this prophet was scared."

  "He should be," Clarence said.

  "I didn't put it in the story… well, I did but it got cut, but he said that he only sees bad things coming. He thought he could stop them but that once he sees them… well, he learned there's nothing he can do to keep it from happening."

  "He's tried?"

  "Several times. It seems that if he does anything at all, the results seem to ensure the tragic future he saw. No matter what he's tried the bad stuff always happens just as he saw it. It's a no-win proposition."

  "See, that's because it isn't a gift, but a curse. He can see the evil, but he is powerless to stop it."