Chapter Sixteen
As we drove home my thoughts turned to Edgar, our missing ghost, or faux ghost, or whatever he was. Even though I hadn't wanted him haunting me, or whatever he was doing, even though I thought the idea of invisible friends would be more of a pain than fun, the truth was that he'd grown on me. Now that he was gone I missed him. I worried about him too. He'd been so weak and I didn't like thinking that he might have gotten injured saving my life. I guess I wanted to know that he was okay.
I found myself trying to summon him, although I hadn't a clue how you went about doing that. I had learned that saying "come out, come out, wherever you are," certainly didn't do it, but I couldn't call that progress. Overall, trying when you have no idea what to try or what should happen, made it an unsettling and frustrating experience… yet another unsettling and frustrating experience among many recently.
And I had other concerns as well. Unfortunately, some of them were questions that I thought Edgar might help answer if he was around, which led me back to worry about Edgar.
"I'm not sure the backroom is going to be safe at all anymore," I told Clarence.
"Mason designed it to protect the objects."
"And look how that worked out. Maybe whatever he did just made them hard to find. If that's the case, whoever took them knows about the hidy hole now."
"True. But if we don't put them there, where? We know that people, or entities, shall we say, can sense their presence. Edgar did that at Timothy's house so we have to assume the bad guys can do it as well. I'll happily admit to being out of my depth. Do you have any idea what we need to do to keep them safe?"
"Let's talk to Enid. She might know. She should have some idea of what Uncle Mason did to protect them and maybe we can get her to keep these glasses locked away someplace safe until we work out a long-term solution."
"I think that's something worth checking out. She might have an idea or two and if we show her we have something that needs protecting, she might help." With that resolved I set my mind to drive to Enid's without passing GO. I didn't like having glasses in my pocket calling for me to put them on, even if it was muted at the moment. Clarence sat back and looked out the window. "You know we did pretty well. We work well as a team."
"A team that chases down stolen cursed objects?"
"Sure."
I could hear the delight in his voice. "The thing is that I'm not certain I'm cut out for this. I can't see myself living this way for very long."
"How can you say that? Ever since it happened, the break in, you've been leading the charge."
"I know and it's getting to me. Quite honestly it started out as fun. When Enid talked about these things ruining people's lives I didn't take it seriously, or certainly not seriously enough. And after seeing what the glasses did to Timothy's mind…"
"That's not a particularly good example of anything. We have no idea how messed up he might have been before he found the glasses."
"Okay, point taken. But I can feel the way the glasses call to a person. No, that isn't right, they are demanding to be put on. They're in my pocket and I can feel it; my leg is warm."
"That's your imagination," he said. "Not the calling to you, but the warmth, probably. Maybe I should touch your leg and see."
I couldn't believe in the middle of all this he was flirting with me. I liked it, and under other circumstances, his hand might have felt rather nice brushing up on my leg. "I think you better take my word for it."
"Fine. But we got the first one. This isn't the time to stop, not when we are on a roll."
"I'm glad we got them back. I'm delighted we saved lives, but I left a career, a complete life, back in the city."
"You did? I thought you lost your job."
That stung. "That sort of thing happens on your way to the top. It's a temporary setback."
"So you are going back?"
"Look, if it will make you feel better, if Uncle Mason passes… when he passes, I'll turn over the shop to you."
"Turn it over?"
"Give it to you. You have a lot of yourself invested in it and I don't. Maybe we can own it together or something."
If I'd expected to see Clarence light up with delight with that news, I was wrong. "That's not right."
"What isn't?"
"First, Mason clearly wanted you to have the shop. And more significantly, I can't possibly believe that whatever you have back in the city can compare with this life. This is important work."
"You're right, in a sense. My old life doesn't compare in any way whatsoever. In the city I've never had to deal with curses or ghosts. The most dangerous thing is traffic. I've never been shot at there. This life is dangerous and it probably won't pay the bills either."
"We need to find the objects. We found the first one fine."
"Clarence, we almost got shot doing it. There are evil things here."
"So you think it's a great idea to leave me here to face all that alone?"
Once again, he'd hit a vulnerable target. "I didn't mean it that way."
"Sure you did. You want to run away… save yourself. But it isn't about what we want. We have a responsibility. Your uncle collected those objects to keep the world safe and they were stolen on our watch. We have an obligation. And keep in mind that if you do leave here and go back you'll be taking a ghost with you. He might not like it there."
I hadn't thought of Edgar in the idealized fantasy of getting on the train and heading away from here. The pen in my pocket throbbed slightly, however that, I was sure, was my imagination. "I'll sort out things with Edgar somehow. And as far as Uncle Mason's wishes, I think I've wasted too much of my life on obligations and trying to live up to other people's expectations. I think it's time I let myself make a choice and find my own goals and way of living."
"Mason left you the shop for a reason," Clarence said firmly. "if you are going to walk away from that, give it away, then you owe it to him to tell him face to face, not wait until he dies. I don't want him haunting me because he thinks I cheated you out of it."
That sounded fantastical enough to be a real concern. "Fine. Then let's settle things sooner rather than later."
"How are we going to do that?"
"I'll drop you and the glasses off at Enid's'. While you talk to her, figure out how to store them safely, I'll go to the hospital and see if Uncle Mason is in any condition to tell me what is going on. I'll learn what I can and tell him what I want to do."
"Anything you can learn about the objects might help."
"And it will help me decide what in the world I'm going to do," I said. "I didn't plan to spend my life in the twilight zone."
"But when you made your plans I'll bet you didn't know the twilight zone was a real place and that it affected us in the so-called 'real world.'"
"I have to admit that's true. The question is how important that should be to me. Why is this my responsibility all of a sudden? You seem to like the challenge. It bothers me."
He stayed quiet then until I stopped the car outside Enid's picket fence. I took the glasses from my pocket. They were warm and it wasn't my imagination. "Don't try these on," I said. "They wouldn't look good on you."
He winked. "I have perfect vision without specs." When he took them from me, though, I saw him flinch. He felt the draw. He could pretend to take it all in stride but it still unnerved him. That made me feel a little better. Not much, but a little.
"You keep telling yourself that you don't need glasses. Make it a mantra. I'll come back as soon as I've seen Uncle Mason and we talk things through."
Clarence got out of the car and glanced towards Enid's door. I saw her peek out. "Say hello to Mason for me," she said. "If he's awake."
"How did she…" Clarence started.
"Lucky guess," I assured him.
I waited with the engine running until I'd seen him pocket the glasses, turn and head up the sidewalk and go through her front door before I put the car in gear and headed for the hospital.
> Chapter Seventeen
"You see, Uncle Mason," I said by way of opening remarks, "the thing is that I really don't think I'm cut out to run an antique shop. In fact, I'm pretty sure it isn't my cup of chai, so to speak. See, I'm not that big a fan of old things. I like some of it, you know that, but wading through all the junk for the occasional gem isn't my strength. Besides, I don't have a knack for the retail business, especially when the inventory includes ghosts and an odd lot of cursed objects. I've no background at all in magical things. There weren't any classes on dark subjects in my college. I don't think I even believe in magic, although I'll admit to making an exception for Edgar—he seemed real enough, at least for a bit. But I guess he's a haunt and not magic. And yes, those glasses are something seriously potent and unworldly, but if that's magic… anyway, with all these misgivings, I'm sure you have to agree that I'm not cut out for this sort of life."
I looked over at him and saw him nod. Well, it looked to me like he nodded, but I knew Uncle Mason was unconscious… still unconscious, so it could've been my imagination. That made the discussion unfairly one-sided, but since he didn't protest I decided to finish my argument. I read somewhere that unconscious people sometimes hear you; if nothing else it was good practice for when he woke up. More important, if I finished I could tell Clarence I'd told Uncle Mason everything to his face. An unconscious face, to be sure, but still, my intention was pure. Sort of.
Uncle Mason has a firm resolve and I felt it was time to reinforce my case. "Clarence knows the business much better than I do. He's spent all that time, five years now, working with you, and he likes all that dusty old stuff. He deserves the shop. Now I'll have to admit that the last week and some days haven't been dull. In fact ever since I got here things have been pretty darn exciting. But you need to understand that going toe to toe with these things, whatever it is we are dealing with I mean, this nonstop excitement isn't what I envisioned for my life. I sort of imagined a hard day pinning vermin to the wall with riveting, insightful questions, writing it all up and going home for a hot bath and a glass of wine." I stared at him again. "Although drinking your Irish whiskey is a treat." His breathing was steady. I suspected that had a lot to do with the machines he was connected to. "The point is that I want to write about other people doing insane things… not do them myself."
"Mmmm phh," he said. I wondered if I could claim that as acceptance of my compelling argument.
"Look, I'll come back here soon, but since you are inert, I should go back to the city. I need to see that things are okay with my apartment and get started job hunting. I'm thinking about trying for a job with one of the tabloids. They might be hiring. I want you to know that thinking of writing for them is your fault. I never read one before this. And chasing the spectacles I met Kenneth and I think I could do a better job than he does. Not that he isn't nice."
Uncle Mason stuck to his single argument… a steady resting state with an occasional noise. Having said my piece I decided I should actually do what I'd said I'd do… I'd turn in the rental car, give Clarence the keys to the shop and ask him to keep running it and go back to the city.
Having decided, my body felt lighter. I even smiled at Nurse Edsel as I was leaving the hospital. Then, in the parking lot, my phone rang. I debated answering it. It was Kenneth. I knew that answering would be a mistake, but I liked the idea of hearing his voice. I pushed the button and knew instantly it had been the wrong thing to do.
"How did it go with the clairvoyant?" he asked.
I was surprised he hadn't heard the news. "It turned out to be quite a big deal."
"Really?"
"How many apocalyptic events have gone on in Koin today?"
"So he was the crazy guy who tried to destroy the gas distribution facility?"
"That's not exactly what he was trying to do, but yeah."
"And you and dufus were the couple on the scene?"
"That sounds right. We were there. We took his gun away."
"Gun? That's interesting," he said.
"Interesting?"
"I'd heard about that incident, but as far as anyone is concerned, especially my editors, this is a story of a man who lost his job and went whacko. Other than insisting that his glasses were stolen, there is nothing there my editors would be willing to let me pursue. The cops have played down any notion that the public was at any time in danger. And the way they tell it, they rescued two civilians."
"Good for them. We owe them a debt of gratitude." I was actually happy to hear this story would disappear without a trace.
"I have something for you though."
"For me?"
"You asked me to tell you about odd reports."
I started to tell him that I'd made that request in a previous incarnation, but he cut me off. "I have one for you. A woman in the next town over, in Toni, is under the impression that she is going to win next month's pie baking contest. It seems she woke up one morning and found she was a gifted pastry chef."
"So that boast is the odd story?" I felt a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to give me a hard lead after all.
"That, plus sworn statements from her neighbors saying that one day she couldn't make toast and the next she starts all-day, one-woman bakeathons turning out incredible stuff. Whether or not the story is true I will vouch for the fact that her double fudge brownies are to die for." He chuckled. "I was forced to verify her story. That part at least."
"Such sacrifice for your calling," I said. "I like brownies more than I should myself."
"Then you owe it to yourself to check this out. I'll text you her name and address. She'll be happy if you show up with an appetite because her kitchen is getting full."
"Thanks, I think. I'll check with my source and see if that tallies with anything."
"Keep notes," Kenneth said. "If all these strange things actually lead anywhere… I'm thinking we could get a big book deal if you found a dozen or so of the cursed objects."
"We?"
"You research, I write and we share the glory. We could call it. THE CURSED DOZEN. Or maybe, AN EVEN DOZEN CURSED OBJECTS."
"Catchy." That possibility of this dovetailing with my journalism career hadn't occurred to me. Having a book deal would definitely flesh out a rather skimpy resume. "I'll see. I'm not sure how many there are."
"Let me know. I have an agent."
The idea of turning this into a book sparkled in my brain all the way back to Enid's, giving my involvement in the chase more possibilities than it had before. I figured I could put up with a certain amount of evil magic and demons or whatever they were if the end result was becoming a bestselling author. Never mind that it would be a niche market, but you take what you can find.
Clarence and Enid were waiting for me when I got to her house. "How is Mason?" she asked.
"Exactly the same as he's been since he passed out right after I got to town. No change at all. I'm beginning to think he's avoiding me." I looked at Clarence. "But I told him, and as it turned out he didn't express a single objection to me leaving."
"Leaving?" Enid said. "Pshaw."
"Pshaw? Who says that?"
"Don't talk absurd nonsense, Cecelia. You have work to do here. We've got the glasses safely stored. Let me show you." She led me down the hall to a spare bedroom. She opened a drawer in the nightstand and I saw them in a plastic box.
"That's it? A plastic box?"
"It's filled with water," she said.
"That's all it takes?"
"It's all we have," she said, "so it will have to do for the time being. Besides, getting them back won't be their primary concern."
"Whose primary concern?"
She smiled sweetly. "Why, whoever stole them, of course."
"And what will their primary concern be?"
"I have no earthly idea," she said.
"How about unearthly?"
"That's just a figure of speech." A telling one, I thought as we went back to the living room. "We need to find more leads."
>
"I did get a lead from Kenneth," I said.
"The reporter Clarence mentioned. What did he say?"
"Tell me this, Enid… do any of the objects have to do with making pastries?"
"Pastries? I don't think…" Then she gave me a broad smile. "Why yes. One of them is a spatula… it belonged to Adelaide Hawley."
"Who?"
Enid smiled. "Adelaide Hawley was a living trademark. She'd been a Vaudeville performer and then got lucky. Around 1949 she went to work for General Mills playing a famous cook."
The clouds parted. "She was Betty Crocker," I said.
"Until the 60s. Anyway, she had a spatula and after she lost her job, it disappeared. It's a strange sort of artifact."
"As opposed to glasses that show the future and affect your mind?"
"Well yes. You see most of them, the ones we collected, were born out of tragedy. This one was born out of public adoration."
"Is that significant?" Clarence asked.
"Yes. It's a different class of item. This is a Tulpa artifact."
"What's that?"
"I don't know what it is precisely, but the term Tulpa comes from Tibetan word for "emanation" or "manifestation.” The object comes into being to manifest certain powers. This one makes the owner a great cook, or pastry chef. In this case, pastries must be a particular thing that the woman who has it always wished she could make."
"And what is the evil part?" I asked.
"Don't be so somber," Enid chuckled. "As far as I know, the downside of the spatula is mostly harmless. The only thing that happens is that over time, the user can't cook anything worth a damn unless they're using the spatula."
"This woman couldn't cook worth a damn before," I said.
"So it seems relatively harmless," Clarence said.
"I suppose," I said.
"Are you willing to help me retrieve it before you run off?"
"Are you willing to do most of the work?"
He laughed. "I suppose so."
"Okay then."
Enid smiled. "I'll put on the tea. It's so good to know you will be gathering up the objects again." As she went into the kitchen she said something gaily. I couldn't quite catch it, but I was sure she'd said: "How delightful of you, Mason."
The Curious Case of the Cursed Spectacles (Curiosity Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Page 11
