by Morgana Best
The man turned around and looked at me. He stared at me, almost as if he were studying me. His face broke into a thin-lipped smile. “Good morning,” he said. “Some of this furniture is interesting. Do you do the work yourself?”
I was caught off guard by the question, but regained my composure quickly enough to respond. “Actually, yes, I do. I specialize in repairing and restoring old, damaged furniture.”
“That’s wonderful; it really is. I used to be a bit of a carpenter back when I was young,” the man said.
“Oh, that’s interesting. My father worked in construction and taught me a few things about sanding, varnish, and all that good stuff,” I said with a smile.
“It’s always good to know how to work with your hands,” the man said with a strange grin on his face.
“So, was there anything you were looking for specifically?” I asked.
The man turned back toward the furniture briefly, but then walked to the front of the store and peered out the windows. “Honestly, I’ve just been window shopping around town a bit. You guys have some amazing stores here.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to think of the customer. He made me uneasy, but the business side of me wanted to try to make a sale. I walked out from behind the counter and pointed to a large oak dresser that sat in the corner of the shop. “If you’re in need of a nice dresser, I’m selling that one quite cheaply. It’s been sitting around the shop for quite a while due to its size, but it’s probably the best value in here when you compare its price to the new prices.”
The man walked over to it. “That really is a beautiful dresser,” he said. “I’m not sure I would be able to transport it though. I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town.” He opened up the two doors and looked inside. He almost looked like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Suddenly he whipped his head out and slammed the doors. “Nice and roomy in there, too.”
“Yes, it would come in handy for the packrats and people with large closets,” I said. “I can recommend the couriers I deal with on a regular basis. I sometimes send large pieces interstate.”
When the man turned back to me, I was sure I noticed a strange look in his eyes. “I’m just looking around. If I make any purchases it’ll probably be after I talk to my —” The man paused for a moment. “My wife,” he added after a lengthy pause. “She would go crazy if I dropped a ton of cash without consulting her first. I’m a brave man, but not that brave,” he said with a chuckle.
Again, a strange sensation ran up my spine. Something didn’t feel right, but I knew that hunches weren’t always accurate. “Sure, I understand that,” I said. I walked back behind the counter, and after the visitor turned his attention back to the windows, I flipped through a catalog for an upcoming auction that was resting near the cash register. “If there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know.”
The man looked back over his shoulder and spoke softly. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you had this place open?”
I looked up and locked eyes with him. “It’s been a few years, but it seems like forever.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. Time tends to fly by without you realizing where it’s gone,” the man said, still inspecting some of the furniture in the shop. He seemed interested in one of the sideboards that I had recently added to the sales floor. “So, how has business been?”
I looked up from my catalog once more. “It’s been good,” I said, wondering where his questions were leading, if anywhere.
“That’s great, but you’d think there would be more customers in here at this time of morning,” he said, looking at his watch.
“Oh, it really varies depending on the tourists and such. I usually get a rush around noon, so it’s not unexpected for the morning to be a bit slow.”
“Ah, I see,” he said. He started to pace back and forth. “This might seem an odd question, but before you opened up this shop, what did you do for a living?”
I shot the man a confused glare. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to come off as intrusive or anything. I’m just trying to make some conversation while I decide which of these pieces of furniture my wife might let me bring home when we finally leave this town.”
I wasn’t sure what to think, but figured I’d take him at his word. “I never really settled on anything for too long. I just drifted from one thing to another until I figured out what I really wanted to do, which was own a shop like this. I’ve always enjoyed working on furniture since it reminds me of when I was a kid, working with my dad in the garage.”
“Fond memories, I’m sure. Have you ever been a journalist? I’ve always thought investigative journalism seemed like a blast. Who wouldn’t want to feel like a detective, right?”
A sour feeling washed over me — the man’s question perplexed me. Something wasn’t right. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Oh,” he said, turning. “My name is, um, Pete, Peter Smith.”
I studied the man’s face. “Well, Pete, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve never been a journalist, but I can imagine it might be fun. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason. I’m just being a bit curious. I like to know about people’s pasts — it helps me better understand who they are. What about a cop? Have you ever worked in the police force as a detective, or anything like that?”
Another odd question. I remembered that I’d thought he looked familiar when he entered the shop. Again, I tried to think where I’d seen him before, but still came up blank. “No,” I replied. “I’ve just done the normal kinds of jobs, like retail and such.”
“Oh, that’s respectable,” he said. He then headed toward the back area.
“Sorry, but customers aren’t allowed back there,” I called after him.
Pete turned, apparently a bit startled. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just curious about the place. Is there no second floor?”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“I noticed when I was walking in that this building is a lot taller than it seems to be when you’re actually inside,” he said.
“Oh. That’s because there’s an apartment above the shop, but access to that staircase is off limits to the public.”
The man walked over to the counter and gently rested his arms on it. I noticed his strong, muscular arms. They were almost intimidating. “So, is that where you live?” he asked.
I was now truly afraid. I eyed the shop door, but the man was blocking my way to it. “Yes it is, but I don’t feel that where I live is relevant to our conversation.” I had done my best to sound brave, but I could hear the tremor in my voice.
“Fair enough,” he said, sliding his arms off the counter. He shot me a strange look and cracked a crooked grin. He raised his right hand quickly, scaring me, until it went to his head and his fingers combed back his already slick hair. “I think I might be interested in that large chest over there, but I don’t know when I’ll be back for it if the wife allows.”
“Great,” I said, still eyeing the exit.
To my relief, the man headed to the door. He turned back at me and pointed. “See you later,” he said. His tone was ominous.
I clutched the counter, and then as soon as he shut the door, I ran to it and locked it, flipping the sign to Closed.
As soon as I did so, I made the connection. I had seen that face before, and right then, I knew why he had looked familiar in the first place. He was one of the bank robbers that I had seen in the photos.
I let out a loud shriek, upset at myself for not remembering such crucial information when he was still in my store. The way he was interrogating me had given me reason enough to suspect that he wasn’t who he claimed to be.
I walked toward the front of my shop and looked through the window, to see where the man was headed. To my horror, he was standing across the street watching the shop. He waved to me, a satisfied expression on his face.
I was sick to my stomach. I hurried back to the fr
ont counter and picked up my cell phone. I called Adam right away.
“Hello?”
“It’s Rose. I think we have a problem.”
Chapter 11.
“My husband’s going to love this little table,” the tall, thin woman said with a smile.
I smiled back and handed the woman her change and the receipt for the purchase. The woman turned and walked out, and just moments later, the business phone rang.
“Hi, this is Wendy Carter,” a husky female voice said. “I was wondering if your shop was interested in purchasing a large assortment of old wooden furniture real cheap. My husband recently passed away and he was such a hoarder, but now that he’s gone, all of this stuff is just taking up unnecessary space on the farm. I’m not much of a furniture expert, but some of these pieces look very nice, a bit dusty, but nice. It’s all in good condition, but it’s old-fashioned, you know? Not antique, but old. I don’t want much for it all — I just want it gone fast ‘cause I’ve sold the place and I’m moving soon.”
I was excited about the prospect of a large amount of furniture, and cheap at that. “Yes —” I said, as soon as she paused for breath.
“Actually, I need the stuff gone very soon. I was hoping that you could at least come by today and quote me a price for the lot,” the woman continued. “Like I said, I don’t want much for it. I just want it gone.”
I pulled a face. I really didn’t want to drive out of town today in the cold, but I also didn’t want to lose out on the purchase. I looked out the front windows of my shop to see the wind blowing small specks of snow through the air. It was just light snow — in these parts, we never had much snow. “Okay, that’s fine. What time would you like me to come out?”
The woman seemed to hesitate for a moment before responding. “I’m at work right now, so it would have to be after working hours. Could you come sometime after your shop closes for the day?”
The thought of a long, cold drive out to some random farm that evening didn’t sound too appealing, but I was curious to see what the woman had for sale. If only I didn’t have to drive alone. My thoughts shifted to Adam — maybe he would like to come with me. “Sure,” I said. “That would be fine. I’ll leave here after closing. Could you give me the address, please?”
“It’s 3221 Widow’s Wale. Go through the first gate, and then wait at the second gate. I’ll be watching for your lights — I’ll drive down and meet you there and then you can follow me to the house.”
“Thanks, Wendy. I’ll see you then.”
“I can’t wait,” Wendy replied before hanging up abruptly.
I hung up the receiver and decided to start tidying up the shop. I figured it was going to be a long evening away, so I wanted to get the cleaning done before I made the trip. From dusting to sweeping, I passed the time by keeping busy between customers.
By the time I had finished cleaning, I looked up at the clock and noticed that the time had run away from me. It was now closing time, so I cashed out my drawer. After finalizing the close, I pulled out my cell and called Adam.
Nothing but silence answered me, so I ended the call and figured I’d just text him before leaving to tell him where I was going.
I flipped over the sign on the front door so that it read Closed, and then locked up as I shut the door behind me. The wind had an icy chill, so I hurried back inside to get my gloves and a thicker scarf.
I struggled to get to my car through the biting bits of sleet stinging my cheeks. Once I did, I pulled open the door and let it slam shut behind me. My car was parked on the road and so had a large pile of snow obscuring the screen. I turned on the engine and ran the heater on full blast, waiting for the windshield wipers to thaw.
“Well, this is a little better,” I said to myself. “At least there’s no sleet inside here.” Nevertheless, it was cold waiting for the heat to become, well, hot.
Small snowflakes fluttered about in the wind, sticking to the windshield, but the wipers had now thawed and I was able to wipe the snowflakes away with a flick of a switch. “This is going to be a long night,” I complained loudly as I drove off. Hey, I lived alone — I often talked to myself.
There was a barricade across the road, and a man approached my window. I rolled it down, only to be hit in the face with snow. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked him.
“The highway’s closed,” he said.
“Accident?”
He shook his head. “Ice on the road. Where are you headed?”
“Widow’s Wale.”
He shook his head again.
“Can I go through Invergowrie?”
He shrugged. “You could try,” he said.
I had no idea what he meant by that. I figured he meant that the road to Invergowrie was not blocked, as far as he knew, so I turned around and then took the back road to Invergowrie.
If there was ice on the highway, then the road to Invergowrie was infinitely worse. It was a narrow road, and I hoped I didn’t meet any oncoming cars, as the verge did not look solid enough to drive on. I didn’t want to get stuck out here in the middle of nowhere in the snow, spinning my tires in piles of icy mush.
I drove slowly. All I could see were the silhouettes of farms on large plots of land — they were few and far between.
It seemed to take a long time before I saw the sign to Widow’s Wale. I turned down the road and drove for at least another five miles, looking for property numbers on mailboxes out the front.
I finally came to 3221. The number was scrawled in white paint on the back of a rusty old metal tin that served as a mail box. I parked with my headlights shining on the entrance. I pushed the car door, pulled my scarf around me more tightly, and headed over toward the old, decrepit gate.
The snow had turned to sleet. I ducked my head and crossed my arms over my chest for warmth as I made my way to the gate.
I tried to pull it open, but it was so heavy and that I struggled to drag it across the dirt. I had just about pulled it all the way across when I thought I saw movement behind me.
I whipped my head around to see the door of my car slam shut. The tires screeched and it reversed at a fast pace. It did a swift U-turn and took off.
To say I was shocked and upset was an understatement. Who would do such a thing? I tried to process my predicament. I was left alone without a car, and in the snow and sleet, with no shelter. I was miles from home — miles from anywhere, as far as I knew.
Thankfully, my phone was in my jeans pocket. I whipped it out with relief, and squinted at the light provided by the screen. No service. Okay, now I was really scared. I was trembling violently, whether from the terror I was feeling or from the bitter sleet that stung me and chilled me to the bones, I had no idea.
“I need some sort of light,” I said to myself, swiping through the phone. I came across the torch app and started it up. A bright light shone from the phone, acting as a flashlight in the blackness of the night.
I figured I would use the light from the phone to find my way onto the farm. It was obvious that it had all been a ruse just to get me there, but there was still surely a farm beyond that gate, with buildings and warmth. At least that’s what I kept telling myself as I pushed through the haunting fields.
Skeletal trees seemed to bend toward me, their branches laden heavily with snow. At one point, a large pile of snow fell from a branch right in front of me, startling me. I had never been so scared.
The silence of the eerie night was interrupted only by the sporadic baaing of sheep. The sleet continued to press against my cold flesh, but at least I had a warm coat to cover most of my exposed skin. “How could you have been so stupid as to walk into a trap?” I whispered aloud, shaking my head.
I had walked for a while and still hadn’t seen any buildings. There were no lights — everything was dark. Still, the gate had to lead to somewhere, and even if the farmhouse was no longer used, it would provide some sort of shelter. Farmhouses in this area were often abandoned and left to fall down while new b
uildings were built on another location on the farm.
I debated whether to go back to the road and hope a car would come along, but it was unlikely that anyone would be out in this weather, and I hadn’t passed a single car on the way here. I shivered as my teeth clacked together, making an ominous chattering sound that echoed through my ears. I had to push myself to continue on.
Finally, my luck changed. I could make out the vague shape of what looked like a small barn off to the left of the dirt track. I climbed carefully through the barbed wire fence, tugging at my coat when it got stuck on one of the barbs. My hands were now so cold that they could barely work.
I hoped the barn was still in use as that would mean it would provide good shelter. The snow was falling more heavily now, so I walked as fast as I could, shining the torch app ahead of me on the ground. When I reached the barn, I shone the light over it. It looked more or less intact, much to my relief.
I hurried around the side and pushed the door open. My first thought was that the air in here was warmer, although part of the roof had fallen in some time ago, by the look of it, and sleet was falling in. My second thought was that there was a stack of old hay bales under cover. Even from here, I could smell the mold, but I didn’t care.
I hurried to the moldy hay and tried to pull the baling twine off the first bale I saw. My hands were too numb to manage, so I gave up, but luckily I spied some bales which had fallen open. I made a little hut out of hay bales, threw some loose hay inside, and crawled in.
My hands hurt and I was shivering uncontrollably, but I presently warmed up. The hay scratched me and made me itchy, and I sneezed a few times, but at least the hay was providing life-saving warmth. I shifted my body around and dug myself further into the scratchy hay. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed I had ever been in, but the warmth it provided was sufficient.
I peeked through the hay to see the pale moon shining down through the roof. I thought about Adam and where he was at that very moment. Did he get my text message from earlier? Did he know I was in trouble? I shivered — this time from fear rather than the cold.
