by Vicki Vass
A few minutes later, a nice looking man in his early 50s with brown hair and a Tom Cruise smile walked up to them. CC was still by the reception desk, Anne had wandered over to look at the British collection currently on loan from the Royal Museum. He walked directly to Anne.
“Anne, how are you?” Muscarello extended his hand. “We were so sorry about your aunt. She will be missed.”
Anne shook his hand. “Thank you, Wayne; it’s nice to see you again.”
“It’s nice to see you, too. How can I help you?”
“I’ve got something I’d like you to take a look at. Actually, two things I want to show you.”
“Sure; let’s go back to my office to take a look.”
CC and Anne followed him down a long corridor. Anne only paused once to stare at a Queen Elizabeth I golden scalloped cameo brooch. “C’mon, Anne.” CC grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the hallway, preventing Anne from lingering at the Italian urns and Egyptian tombs. They made their way down to the lower level where Wayne’s office was.
It was a large office, but seemed smaller by the clutter of books and charts that hung on the walls, crowded the shelves, and decorated the desk. Anne felt right at home and began leafing through an old museum catalog. Wayne pulled over two chairs and motioned for them to sit down. He walked behind his desk. “Let’s see what you have.”
Anne twisted the gold band off her finger and handed it to him.
Looking at it closely, Wayne appeared to recognize the crest inside the band. “This is wonderful. You know this is the Hillstrom crest.”
“Yes, I thought it was.”
“This is very special. It’s the same crest as on the Queen’s brooch. They both date to about the ninth century. At that time, the Hillstrom crest was a royal crest. The Hillstroms were in power throughout Sweden. Generations later, the crest changed when the power changed.”
“I guess that’s why I didn’t recognize it right away. But it looked similar to the Hillstrom crest,” Anne said.
“Take a walk with me. You must have seen the rest of the collection.” Wayne led them back out of the office into a dark exhibit room which had a glass display case in the center. Standing upright in the case’s center was a Viking sword with the royal Hillstrom crest on its hilt. Anne leaned in close to the glass. “I hadn’t seen this since I was a little girl. My cousin Suzy and I used to play Viking pirates with that sword until we got caught. I never noticed a difference in the crest,” she said.
“I was glad to hear that the brooch wasn’t taken in the burglary. Now I’m glad to find out that the ring wasn’t taken either,” Wayne said.
“Sybil had the brooch in a lock deposit box. I didn’t know about it until the attorney gave me the key.” Anne paused. “The ring was stolen, and I recovered it.”
“That’s definitely the ring that goes with the brooch. That was Queen Aldis Hillstrom’s wedding band,” Wayne said, handing it back to her. “You said you had something else to show me?”
“Oh, yes. Can we go back to your office?” Anne asked. They went back into his office and Anne sank back down onto the chair. Opening her large orange Prada bag, Anne handed him the spoon which she’d wrapped carefully in a soft cotton sock.
Wayne pulled it out and turned it around, looking it over. “Interesting.” He turned on his magnifying lamp and put the spoon under it so he could take a closer look. “I’ve only seen this spoon once before if it’s what I think it is.” He jumped up and opened a metal chest. He pulled out white cotton gloves. He took a key from the ring on the chain hanging from his pocket. He opened up a glass case pulling out a leather-bound journal.
CC and Anne crowded next to him as he delicately opened the journal. The name on the first page said, “Sam Adams.”
“It’s a one of a kind journal,” Wayne said. “Sam Adams was a member of the Sons of Liberty, the group that planned the Boston tea party.”
“Anne and I were just at a Revolutionary War reenactment in Springfield. We’re quite familiar with Sam Adams and the Sons of Liberty,” CC interrupted. “On our journey downstate, we picked up an authentic Minuteman rifle with the Sons of Liberty symbol.”
“I’d love to see that,” Wayne said. “I’d be interested in it for my own private collection.”
“Let’s get back to the spoon. We can talk about guns later,” Anne said.
“Yes, back to Sam Adams. He wrote about the Boston tea party.” Wayne turned a couple of pages. They saw there a drawing of some men dressed like Indians on a ship––one of them depicted as sitting and drinking tea. Wayne brought over a magnifying glass. “Look closely; you can see the end of the spoon he’s stirring the tea with.”
Anne looked through the magnifying glass. “That’s it! That’s my spoon!” she said, about to burst.
“Who’s the man who’s drinking the tea, holding the spoon?” CC asked.
“That’s Paul Revere. I think that the mark on the back is an R for Revere.”
Anne’s heart pounded and she gasped for air. “I have to sit.” She sank back into the chair.
Wayne closed the book and got her a cup of water from the cooler. “Are you okay?”
Anne downed the water and crushed the paper cup. “I’ve seen Paul Revere spoons before, Mr. Muscarello. None of them were this ornate. They were all very plain. They were made for everyday people,” CC said.
Wayne pulled a chair up and sat in front of her. “According to Sam Adams, Paul Revere made that spoon just for the Boston Tea Party. He wanted to make it very ornate as a means of snubbing his nose at King George. According to what I’ve read, he carried it with him on his famous ride. If this is the spoon, it’s priceless.”
Anne’s heart leapt out of her chest. “It looks exactly like the illustration. This must be the spoon!”
“We’d have to see the provenance. The Paul Revere Tea Party spoon, as I’ve heard it called, was sold to an anonymous collector several years ago,” Wayne said. “That was at Sotheby’s in London. The sale was kept confidential. It would be difficult to confirm.”
“Is there a way to check on it?” Anne asked.
“I can take pictures of your spoon and email them to my acquaintance at Sotheby’s.” He took out a digital camera and took photos of the spoon from many different angles.
With the spoon safely back in her purse, Anne and CC followed Wayne back to the front entrance.
“Do you mind if we look around a little?” Anne asked, delighting in the idea of a free museum visit.
“Oh, by all means,” Wayne said. “I’ll contact you when I hear back from my friend at Sotheby’s. It was nice to see you again, Anne. Your aunt spoke highly of you. She will be missed by all of us at the museum.”
“Thanks again, Wayne. We appreciate the help.” Anne said.
Wayne turned and headed back down the corridor to his office.
“Anne, I really think we should put the spoon in my safety deposit box in case it is the real spoon. It could be worth a fortune,” CC said.
“The safest place for it is right here with me. I’m not letting it out of my sight.” Anne clutched her large orange Prada bag tightly.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Anne held Suzanne’s hand while waiting for the on-duty officer at the Glencoe Police Station. “I’m so glad you’ve decided to do this,” Anne said.
“I don’t have a choice. Last night I thought I heard something in the yard. I was sort of knocked out because I’d taken a sleeping pill. I hoped it was just raccoons in the garbage again, but this morning I saw that someone had tried to break in the back door,” her cousin said.
“You believe it was Jack, don’t you?” Anne asked.
Suzanne nodded her head and her eyes welled with tears. “I know it was him. He’s not going to stop until he hurts me. I know it.”
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
“No, I have to fight this battle on my own,” Suzanne said. “I spent too many years being afraid of him. I’m not
going to let him do that to me anymore.”
After they’d filed the restraining order against Jack, Anne had driven Suzanne back to Aunt Sybil’s house. She’d waited with her while the locksmith changed all the locks. They’d sat drinking lemonade on the white rockers on the front porch. “Anne, I’ve always loved this house. I think the last time I was truly happy was right here.” Suzanne paused and looked out over the front lawn and said, “I’m grateful to Aunt Sybil. She’s given my girls and me a chance at a new life.”
“I know she would have wanted you to be happy here,” Anne said. “We’re not going to let Jack take that away from you; I promise. “
“He’s taken away so much already. You think the restraining order is enough? I don’t even know where he is right now. What if he comes back tonight?”
“The cops are looking for him,” Anne said with a confidence she didn’t quite feel.
“Why?” Suzanne asked.
“I didn’t want to worry you before, but someone broke into my house.”
“You think it was Jack?” Suzanne asked. She paused for a moment and then said, “I’ve seen Jack at his worst. I think if I hadn’t left him, he would have killed me. I know he’s capable of it.”
“Suzanne, do you think Jack killed Sybil?”
“I’ve thought about it,” she replied. “He hated her. We’d asked her to help us before we moved to Minnesota and she wouldn’t loan us any money.”
“I don’t understand.” Anne shook her head. “Why did she hire him to work on her house?”
“I called Sybil after Jack and I had a bad fight. I told her I needed her help. She hired Jack so we could make enough money to move back. I told her that once I got back home, I’d have the support I needed to leave Jack.” Suzanne paused. “When Jack found out that Sybil was helping me leave him, he was furious.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The white steeple of the Lutheran Trinity Church in New Buffalo, Michigan, pierced the beautiful blue summer sky. The cross on the point of the steeple summoned the faithful. The cornerstone on the outside read, “Man shall not live by bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.” Anne paused to read it, but CC grabbed her arm and pulled her inside just as the strains of the opening hymn began. “This church was built during the Great Depression to lift the spirits of the community––a way to not only feed their stomachs but their souls,” CC whispered as they walked into the nave and searched for an open pew. Most of New Buffalo had come to pay their respects for Ida.
Finding a seat in the back on a creaky pew, Anne admired the stained glass windows. The church relied on the Lake Michigan breeze for air conditioning. It wasn’t working. Anne used her bulletin to fan herself. She wasn’t very good at wakes and funerals. She had lost both her parents at an early age. Her brother, William, and sister, Katherine, both lived out of state, so Anne had handled the funeral arrangements for both of her parents on her own.
CC dabbed her face with a handkerchief. Luckily, she never used a lot of makeup––or needed to. She felt a little embarrassed that she looked so good in her black dress and pearls. It was the proper funeral attire, but it also accented her curves and made her blue eyes pop. CC wondered if Anne had considered wearing her flowered pants, but had thought better of it at the last minute.
The Reverend started his eulogy, speaking of the many charitable works Ida had performed in her little town and about her beloved family. From behind her, a slight breeze blew the back of CC’s hair. She felt a chill down her spine, but the breeze was warm. She turned around and saw Tony Tedesco standing in the entryway making the sign of the cross. She thought that was unusual in a Lutheran church, but then realized he must be Catholic. This was the first time she’d seen him in a tailored suit. Like her, it really highlighted his athletic physique. She immediately shook that thought off as inappropriate for the occasion––but he did look good. His rugged features seemed softer. His eyes glistened a bit. When the Reverend said, “Let us all pray,” CC bowed her head and closed her eyes. She could still see the outline of Tony’s body. His image burned into the inside of her eyelids like a flash bulb had gone off until it slowly faded away. When the prayer was over, she turned to see him again, but he was gone.
CC wondered why Tony wasn’t with his wife. After the service, Anne and CC walked up to the open casket. A group of people had gathered around, chatting quietly. A nicely dressed man walked up to them and introduced himself as Marco. He thanked them for making the trip. Ida’s daughter, Rose, was holding baby Lily. “Thank you so much for coming. My mom talked about you and your blog,” Rose said. “It really made her happy to read about your adventures. We’d love for you to come back to the house for lunch.”
Anne and CC nodded in agreement. They walked outside the church where groups of people were still standing. Tony was leaning against his pickup. “Excuse me, Anne.” CC turned and touched Anne’s shoulder.
Anne was talking to the Reverend. “Ill be right back.” CC walked over to Tony.
“Ida was a great woman. Everybody around here loved her,” Tony said.
“I didn’t know her that long, but she was a sweetheart,” CC said.
“Listen, it might not be the right time to ask, but I don’t know when I’m going to see you again. I’d really love for you to come see my boat,” Tony said. “The bell is perfect. It’s docked ten minutes from here.”
In the corner of her eye, CC caught a glimpse of his wedding ring again and thought of walking away. There was something so sad in his eyes. She didn’t have the heart to say no. “Let me tell my friend.” CC walked back to Anne, talked to her for a few minutes and then returned to Tony.
Tony held open the passenger door for her and they drove off. When they arrived at the harbor, the air was at least ten degrees cooler. She felt refreshed. The calm waters of the harbor gently splashed against the wooden slips. At the end of a long wooden pier was the 41-foot Italian yacht. “It’s beautiful,” CC said, stepping onto the freshly varnished wooden deck.
“In the shipyard back in Italy where I worked, a customer brought her in. She was in terrible shape, but I could see what she used to be. The beautiful lines. The way she cut the water. I removed all the caulk from all the planks, stripped down all the wood, reinforced the hull and spent 16 months just getting her in good enough condition to put her on the water. The man who brought her in couldn’t afford to pay for the repairs so my father-in-law bought it from him.” Tony explained as he showed her around the main deck.
“Your father in law?”
“He’s the one who gave me the job. He owned the shipbuilding company. He was a master shipwright. He took me in as his apprentice and that’s where I met my wife.”
“Oh,” CC murmured, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Wait, let me show you the bell.” He took CC’s hand and led her up to the helm. Hanging next to the steering wheel, CC could see the bell.
“It is perfect,” she said.
Tony said, “Where are my manners? Can I offer you a glass of wine or something?”
“I better not. I haven’t eaten yet. We’re invited back to Ida’s daughter’s house for a luncheon,” she paused. “I don’t feel comfortable going back there. It’s mostly family and close friends.”
“Let me make you lunch. It’s the least I can do after you found this bell for me. Let me show you the galley.” He slid open the teak door and they walked down the narrow stairs into the galley. The whole kitchen was completely remodeled with high-end appliances and work surfaces. It was intimate, CC thought.
“It’s quite cozy, don’t you think?” Tony asked. “Sit, sit.” He brought her over to the wooden booth in the corner of the galley. He took his tie and jacket off and rolled up his sleeves. He grabbed an apron and put it on. CC thought he looked quite at home in the kitchen. “Let’s get this going.” He reached into the wine rack and pulled out a bottle of white. He pulled two wine glasses off the rack hanging over the counter. C
C took a sip. “This is really good.” She looked at the bottle to see the label but there was none.
“I made that myself. I brought the grapes with me from Italy. They grow very well in this region.”
CC took another sip. She was starting to feel more at ease. Tony took some clams out of the small refrigerator and threw them into a boiling pot. He took angel hair pasta, sprinkled in some salt and boiled it for a couple minutes and then threw it all into a cast iron skillet with garlic, olive oil and sea salt.
“That smells great,” CC said.
“You can’t live in Italy for ten years and not pick up a little something in the kitchen. My wife was a wonderful cook.”
“Was?”
Tony was quiet for a minute as he put the clams and angel hair on two plates. He sat down across from CC. He took a sip of his wine. “Apollonia was beautiful. She was 25 when I met her. I was about the same age. I was traveling throughout Europe, doing odd jobs and carpentry. Anything for a meal and a place to sleep. After just drifting with no ambition, I arrived in a little village in Tuscany where I worked on a fishing boat. That’s where I met Angelo,” he paused, cupping his wine glass in his long, narrow fingers. “He was repairing one of the boats in the village. We talked and I told him that I was a carpenter. He hired me to help. Eventually, I worked as his apprentice in the shipyard. I learned everything about restoring these beautiful yachts. He was an artist. Everything he did was by hand. Even the tools he used he made himself. After a year or so, we became close. He brought me home for dinner. That’s when I met Apolonia. As much as Angelo liked and respected me, I could see why he had kept me away from her. She was absolutely beautiful. I fell in love the minute I saw her.” Tony stopped, cleared his throat and took another sip of wine.
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay.” Tony interrupted. “We had ten wonderful years together. I woke up one morning and she didn’t. Doctors said it was a brain aneurysm. All the joy went out of my life. I couldn’t stay in Italy. Everything reminded me of her. Angelo could see my heart would never heal as long as I stayed there. He gave me this boat. That’s when I brought her back to America and wound up working at the Chicago Yacht
