A Thousand Generations

by Traci DePree

  “I was so excited, I had to call you right away. I just found out. The lead, Mom! It’s a great play, really fun.”

  “Tell me about it,” Kate said as she returned to her spot at the desk in Paul’s office.

  “The play is called Chasing Salieri. It’s a musical. It’s about this Italian girl who gets lost in the Bronx. It’s really funny.”

  Kate glanced at the computer screen while her daughter went on.

  “Practice is going to be killer with my day job, but I think it’ll work. We have only six weeks until we open!”

  Rebecca took temporary jobs between her acting gigs to supplement her income. Kate had been told that it was common practice among the free-spirited acting community. She was never quite sure where her daughter was working from week to week, but Rebecca had always managed to pay her bills and wasn’t one to call home asking for money.

  “You’ll manage just fine,” Kate assured her.

  “Oh,” Rebecca went on, “my friend Melody got a part too. She auditioned for the part of my sister in that last play...Remember how crushed she was when she didn’t get it?” she added more as a question than a statement.

  “I remember,” Kate said. She glanced out the window at the dark night.

  “I don’t know her very well,” Rebecca went on, “but I’m so glad she got a part this time. I know she’ll be just awesome. She’s playing a debutante who doesn’t like my character at all...She’s perfect for the part.”

  Kate smiled to herself. It was so like Rebecca to be as glad for another girl’s success as she was for her own. She had always been a very giving child, quick to praise others without jealousy or self-doubt getting in the way. She was secure, and that was a wonderful thing for a mother to see in her daughter.

  “I’m so proud of you,” Kate said, as much about Rebecca getting the part in the play as about the woman of character she’d become.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Rebecca said. “Can I tell Dad?”

  “Of course.” Kate took the phone to Paul so their daughter could share the good news with him, then she walked back to the study. The computer screen had gone to sleep. She clicked on the Enter button to revive it, then typed in her password to begin her search.

  First, she typed in the word mannequin, but that seemed too broad a term as it brought up page after page of links to mannequin suppliers for modern-day clothing stores. So Kate narrowed it down to “mannequin” and “history,” adding “1920s.” Even that combination brought up more than seventy-seven thousand results, but the second listing on the results page looked promising. It read “Mannequin History.” Kate clicked on the link, and it seemed like ages before the slow connection brought up a site devoted to the history of the store dummies. There were dozens of articles about everything from the history of mannequins to their use in modern merchandising.

  She studied the images of other mannequins from the 1920s on the Web site. The faces indeed seemed quite similar in style and artistic expression to the mannequin propped up in her living room.

  Kate clicked on the link that read “history.” She tapped her fingers on the desk while the page loaded. The first human-shaped forms were made, according to the article, in 1350 BC, around the time of King Tutankhamen in Egypt. Kate let her eyes drift down the page. The next documented mention of the forms was 1396 in connection with Charles VI of France. Then in the 1700s Marie Antoinette used the “fashion dolls” regularly for showing off her elaborate wardrobe.

  Kate scanned ahead, looking for more relevant information. Finally she came upon the following: Stores that utilized dress forms to display their clothing in the 1840s soon discovered that items placed on the more realistic three-dimensional figures outsold similar articles that remained on flat hangers. Stores started using the mannequins much more frequently. The older creations, from the late 1890s to 1920 or so, were made of wax and weighed as much as two hundred pounds. Before the 1920s, mannequins were often referred to as dummies because of their “wooden” expressions, but with the new era of creativity came a new way for the former dressmaker’s form. The new papier-mâché version had inset eyes that seemed very realistic compared to the wax and wooden predecessor.

  Kate paused, wondering why this mannequin was made of wood and not the papier-mâché of its contemporaries. But she soon realized that she could answer her own question. Whoever had made the mannequin had made it specifically to house the money that was inside it. Wood was sturdy, and Kate could think of no other reason the hinges and latches would have been added. Which brought her to the next topic of her search: the money that had been stored inside the mannequin.

  Kate typed in “US money” and “1930,” since most of the bills were dated from around that time, as well as the word collector. There were two and a half million results for the search. She clicked on a link near the top of the first page and landed on the site for the American Numismatic Association, but the site seemed focused on coins, so Kate added “paper money” to her search. Page after page of sites came up, detailing the virtues of coin and bill collecting. But Kate wasn’t interested in learning about the hobby. Her focus was finding out the value of the bills that had fallen from the mannequin’s secret compartments.

  Finally she opted for eBay, typing in “paper currency US.” This yielded 167 sales on the auction site. Kate clicked on the top sale, a 1928 “Funny Back” one-dollar bill. With a full day left until the auction was done, the bid was already at seventy dollars for the lone note. Kate’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. If a single dollar was now worth more than seventy dollars, what did that mean for the many higher denomination bills?

  Kate moved to another page where the sale of a 1930 twenty-dollar bill was about to end in five minutes. She watched as the bidding climbed, practically moment by moment. When the final bid was cast, the twenty sold for more than two hundred and fifty dollars. And several one-hundred-dollar bills sold for well over five hundred dollars apiece in the online auctions she visited.

  Kate sat back in her chair, and she whispered, “Five hundred! For a single bill?” She thought about the canvas tote full of money alongside Paul’s desk.

  If the prices on eBay were a true indicator of the currency’s value, as she knew they would be, the money in that tote wasn’t a mere two thousand dollars; it was more like thirty thousand dollars or more.

  SHERIFF ROBERTS STARED at the bag of money that Kate laid on the living-room coffee table the next morning. He took a seat on the light tan slip-covered sofa. Kate sat in one of the matching overstuffed chairs, watching his face to gauge his reaction. He’d already examined the mannequin in detail, furrowing his thick brow and standing back with arms crossed over his large barrel chest when Kate showed him the latches that unlocked the secret compartments.

  “So, all this money was stashed in that dummy?” the sheriff asked, scratching his forehead, then leaning forward to touch the old currency.

  “Yes, sir,” Kate said.

  He lifted a twenty-dollar bill and examined it in the bright sunlight that streamed through the east-facing window behind him.

  “This is legal tender?” He pursed his lips and turned the bill over.

  “Yes,” Kate confirmed. “At least it was in the thirties.”

  The officer lifted his gaze to her.

  “I did a little research last night,” Kate added with a shrug.

  “Did that research tell you how much this is all worth?” he asked.

  “Over thirty thousand dollars is my best guess,” Kate admitted. “Though there’s no way to know exactly without having a collector look at it.”

  The sheriff whistled at the number. “That’s quite a find. I have to tell you, Kate,” he said in his deep voice, “I’m a bit stumped. I’ve never come across anything like this before.”

  “Eli just wants to make sure he isn’t taking something that doesn’t rightfully belong to him.”

  “I appreciate that.” He nodded. “Tell you what.” The officer stood and
hefted the bag onto his arm. “I’ll take these in, send ’em to one of the labs we use, and have them run a few tests. If the money’s fake or stolen, or someone’s reported it missing, we’ll know soon enough. There’d be serial numbers on file with the county. If nothing turns up, and if no one comes in to claim it in ninety days, it’s Weston’s to do with as he sees fit.”

  “Really?” Kate said.

  “That’s a lot of ifs,” the sheriff reminded.

  “Thank you, Sheriff,” Kate said, following him to the front door.

  He tipped his hat and stepped out. She watched him place the bag of money in the backseat of the police SUV, climb into the driver’s seat, and pull out of the driveway.

  ELI DROPPED BY TO GET the mannequin right after closing his antiques shop that afternoon. Kate was getting ready for dinner at the Bristol with Paul and their friend Phillip Loving. Paul wasn’t home yet, and Kate fretted that he’d gotten waylaid talking to a church member or reading one of his many Bible study guides.

  “Hey, Kate,” the young man said through the screen door. It was another hot spring day, so she’d left the front door open in hopes of catching a breeze.

  Kate said hello and opened the door for him. She wore a smart lilac-colored dress with a V-neck and white trim. Eli headed for the mannequin in the corner of the room.

  “This is going to bring in customers,” he said with a glance at Kate. “I can just feel it. I’m going to put it in my front window and write up a short story to post alongside it. Antique collectors love a good story. And if you get an expert with a story about that bullet hole, all the better!”

  “Oh,” Kate said, realizing she had forgotten to point that detail out to the sheriff. She glanced back at Eli. “Are you going to sell it?”

  Eli scrunched up his face as if he hadn’t considered that possibility. “I could probably get a thousand dollars for her,” he admitted. “But I think the potential draw of customers might be worth more in the long run.”

  “And the thirty thousand in collectible money?” Kate asked. She had called Eli just after the sheriff left earlier and filled him in on what she had learned about the currency’s auction value.

  “I’m not counting chickens yet, are you?” Eli said with a chuckle. “Like the sheriff told you, that’s a lot of ifs. I’m glad we’re getting it checked out. It’s the right thing to do.” Then as if noticing that she was dressed up for the evening for the first time, he stepped back and said, “You look really fancy. Am I interrupting something?”

  “Not at all. I’m getting ready for supper at the Bristol with Paul and our friend from Texas.”

  “That’s cool,” Eli said as he picked up the wooden lady and began to carry her to the front door. “Everyone in town is speculating on why the mannequin was in the mine and where that money came from.”

  “You’ve told people about it?” Kate said, following after him.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Kate couldn’t think of a reason not to tell. “Any good theories?” she asked with a raised brow.

  Eli laughed, then dipped his head shyly. “Not really.”

  A knock sounded on the front door. “Hey, Kate, are you and—” a voice called from outside. Kate turned to see Phillip Loving standing on the porch. He stopped speaking when he saw Eli. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”

  “No worries,” Kate said, opening the door for Phillip to enter. “I’m glad you’re both here. I was telling Eli about you yesterday.”

  Phillip was a good-looking man in his fifties. Trim and clean shaven, he reminded Kate of Tom Brokaw in plaid. Though younger than Kate and Paul, the antiques dealer had been a longtime friend of the Hanlons when they’d lived in San Antonio, where Paul had pastored a large church. Phillip and his late wife, Ginny, were often found at the Hanlon dinner table after church on Sundays.

  Ginny had been a fellow stained-glass artist, so she and Kate attended local artisan events together and met once a week to share designs and talk over tea.

  Since Ginny’s death from a rare form of stomach cancer three years before, Phillip had become a different man. Quieter, more introspective. Lonely. It was a deep grief that Kate understood; she too missed her sweet-spirited friend. And though Phillip had claimed that coming to Copper Mill was a perfect opportunity to start something new and fresh, Kate suspected that his move was also about escaping the loneliness of his big house in Texas.

  “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” Phillip reached to shake hands with the younger man. “I’m Phillip Loving.”

  Kate noted the wristwatch his wife had given him on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. She’d helped Ginny pick it out.

  “Eli Weston,” Eli replied, having set the mannequin down and propped it in front of him before reaching to shake hands with the man.

  “You run Weston’s Antiques on Smith Street, right?” Phillip eyed the mannequin.

  Eli nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.” Then, looking as if he couldn’t get out of there fast enough, he added, “I better get this home.” He hoisted the mannequin up and said over his shoulder, “Kate, I’ll talk to you later?”

  “Of course,” Kate said.

  Eli scooted quickly out the front door, with the heavy mannequin bumping against his legs.

  Kate watched him go, puzzled by his hasty departure, as Paul pulled into the driveway. What had driven the young man to flee? Was it the idea of a competing business in town?

  “He seems like a nice young man,” Phillip said, drawing Kate back.

  “He is,” she agreed.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Paul said as he came to the door. “Should we head out?” He held the door open for Kate and Phillip to follow him to the car, which Kate had left in the driveway for the short drive to the restaurant.

  The Bristol was housed inside the Hamilton Springs Hotel on the first floor. The dining area was rustically inviting, with a fireplace at its center and polished wood walls. Banks of divided windows on three sides gave a clear view of the pond outside. Kate, Paul, and Phillip followed the seating host to a table in the corner and took their places overlooking the stunning view.

  “Classy joint,” Phillip said, looking around.

  “It’s one of our favorites,” Kate agreed.

  She reached for the white cloth napkin and placed it in her lap as a server arrived, bearing glasses of water and menus.

  “I have to tell you,” Phillip began, “I’m starting to like this little town.” He took a sip of his water.

  “Oh really,” Paul said. “Why do you say that?”

  “You have it all.” He nodded at the scenery. “Fine dining, yet small-town homeyness. I can’t tell you how many times I was interrupted at the store this week by people who wanted to stop in to introduce themselves. People are so friendly here.”

  “You’re new,” Paul kidded. “They’ll get used to you in a few weeks.”

  They laughed together. Kate was glad to see that Phillip was feeling at home, finding a place where he felt happy, though she could still see just beneath the surface a sadness that never quite seemed to leave him. He tried to keep it at bay, and for the most part he succeeded, yet it was there in the furrow of his brow, in the sigh that escaped. Kate could see he still missed Ginny.

  The server returned, setting a basket of crusty bread on the white tablecloth and taking their orders.

  Kate chose French-onion soup as an appetizer, followed by a delicate entrée of scallops with fresh, sautéed mushrooms. The men opted for prime rib and dinner salads.

  Once they’d placed their orders, Phillip reached for a roll and the butter and said, “So, tell me about this mannequin with the Hanlon name on its foot. People in town were talking about it.”

  Paul shook his head, then buttered his own roll. “News travels fast,” he said wryly.

  “What does it mean, all that money hidden inside?” Phillip said, taking a bite of his roll. “Obviously it has something to do with your famil
y, unless there were other Hanlons in the area.”

  He directed the question to Paul, who lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “No, I’m fairly sure we’re the Hanlons in question. I’ve been trying to guess what it could mean, but...” His words trailed off.

  “I’ve been looking into it a little,” Kate began.

  “Paul’s told me about your penchant for mysteries,” Phillip said in a teasing tone. “You do know that curiosity killed the cat, right?”

  “You can’t stop her once she gets started, Phillip,” Paul cautioned, chuckling. “I’ve tried.”

  His eyes met Kate’s, and she grinned.

  “It’s your family history,” Kate reminded playfully. Paul gave her hand a squeeze.

  “And I appreciate that you want to find out more.” His teasing faded.

  Kate smiled and looked into her husband’s blue eyes. She wondered how it could be that after all their years of marriage, he could still make her heart skip a beat.

  When she looked over to Phillip, she saw his gaze flick to their entwined hands, then just as quickly turn away. She felt guilty for their open display of affection and their insensitivity toward Phillip. He and Ginny often shared such moments when she’d been alive.

  Kate’s heart went out to the widower. She wondered why Phillip had moved from San Antonio to a state he’d never lived in. How had he picked Copper Mill? Were she and Paul really enough of a draw to bring him so far from his son, Eric, who was in his first year of college in Texas? Or was he running from the past or simply looking to make a new start?

  Phillip cleared his throat and changed subjects. “I actually have something I wanted to ask you, Kate.”

  “Oh?” Kate put her elbows on the table and leaned forward.

  “I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me get my store up and running? No set hours or anything, just here and there...”

  Kate was so surprised by the question, she wasn’t sure what to say. The idea of entering the workforce again seemed almost foreign, though she certainly had kept herself busy with her stained-glass projects and helping at the Faith Freezer, assisting Paul at Faith Briar Church...not to mention solving nearly every mystery that arose in Copper Mill.