[Wealth of Time 01.0] Wealth of Time Page 2

  He parked, the lot empty with the exception of one other car, and stepped out to the brisk evening. The sun fought its way through the clouds before setting for the night, casting a hazy, orange glow.

  A rusty sign hung next to the tall windows that read: COME ON IN! WE’RE OPEN!

  Martin insisted this building had already existed, its exterior worn down from years of enduring the Colorado weather. A fresh coat of paint could make it look brand new.

  He followed his mother as she climbed the three short steps and pulled open the door. A bell chimed as she crossed the threshold into the empty store.

  The store stretched back into eternity. Martin craned his neck to see as far as possible and still couldn’t find the back wall. The building hadn’t looked this long from the outside, and his mind twisted in confusion. Obvious sections of furniture, music, kitchenware, china and ceramics, figurines, clocks, and jewelry separated the store.

  Marilyn soaked in the inventory of old knick-knacks with wide eyes. “I’ve never seen a store so big. Not an antique store.”

  Her voice echoed, and she realized they were alone. “Anyone here?” she shouted.

  A white head of hair popped up in the distance as an elderly man made his way down the never-ending aisle toward them. “Please come in!” His voice bounced off the walls. “Welcome.”

  He approached them and stuck out a bony hand with little white hairs curled around his knuckles. He smiled at Martin from his long, droopy face. The short white hair on his head matched that on his fingers. “Chris Speidel at your service, pleased to meet you fine folks.” He shook their hands more aggressively than Martin anticipated. The old man’s flesh felt cold as ice, as if he were holding a frozen drink for the last few minutes.

  “I’m Martin Briar, and this is my mother, Marilyn.” Martin spoke uneasily. He thought Chris’s irises looked black at first glance, but realized they were dark brown after closer inspection.

  “Glad to have you folks.” He kissed Marilyn’s hand when she offered it, causing redness to bloom in her cheeks. “What can I do for you kiddos today?”

  “We were hoping to look around. I heard a new store was open in town, and I just love antique shops,” Marilyn said as she held her kissed hand in front of her.

  “Fair enough.” Chris clapped his hands together. “Poke around. I have some great stuff you’ll both enjoy. Do you like baseball, young man?” He turned to Martin.

  “I haven’t kept up much with it in recent years, but I used to be a big fan.”

  “Well, I have some very rare collectible cards. You can find them on a shelf near the dolls over there.” Chris poked a skinny thumb in the direction of the wistful porcelain dolls that faced the front entrance.

  “Thank you, I’ll be sure to take a look.”

  “And you, young lady, is there anything in particular that you’re looking for?” He offered what looked like a forced grin to Marilyn.

  “Not really. If something grabs my eye then I’ll take a closer look.”

  “With all due respect, madam, this is an antique shop. We are the keepers of time, the guardians of treasure, and the watchmen of memories. You should be looking for something to catch your heart, not your eye.”

  She blushed again, and Martin stood frozen in disbelief. Is this how old people flirt?

  “But please have a look around. You can find me at the counter if you need any help at all.” The old man winked at them and turned to head back to wherever he’d come from.

  Martin locked eyes with his mother and they exchanged curious looks. “I suppose I’ll go look at those baseball cards.” Martin checked his watch. “Let’s try to not be more than half an hour. I’m really hungry and have had that burger on my mind all day.”

  “Yes, of course.” Her eyes remained locked on Chris as he disappeared into a row of shelves.

  She stepped away from Martin, leaving him at the entrance as she walked to the china section and sifted through decades of old dishes.

  Martin felt someone watching him and glanced around to see if any cameras were visible. Aside from the one pointing to the entrance, there were none that he could see, but the feeling wasn’t a camera. He felt eyes on him. He shook the thought out of his mind and dragged his feet to the figurines section.

  The shelves were lined with old collector’s edition model cars, rare Barbie dolls and action figures, video games, and Pogs. Next to all of this rested a small wooden box with baseball cards lined up perfectly. He pulled the box off the shelf and cradled it in his arm like a football as he flipped through years of baseball lore.

  Hank Aaron, Pete Rose, Cal Ripken, Ken Griffey Jr., Mickey Mantle. He paused on the Mantle card. Isn’t this card worth hundreds of thousands? He pulled it out, examined its nearly mint condition. Honus Wagner is the rare card, not Mantle. He put the box back in its place and sighed as his stomach begged for food.

  A quick glance around the store found his mother at the counter with Chris. She leaned in close to the store’s owner, as if telling a secret, his snowy head nodding as she spoke. Martin shuffled his feet and cleared his throat as he approached. “We about ready for dinner, Mom?”

  She turned and looked at her son with a stern face. “I may have found something, Marty.”

  On the counter was a thick gold ring with a large emerald in its center. They had been inspecting it up close.

  “This ring looks identical to one my grandmother used to wear. She handed it down to my mom, and after she passed, we’ve never been able to find it. Part of me wonders if it’s still on her finger.”

  She picked it up and held it up to the light, tears welling in her eyes. “Chris says it’s valued at $7,000 and that he’ll sell it for $5,000. I just don’t know. That’s still a bit out of my range.”

  “Five thousand is a steal, trust me. If you find this anywhere else, you’d likely find a price tag of ten grand on it.”

  Marilyn pursed her lips and Martin could read the frustration boiling behind her eyes. She wanted that ring. “I’ll have to think about it. Will you honor that price if I come back in a couple of days?”

  “Of course,” Chris said, sliding the ring back into its felt case and snapping it shut with a coy smile. “I’ll keep it off the floor for a couple days. You come let me know.” He patted the case before putting it in a cupboard underneath an old cash register.

  “Well, thank you, Chris. I appreciate that. I think my son here is hungry, so we should be on our way.”

  “Indeed. Enjoy your dinner. I’ll see you both around, and it was a pleasure meeting you this evening.”

  Chris extended his fragile hand and shook with both of them before they left.

  * * *

  At dinner, Martin gauged his mother’s interest in the ring.

  “I’m convinced it’s my grandmother’s ring,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how on earth it would end up in that gentleman’s collection, but I felt something when I touched it. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “What if I pitch in and help you buy it?” Martin offered.

  “That’s very nice of you, Marty, but you can save your money. I can afford it – it’s just a matter of if I really want it. I didn’t want to make an emotional purchase. I just need some time to think it over. If I’m still thinking about it in a few days, then I’ll go back and pick it up.”

  They finished their burgers that night with countless stories of Martin’s great-grandmother. He heard the pain in his mom’s voice. Some scars never healed, and losing a grandparent never became easier. He could attest to that.

  I’m going back tomorrow to buy that ring.

  4

  Chapter 4

  Martin returned to Wealth of Time the following evening. The must filled his lungs again as he strode toward the checkout counter where Chris read a raggedy paperback. He looked up from behind the small reading glasses perched on his nose.

  “Good evening, young man. I thought I’d see your mother before you. Wa
s there a baseball card you liked?”

  “Hello. No. Although, you have an impressive collection. My card collecting days are behind me. If anything, I may bring you some cards to see if you’d be interested.”

  “I see. What can I do for you this evening?”

  “I want to buy that ring my mom was looking at.”

  Chris dropped his book on the counter top, revealing an H.P. Lovecraft novel, and retrieved the ring box as if he had been expecting Martin to come in.

  “I was thinking about this ring and my encounter with your mother. I’d like to sell it you for $2,000. That’s what I paid for it, and I don’t mind breaking even on it. Your mother was entranced. I believe it really is the long lost family heirloom.”

  Martin’s jaw dropped. “Two thousand? That’s impossible.”

  Chris grinned. “I’d give it you for free, but this is a business. Let’s call it even and you can take her a nice surprise.”

  “I don’t know what to say…thank you.”

  Martin pulled out his wallet and slid his credit card across the counter with a wavering hand. This has to be a fake ring. No way this guy takes $5,000 off the listed price. He felt guilty trying to hustle my mom, and is trying to make up for it. She won’t know the difference, and she’ll never find out about this. As far as she knows, it’s her grandmother’s lost ring.

  “Your mom said this was her grandmother’s ring?” Chris asked in a curious voice.

  “Yes. My great-grandmother promised to leave it for my mom when she was only a teenager. You don’t remember where you got it from?”

  Chris scrunched his face. “Can’t say I do. So much product comes in, and it’s usually in bunches. Especially the jewelry, you should see how much I have that’s not on display in the store – there’s no room for it all.” Chris chuckled gleefully as he spoke. “That is an interesting story about the ring, though. A mystery. What a small world if this is the actual ring, but we’ll never know.”

  Martin nodded. He remembered how his mom had a whole box of jewelry set aside to one day leave for Izzy, her first and only granddaughter.

  Chris wrapped the ring box in gilded gift-wrap with a bow tied neatly on top before pushing it across the counter to Martin. “Say, young man, what’s bothering you?”

  Martin looked into Chris’s eyes and sensed the old man picking apart his emotions. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “I see pain behind your eyes. You do a bad job of hiding it.”

  Martin hated the shrewdness of older people; his mother was the same way. He looked down at the gift and fidgeted with it as he debated telling the old man what was on his mind. After a brief, awkward silence he decided to lay it all out there.

  “This is a difficult week for me. This Sunday marks 22 years since I lost my daughter. Every day is a struggle, but this time of year is extra difficult.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. May I ask what happened?” Chris leaned forward onto the counter and removed his reading glasses, his stale breath now oozing into Martin’s nose.

  “I don’t know. That’s the hardest part. My wife got into a fight with my daughter that night. And when we woke up she was gone. We assume she ran away, but have no idea where or why. Part of me thinks she’s dead. I know she wouldn’t go this long without speaking to us. But maybe she’s living in some exotic country, starting a new life.”

  “That must be a horrific burden to carry.”

  “It is. Two decades without any closure is a long time, and it never gets easier.”

  Chris sat upright and crossed his arms, shaking his head. “You know, I’ve dealt with some traumatic loss myself. I suppose you could call it the inverse of your situation. I lost both my parents when I was only seven years old.”

  Martin studied Chris who looked down as he spoke, wondering how such an event would have affected his long life. The man had to be at least seventy. “I’m sorry, that must have turned your world upside down.”

  “It’s funny. When you’re a kid you can pretty much go with the flow. All your worries are about who’s gonna pick you up from school and who’s gonna make your dinner. I think I went through the next five years of my life numb. I bounced around foster homes and schools, and it never hit me until I reached high school. That’s when you need guidance most in life, and I had no one to turn to. I spent many days after school crying in the bathroom. It was the only place I had privacy. At home, I had to share a bedroom with three other boys, and crying was frowned upon. Everyone had a sad story – therefore no one felt bad about your problems.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Might not be fair,” Chris said matter-of-factly. “But that’s how it goes. All you can do is try to make it to the next day and hope for the best.”

  “I know how that goes. That’s been the last twenty years of my life.” Martin felt for Chris, relating to the old man’s tragedy.

  “Sounds like we have a lot in common,” Chris said with a slow shake of the head. He leaned over the counter to see the main entrance. A young couple browsed the store toward the front, but appeared empty-handed. “Say, how’d you like to come into my back room and see some rare things I’ve collected?”

  Martin returned a puzzled look, unsure what prompted the random invitation. “Are you sure you want to leave the store unattended?” Martin asked as he nodded his head toward the young couple.

  “Ahh, they’ll be fine. He brought her here to try and prove his false sophistication. I see couples like that all the time. Some guys go to great lengths to get some these days. Back in my day, just being charming was enough.”

  Chris winked and raised his bushy eyebrows suggestively. “We’ll just be a quick minute. Come.”

  Chris turned to the door behind his counter and pushed it open. More of that ancient odor oozed out of the back room.

  Martin muddled cautiously around the counter and followed Chris into the darkness. Chris led them to an old wooden desk that sat beneath a hanging light fixture, its yellow glow illuminating only the desk, leaving the surroundings in an eerie blackness.

  “In this business, you tend to come across things you maybe shouldn’t. I feel like I’ve had more of this random luck than anyone else. I assumed it’s to make up for all my shitty luck as a child.” Chris opened a drawer on the desk and retrieved a flashlight. He clicked it on and pointed it to the wall behind Martin where the door had closed behind him.

  A five-foot wide framed painting hung on the wall. The image portrayed thirteen men on a sailboat in the middle of a nasty storm. One glowing face looked familiar to Martin.

  “This painting is called Christ in the Storm on the Lake of Galilee,” Chris said. “It was painted by Rembrandt in 1633. Today it’s worth almost five million dollars. It’s been missing since 1990 from a major heist in Boston.”

  He lowered the flashlight to a short table flushed against the wall. Baseball cards spread across every inch of it, and Martin saw one staring at him that sent chills down his spine. He reached for it with a trembling hand.

  “Ahhh, so you know about the rare Honus Wagner card.” Chris grinned as he watched Martin. “That card is worth three million. In fact, it’s the rarest trading card in history.”

  Martin held the card unsteadily in his hand, studying every inch of its orange background, Wagner’s pasty face and neatly parted brown hair, all the way down to the detailing on his gray uniform that read Pittsburgh in brown lettering.

  “This is the holy grail of baseball cards. Aren’t there only a hundred of these left in the world?” Martin kept examining the card and wanted to pinch himself.

  “Fifty seven still exist. Only 200 were printed to begin with.” Chris leaned back in his creaky chair.

  “I don’t understand,” Martin said, not wanting to put the card down. “How do you have these? And why don’t you sell them? You’re sitting on seven million from these two items alone. You would never have to work another day!”

  Chris shrugged. “I suppose I’m a busybo
dy. It’s always been hard for me to relax and lounge. Besides, money is no issue for me. I don’t need $7 million.”

  The mystery of this old man kept growing stranger as Martin learned more about him. Martin glimpsed around the room like a child in awe, even though most of it was left in darkness.

  “Well, if you ever need someone to loan these cool things out to, just let me know. I can be that guy.” Martin tried to lighten the mood.

  “That’s a generous offer, but I’ll keep these under wraps. I trust you won’t make any mention of what you saw in here, either?”

  Martin nodded. “Of course not.”

  “Good. I have an oath to keep the secrets of time.”

  “Is there a reason this room is so dark? You developing photos in the back?” Martin sensed a shift in the mood and tried to make the old man laugh. It didn’t work, and all he wanted was to get the hell out of this dark closet.

  “I build things in here. Like I said, I’m the keeper of time, and I need to make sure I can preserve all parts of history.”

  Martin nodded slowly, not sure how to respond.

  “Would you like to see?” Chris asked, raising the pitch in his voice. He grinned. “You might have an interest in what I’m working on in here.”

  “Okay, sure,” Martin said, now trying to hide the fear in his wavering voice.

  “Come!” Chris said and stood with a youthful spring in his legs.

  Martin watched as Chris disappeared into the darkness, footsteps fading away before coming to a halt. A fluorescent light flickered to life, revealing a tall black countertop covered with beakers, piles of a sand-like substance, and a microscope.

  “You’re a mad scientist on the side?”

  Chris walked behind the counter and pulled open a drawer. “Something like that,” he snickered.

  His skeletal fingers rose from the drawer with a small red pill pinched between his index finger and thumb. He placed the pill gently on the counter as Martin watched with cautious eyes.