Wealth of Time Series Boxset Read online

  His mother waited at the front door and stepped out of the light gray house as soon as he pulled up. Two patio chairs sat on the porch where Martin used to watch the sunset with his father as he spewed about baseball, the weather, and the mysteries of life. Many of his lessons came right from those two worn-down chairs, and Martin was glad his mother held on to them after making many renovations after his father’s death. The front yard appeared leafless and immaculate. His father had always taken pride in a clean and green yard, and when he passed, his mother took the responsibilities in stride, claiming it made her feel close to her lost husband.

  Martin watched his fragile mother wobble down the steps. She claimed to feel great despite her body starting to break down, and he had no reason to not take her word as she remained active, even as she was pushing 75. Her silver hair flowed graciously behind her as she cracked a warm smile in his direction. Underneath the wrinkles he could still see her youthful beauty. He remembered his mother being the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen, and while time altered her outer appearance, he knew the woman from forty years ago was behind her gentle green eyes.

  She pulled open the car door and plopped down in the passenger seat. “Marty! How are you?” she greeted him warmly, grinning ear-to-ear.

  “I’m as good as can be,” he said, forcing a matched enthusiasm.

  This was the answer he reverted to whenever anyone asked him how he was doing, and it was true. He hated his life, but tried to make the best of the days while he counted down to his eventual death. That was the best he could offer the world.

  “So what’s this antique store we’re going to?” Martin asked before his mother could dig into how he really felt on this dreadful week.

  She clicked her seat belt and slouched back as Martin pulled back onto the road. “Oh, just a new store I heard about from Esther and Toni when we had lunch the other day. They told me it has an impressive collection of treasures. They walked out of there with a thousand dollars of stuff each.”

  A thousand dollars worth of shit, probably.

  “I won’t go spending all that,” she continued. “I just like to look around. Maybe one day I’ll see something that reminds me of my childhood or your father. Then I’ll buy.”

  Martin nodded as she spoke, keeping his focus on the road. The church was only a five-minute drive, and this new store was supposedly a couple blocks from it.

  “Well, I hope you find something you like, Mom. Don’t keep us too late, though, I’m starving.”

  Smooth jazz poured out of the car speakers, his mom’s favorite, and they hummed along until they pulled up to the store.

  The building was a bland gray that blended in with the cloudy sky. Black, plain text lettered the front in a generic font: WEALTH OF TIME. Three panes of glass were centered below the lettering with the middle one serving as the only door.

  “Has this building always been here?” Martin asked, unimpressed with the exterior.

  His mother lowered her brow in thought. “I honestly don’t know. In my sixty years living here, I can’t say I’ve ever been in this part of the neighborhood.”

  They had passed the church and driven through a residential neighborhood for two blocks before spitting out into a random lot where the building stood.

  “They certainly won’t last long in this location. How is anyone supposed to find it?”

  “We found it easily enough.”

  Martin wanted to tell his mom that wasn’t the point, but let it slide as he sensed her growing excitement to get inside the store.

  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.

  5

  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. Was 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 th
ree 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.