Chapter Eight
March 23rd. 2009© 2009 Kimberly J. Fish
Chapter Eight
Lacy watched Henry fit the key into Inga Steinmeyer’s Lock and Store unit, praying that Inga had fibbed when she hinted that great family treasures were stuffed into the 20 x 40 space. Since her contract to represent Inga’s furniture was limited to one already-sold dining room, she’d have to share the proceeds of any future sales with the man holding the silver key. Unless, Inga had some game in mind to award the representation contract to the one who could offer the most profit, at which point Lacy would still lose. Her savings were pitifully small compared to Henry’s deep pockets. And his client list spanned the nation, hers a thirty-mile driving radius from Comfort.
Lacy stared at Henry’s broad shoulders and decided a retreat was her best move. She tapped his shoulder. “Tell me again how you saw the two of us working together?”
Henry jammed the key a second time, but it didn’t want to turn the deadbolt. “Give me a minute, Lacy. I don’t think well under the stresses of manual labor.”
“This is important. We need to agree to a strategy before we open the door. That way, regardless of what Inga has stored in there we’re on the same page about laying claim.”
“There’s no claim. Whatever is here belongs to Inga.”
“Yeah, but she’ll probably want one of us to sell these things for her and I don’t want you underplaying your enthusiasm for genuine German antiques because you think she’ll give you the contract if you don’t act desperate.”
Henry squinted at her as he struggled. “Has this worked for you in the past? This desperation ploy?”
“Well, no. Most of my inventory is from buying out other dealers or clients ask me to represent their sales. But you’re from the city. I know you have to have a few cut throat maneuvers up your expensive sleeve.”
The lock thudded as it begrudgingly released from the hold.
“You don’t have a high opinion of me, do you?”
Lacy watched Henry stand and flex his wrist. “This is business. My personal opinion doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, it matters. It’s guided you from the very first moment we met. Which by the way, is a beautiful memory burned on my brain. I may never see a sunny autumn day and not remember you, the maple tree and a potential fire hazard.”
She rolled her gaze to the overcast sky. “And he wonders why I don’t trust him?”
“Ah, ha! I knew it. This boils down to trust. It’s possible, that if you believed I wasn’t out to undercut your local business, you might actually like me.”
Lacy wilted from the intensity reflected in his eyes, but she wouldn’t let him see how his words had nailed her. “I might not. You’re a bit flowery for my tastes.”
Henry glanced at the stripes and small flowers patterned on Lacy’s blouse in contrast to his navy blue shirt. His gaze traveled from her expensive jeans to her pointy toe shoes and back up to the sixties-styled scarf holding her hair off her forehead. No one had to tell him he looked boring in comparison. “You, my dear, are the very definition of flowery. From your unforgettable perfume to the circular logic you employ to keep me distracted from the real issue, which is. . .”
Enjoying being the object of his scrutiny, Lacy folded her arms, arranged her most serious expression and waited. “Any day now.”
“You’ve never allowed yourself to be content.”
Lacy burst out laughing, but even to her ears it sounded forced. “Oh, please, do not attempt psycho babble. I’ve already considered sharing the sales with you. You don’t have to work this hard.”
“This is not about sharing Inga’s proceeds, which if that’s all you’ve been thinking about refers me back to my original point which is, even in business you don’t know how to be content. Lacy, despite what you may be thinking I’m not interested in under-cutting you, and quite honestly, I’m not even interested in representing Inga’s commission. For me, this chase has been all about you.”
Lacy stared at him. If this had been any other moment in her life, and not the brink of the mother lode of Steinmeyer’s furniture, she might be drawn into the swirling warmth in his eyes. But she had to be strong. Women were notoriously susceptible to charm. “Oh, you’re good. I’ll give you that. For a moment, I almost believed you. But this is a classic bait and switch maneuver. Get me distracted about my own pathetic personal needs so I won’t suspect that your real motive is to waltz out of Comfort with a truckload of valuable heirlooms.
Henry stepped two feet closer to Lacy. “So, you insist that you’re happy living this way? Always second guessing people for their motives?”
Lacy wanted to take two steps backward just to relieve the tension of his crowding her comfort zone, but since she suspected that he wanted her to feel intimidated, she wouldn’t do it. Even if he smelled like a million bucks, which he did, she wouldn’t fall for him. She couldn’t. “Henry, open the door and let’s get this over. I have an appointment this afternoon.”
“Answer me one thing, are you happy?”
“At the moment, or life in general.”
Henry smiled. “Well if you have to ask,”
“I’m trying to clarify because at the moment I’m irked by an antiques dealer who may be out to steal my new client. But in general, prior to meeting you, I would say I was happy. Blissfully, so.”
“If you’re so blissful then why are you always on the run?”
Lacy may have overstated things with bliss. Her life had been one manic series of guesses on her quest to find her destiny so bliss was definitely out of reach. While in college, she’d changed her major twice then taken a summer missions stint to teach English in Ecuador because she couldn’t figure out what she wanted to do with her finance degree. She signed on to be her sister’s business guru running everything from a marketing campaign to organizing online orders, but was bored two years into it. Then, over coffee at Cup of Joes, she and two friends decided the antique shops in Comfort could use a bit of a shake-up, so they bought out a small dealer and opened their own kitschy Bohemian shop mixing pragmatic Hill Country furniture with SoHo accessories. The duality of using both sides of her brain was exhausting. Who had time to pursue happiness when she was just trying to make enough money to pay off her AMEX card?
“I’m sorry, what was the question?”
Henry chuckled, wrapped his hand around Lacy’s elbow and drew her even closer. “It’s time you settled down a bit, just tried to enjoy the moments God gives you and not be in such a rush for the next great discovery.”
Lacy stared at Henry’s lips. “Great discoveries will come when you least expect them, or some such thing?”
“Take now for instance. I didn’t come to Comfort looking to meet someone who poleaxes me to the very core. I came to make money. But now I can’t even remember why I needed another entry in the bank book because all I can think about is how I can convince you to have dinner with me tonight.”
Lacy tilted her head to look into Henry’s eyes. She’d never seen another man who radiated such intensity for her, and to be honest, the phenomena was unsettling. So unsettling, she just might have to go to dinner with him to find out more about this poleax-ing thing. The definition might explain her nerves zinging every time he came around.
Because she was so far away from believing God was going to allow her to be content, blissful or otherwise, she decided to test Henry one more time.
“So when we open that door to Inga’s storage unit you won’t have any problem walking away from representing the sale of her valuables?”
“Lacy, there are some things you can’t put a price tag on, so yes. If it means I can spend more time with you, I rescind any and all interest in Inga Steinmeyer’s possessions.”
His eyes were clear. The furrow between his brow was smooth and the lines around his mouth were laugh lines, not stress induced. Lacy couldn’t believe that he was willing to give up a substantial commission. . . for her. If he wasn’t holding her arms, she might tilt.
This was stunning to a girl who’d never known her father, was orphaned to live with an aunt when she was nine, buried that aunt about six years ago knowing the only other person on the face of this earth who loved her was her sister. Though she’d developed a core group of friends who were almost as close as family, she’d always felt haunted by the fear they’d walk away and she’d be that nine-year-old girl who never got to say goodbye to her mother. Of all the things she hoped to achieve in life, contentment wasn’t even on the list. But, maybe, it was time to reconsider the list.
“Henry, we’re going to split the commission fifty-fifty.”
“I don’t want the money. I want to get to know you without the money coming between us.”
Lacy couldn’t seem to think straight when he was so close she could kiss him. She stepped away from him and proceeded toward the door. Laying hold of the handle, she turned back. “Whatever is in here, we’re splitting it fifty-fifty, and that’s final.”
Henry shook his head as if he’d never met a more harder-headed female in his whole life. Actually, she didn’t know what he was thinking at all, it’s just what she would be thinking if she were in his shoes. “Okay,” she said, “Here goes nothing.”
Once the dust cloud settled, Lacy stepped over the threshold and felt along the wall for a light switch. The single light bulb dangling from the middle of the room cast a perfect light on Inga’s treasure. Unfortunately, the adrenaline pumping through her blood didn’t seem a good match for the quality of the discovery.
Henry’s foot steps echoed against the concrete and metal walls. He turned around in the empty room. “Well, this is a let down. At the very least I was expecting keepsake chests.”
Lacy stepped into the space, shivering as if a ghost had brushed against her shoulder. “I just knew she had more, I felt it.”
Henry walked toward the wall and removed an envelope propped between steel joists. “Maybe this is the treasure map.”
Lacy stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I don’t want to know. At this point, Inga can keep her jokes to herself.”
Henry cocked a brow over his eye as he opened the envelope.
“That’s private property, you can’t open someone’s mail,” Lacy demanded.
“It’s not addressed to anyone.” Henry flipped the envelope for her inspection. “And besides, this is no different than opening drawers or doors on an armoire.”
Lacy couldn’t argue with that so watched his brows furrow as he read the letter.
Just as he looked over at her with the oddest expression on his face, two voices interrupted the eerie silence.
“I told you, Deputy Michael, they were trespassing on private property.”
Lacy jerked around staring at the man who looked like every inch the former Marine recently returned from Iraq, his hand lingering on the 9mm handgun at his waist. “Lacy? Want to tell me why you’ve broken a lock to sneak into a storage room?”
Staring at Michael’s stern reprimand and Theresa O’Banshee’s satisfied grin did not provide the inspirational words she might have hoped. It wasn’t until she felt Henry ease behind her that she even felt a measure of confidence, fragile though it was. “It’s not breaking and entering if one’s has the key. Show him the key, Henry.”
Henry held out his hand, but it wasn’t to boast of the ill-fitting key. It was in fact, the letter.
“Not that I wouldn’t love to sit around and gab about the peculiarities of keys and sweet old ladies,” Henry said. “But it appears there’s something bigger amiss here in Comfort.”
The sheriff’s deputy took the letter, read the content, and folded the evidence into his shirt pocket. “Well, looks like I’m going to have to take you both down to the office for questioning. Seems we just got our first break in the case of the missing school teacher and I’m sure the sheriff would like to know how you’re involved.”
To be continued.