The Mystery of the Curiosities Page 4
The waitress returned with coffee for Calvin and Quinn before taking our orders.
Quinn grabbed a handful of sugar packets and poured them into her mug as we were left alone again. “So how’s your little shop?”
“It’s fine,” I said politely.
Calvin leaned back, placing his arm across the top of the seat to rest behind me. It was like the teenage boy sitting on a couch beside his crush, so he acts like he’s stretching to put an arm around them. Except that Calvin was way more cool about it.
Quinn nodded as she finished drowning her coffee in sugar. “Calvin told me this morning someone busted a window?”
“That’s right. I—oh.” I hesitated. I had declined to tell Officer Brigg and Officer Lowry about the second note, but to not tell Calvin seemed stupid. Keeping something like that from him would undoubtedly cause a domestic dispute if he found out through work.
And besides, I was retired from sleuthing.
No matter how curious I was about these notes.
I reached into my sweater and pulled out the second slip of paper. “I got another note today.”
“You what?” Calvin asked, setting his mug down and turning his attention to me.
“Note?” Quinn piped up.
I handed it to Calvin. “It was wrapped around a brick on the counter.” When he glanced up from the message, I explained everything, from the brick outside to the police to Luther’s second visit.
Hearing myself say it all out loud, I sounded insane.
Someone breaking into my store?
Harassing me with bricks and nonthreatening messages?
No wonder Quinn was giving me a peculiar expression as I finished.
“Well,” she began. “That’s fucking weird.”
I leaned sideways to stare at the one word on the letter that Calvin still held.
Curious?
Yes. And now, so were others.
The bricks were intentionally chosen. They had to be. They were so unexpected, so odd, that it got people talking. And when you want folks invested in their own curiosity, you have to nourish it.
“Barnum,” I stated, sort of surprised at the thought.
Calvin looked at me while folding the letter. “Hmm?”
“P.T. Barnum,” I said again. “That’s what this whole thing reminds me of.”
“The circus guy?” Quinn asked.
I nodded, took the letter from Calvin, and stuffed it in my pocket. “But before he went into the circus business, he used to own a museum here in New York. He hired some guy to walk around the block with bricks, putting one on each corner before going into the museum, walking through it, and slipping out the back to go through the process again. The brick thing was so strange that people started getting curious and following him. They’d pay to enter the museum but would then be sidetracked by the displays.”
Quinn snorted. “Correction. That’s fucking weird.”
I shrugged. “Barnum was a brilliant businessman. He knew in order for people to give a crap about his curiosities, he needed them to be… curious.” I looked at Calvin, and he was staring hard at me with an unreadable, very cop-like, expression.
“Why do you know this?” Quinn asked.
I glanced at her. “I know a lot about nothing of real importance.”
“That’s not true,” Calvin said. “You’re brilliant and it gets you in trouble.”
I put my hands up in surrender. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Yet,” Calvin replied in a deep tone.
“Oh, come on, Cal. I was only relating one stupid thing to another. I don’t think Barnum is haunting my shop—I’m not about to try my skills at ghost hunting.”
“I didn’t say anything of the sort,” Calvin answered. “It’s not a dead person fucking with you, baby. It’s someone very much alive, and I want you to be careful. Anything else happens, you call me right away.”
The waitress returned and put down plates heaped with food.
Get stuffed, all right.
An acceptable silence fell over us as we ate.
I pushed the thoughts of the notes to the back of my mind. Letting myself ruminate over them was only going to lead to trouble. And I wasn’t going to get involved.
No sleuthing.
No sleuthing.
No sleuthing.
Calvin reached under the tabletop, set his hand on my thigh, and gave it a light squeeze. “You okay?” he murmured around bites of pancakes.
I nodded quickly, looking up. “Yup. Fine.”
“You’re not eating.”
“Sorry. I’m shitty at multitasking. I can’t eat and think.” I picked up my fork and dug into the now semicold omelet.
“What’re you—”
He was interrupted by a loud crash from the kitchen. His hand on my thigh tightened painfully as he jumped in his seat.
“Calvin?” I immediately put a hand on his shoulder.
He jumped again at my touch and let out a panicked, held breath. Calvin looked between me and Quinn before quickly getting up from the booth. “Excuse me,” he whispered.
“Calvin? Wait!” I watched him make for the restrooms.
“Go check on him,” Quinn said quickly. “Please.”
I nodded, already getting to my feet and running after him before he had a chance to lock the door behind him. “Cal,” I said, pushing the door open against his forceful hold. “Let me in.”
“I’m fine,” he said, sounding ragged.
“No, let me in,” I ordered, shoving hard and squirming in through the opening before letting the door slam shut.
The lighting was harsh and made me wince. Calvin was a little blurry, a little too bright, and appeared to be almost in tears. He backed up against the opposite wall, covering his face and taking deep breaths. His shoulders slumped. That was my cue.
I moved forward and pulled him against me as he started sobbing. Calvin wrapped his arms tight around me, burying his face against my neck and shoulder. Calvin was a big man. If it wasn’t for his recent shoulder injury, he could easily lift me. So when he put all of his muscle weight against me, it was difficult to keep us both standing.
His grip on me was so hard, it nearly hurt.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, petting his hair. “It’s okay.” I never knew what else to tell him when he was having an episode.
“I’m so sorry,” Calvin cried.
“No, don’t be sorry,” I insisted.
I couldn’t hold us both up anymore, so I awkwardly maneuvered Calvin back against the wall and eased him to the floor. He pulled his legs up, and I sat on my knees between them. I leaned over to grab a paper towel from the dispenser, then pulled his hand from his face and wiped his cheeks dry. The muscles in Calvin’s neck tightened as he clenched his jaw.
Calvin let out another breath after a moment, a gasp like he was drowning. He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. “He was a nineteen-year-old kid on his first tour, and I watched him get blown to pieces.”
I didn’t move. I hesitated even to breathe. This was the first time Calvin had really said anything about his terrors, the memories he relived over and over that seemed to be haunting him in his waking hours now.
His fragile composure broke again, and Calvin began to cry once more. He didn’t say anything else about what the dropped plates had reminded him of. I didn’t want to know about the boy Calvin had seen die, but if it meant taking that pain away from him, I’d soak in every god-awful detail.
Once Calvin began to calm down, I wiped his face dry again.
He reached both hands out, put them on my waist, and tugged me close enough to kiss. “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he whispered.
I combed my fingers through his thick hair. “Cal… is there anything we can talk about?”
Calvin didn’t reply, looking sort of lost.
“I mean—and please, I’m not trying to upset you, I swear—I think Qu
inn is concerned about you.”
That made him frown.
“You have a stressful job. We don’t want you to get hurt, is all.”
“It has nothing to do with my job,” Calvin said sternly.
“No. I know that. But… maybe it’s wearing you out mentally and making you more susceptible to these moments.”
“It’s not,” he said with a tone of finality.
I sighed and looked down at the paper towel in my hand. It always ended this way. Always. No matter what I said. “Calvin, this scares me,” I whispered.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I said quickly. “You just had an epic meltdown in a diner bathroom. All I’m asking is to consider going to a VA—”
“Stop it.” Calvin maneuvered me back so he could stand.
“Calvin,” I said, getting up after him.
He ignored me, opened the bathroom door, and walked out.
I threw my hands up, watching the door close. This was like beating a dead horse. I didn’t know how else to get through to him. I couldn’t force Calvin to seek help, but he wasn’t even willing to look at how much this concerned me.
I’m fine.
Like hell.
I tossed the paper towel and walked out. I turned right, walking back to the booths in time to see Calvin buttoning his coat and Quinn standing, following suit. “Where are you going?” I asked gently.
“Back to work,” he said, not looking at me.
“But—Calvin—”
He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and put a few bills down on the table. “This should cover breakfast.”
“Wait—”
Calvin was already walking away, and my stomach dropped as if I were on the worst roller-coaster ride of my life.
Quinn looked at me.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
She frowned while fixing the collar of her coat. “I’ll make sure he goes home tonight.”
I nodded, feeling numb. “You can call me… if you need to.”
“I will.” She turned and left after Calvin.
I stayed behind to pay for the half-eaten meals.
THERE ARE a surprising number of brick sellers in the New York metro area.
Sitting at the computer in my office, I squinted and leaned in. I had come back to the Emporium less than psyched with life and fell into one of my known nasty habits. When something is out of my control, I obsess about what is in my control.
So if I couldn’t help Calvin and he didn’t want to talk to me, by God I was going to figure out who the fuck was harassing my shop. But this wasn’t sleuthing. I was just… researching.
I had thought maybe I could call a few companies and ask if they’d sold a large quantity of bricks in the last few days, since it would be hard to conceal a few hundred of them in New York City for an extended period of time. But not only did big chain stores like Home Depot sell bricks, there were a number of small mom-and-pop shops within the five boroughs that did as well.
And the bricks weren’t exactly unique. If they had been bedazzled with sequins, this search would be a hell of a lot easier.
I still tried calling a few places. Logically I stayed away from locations in Jersey, as they seemed the most unlikely. Home Depot said there was no way they could share sales information and hung up on me. A shop in the Bronx didn’t understand what I was asking, and after the old guy said, “Eh? Eh? What do you mean?” three times, I disconnected.
Third on my list was a Brooklyn store, Mortar and More. I dialed the number on my cell and put it to my ear.
“Mortar and More. This is Louise. How can I help you?”
“Hi,” I said, sitting up. “I have sort of a strange request and was hoping to talk to someone in sales?”
“You can talk to me, honey. What do you need?”
“I’m wondering if you can tell me about anyone who may have bought about two hundred bricks from you within the past few days.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Why’s that?”
“Someone’s pulled a prank on my business, and honestly I’m just trying to find out who, since the police are sort of at a loss.”
“Unfortunately I can’t give out the names of our customers, dear.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Are you able to just say whether you’ve sold that number recently?”
“We sell thousands of bricks,” Louise answered. “Every week.”
“But I’m specifically looking for—”
“Sorry,” she said. “You understand, as a business owner yourself, I can’t just give out people’s names and contact information. Good luck.” She hung up.
I growled and put my cell down. This was a pointless effort. It was a good try, but this was going to be my response everywhere. Hell, if someone called me like this, I’d tell them to fuck off too.
“Seb?”
I turned to the door.
Max jutted his thumb behind him. “It’s getting kind of busy with customers and those construction dudes. Can you help me finish cleaning?”
“Sorry. Yeah, I’m done.” I stood and followed him to the front of the Emporium.
Luther’s workers were in the middle of installing my new window and making plenty of noise. Naturally I also had several customers on the floor at that time. And the fucking bricks were still in here. Granted, while I was out, the workers had helped Max move them to the back door, but they left the massive pile there, and my floor was covered in dust.
Max assisted customers at checkout while I grabbed a broom and made quick work of the mess, sweeping it all toward the back. I opened the door and swept the dust into the alley. You’re welcome, Luther. Setting the broom aside after, I started picking up the bricks one by one and piling them into the alley for my landlord to haul away.
It was only after I’d been at this for several moments that I took notice of the bricks in my hands as being different shades. The world existed to me in varying types of gray, due to my achromatopsia, but in reduced lighting, I could still clearly tell when colors differed. To an extent I could even guess colors, but only when it was sort of obvious, like grass was green, my hair was brown, the ocean was blue. These all have unique shades when seen as gray.
My world is vibrant, in its own sense.
So when I turned and went back to the pile of bricks and really started to look, there were a number of mismatching shades. And that told me that there was no way these were bought in a large number from a modern shop. I shut the back door with my foot and crouched down to start examining the bricks.
Some were even and well made; others had small chips or weren’t quite uniform, as if they hadn’t stood the test of time. Most felt well-worn in my hands—so definitely not new. I started pawing through the pile more quickly, finding an abundance that had stampings on them, but it was hard to read. I pulled my magnifying glass from my sweater pocket and held it up to the brick.
Boff—no—Buffalo Blocks.
Huh.
“What’re you doing?”
I looked over my shoulder to see Max staring down at me. “Hey.” I motioned toward the pile. “These aren’t the same colors, are they?”
“Uh, I guess not.”
“What color?”
“Brick color.”
“You’re fucking hysterical,” I said.
Max shrugged. “What’s it matter? They’re like a reddish color. Some are a bit darker, a not really purple. It’s hard to say.”
“But definitely not matching,” I concluded.
“No,” Max said, shaking his head. “Does that mean something?”
I turned to stare at the pile again. “I don’t know. Maybe. They’re old.”
“Want to sell them?” Max asked, and I wasn’t sure if he was joking.
“What I mean is, they weren’t purchased from a store around here, you know? And this…,” I said, raising the brick I had been reading. “Buffalo Blocks.”
“Should that mean somet
hing to me? Hey. Is this like one huge, elaborate test to see if I know as much random shit as you? Am I up for a raise?”
“No, it’s not a test, and no, you get no raise, since you failed.”
“You said it wasn’t a test!”
I shrugged and looked at the brick once more. “Oh. I think this is Buffalo, Kansas.”
Max grumbled.
I set the brick down and wiped my hands on my slacks while standing.
“Wait a minute,” Max said, breaking my concentration. “I know that look.”
I turned to him, raising a brow. “Come again?”
“The weird crease you get here when you’re thinking too hard,” he said, touching his own forehead. “You’re not sleuthing, are you?”
“No.” I moved by before Max could say another word, and went to help a customer.
I WAS drained by the time I made it to my apartment building that evening. Calvin hadn’t called me, I was worried about him after his meltdown at Saul’s, and I hadn’t had any time to research the antique bricks because I was supposed to be running a business. I dragged my ass up the three flights of stairs and caught my neighbor unlocking her door across from mine.
She turned and smiled shyly. “Hi, Mr. Snow.”
I knew her name was Sally Ng, because it was on her mailbox downstairs. Likewise, she probably only knew my last name, because that was all I had put on my tag. “Good evening,” I said.
“Hey—uhm—is your boyfriend a cop?” she asked, lingering in her doorway.
I paused, keys in hand, looking at her again. “Yeah. Why?”
Sally shrugged. She was so tiny, it felt as if I were talking to a kid with the way I had to look down at her. “I saw his gun once.”
“Oh. Right. He’s a detective. Don’t worry.”
She smiled. “That’s good.”
“I hope you weren’t scared.”
“No. He’s nice.”
I nodded. That he was. “Well. Have a good night.”
Sally stepped into her apartment. “You too.” She shut the door.
Ah. Awkward small talk between people living practically on top of each other. I was pondering how old Sally was, since we had been neighbors for several years now, as I shoved open my front door.
But then I saw the body on the floor.