Collecting Shadows Page 2

  A moment later, she looked up with profound sadness at Carlyle. Wanda and Mackey had gathered at the doorway.

  Lucius Mast was dead.

  2

  St. Augustine, Florida. Present Day. Monday, August 8.

  Liam Poston awoke with a start. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Another city; another new start. He already missed his friends. Starting school in one week would be tough enough. Starting it in a place where he knew no one was going to be brutal. He felt the tears come, and he fought them back. A 16-year-old wasn’t supposed to cry.

  Aunt Rita had picked him up at the Greyhound bus station in Jacksonville last night. It had been a 45-minute ride south to St. Augustine. After a snack, he had settled into bed just after midnight. He was exhausted, but it was still several hours before he drifted off to sleep. Now, at 7:30 a.m., he was wide awake.

  There was no use trying to relax. He rose and sat on the edge of the bed. The room was stark, with only the bed, a small nightstand and a worn dresser. The walls were empty. The five boxes and two suitcases with his belongings were stacked in a corner. Aunt Rita never had children—had never married for that matter—so there was no need to furnish a second room.

  Across the way, a tall mirror stood propped against the wall facing him. A brown-eyed teenager with a mop of curly black hair stared back at him. His sterling-silver, cross-on-a-rope necklace with a built-in compass hung cockeyed across his tee shirt, and he straightened it. He studied his face, seeing the sorrow in his own eyes. He wanted so badly to be strong, to approach this as a new start, but he felt the relentless grip of pessimism. He knew the hollow feeling wouldn’t go away just because he had changed cities.

  After a shower, he threw on a white tee shirt and blue jeans. He walked into the kitchen where Aunt Rita sat at the table in her robe drinking coffee and reading. Before last night, Liam had last seen his aunt four years ago when he was 12. He and his parents had stayed in town a few days on vacation. Happy memories of the visit were wiped clean when they had returned to St. Petersburg, Florida, and he was told about his mother’s illness and the short time she had left.

  Pilot, Aunt Rita’s three-year-old Alaskan Malamute, was lying on the hardwood floor. He rose to greet Liam, and Liam gave him a simple pat on the head. He’d never owned a dog and wasn’t used to being around one.

  “Good morning, Liam,” Aunt Rita said, looking up from her tablet. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Not bad,” he lied. His voice was lifeless, and he knew it.

  “Would you like something to drink? Do you like coffee? There’s some in the pot.” She pointed to the counter.

  He nodded and poured a cup. He added sugar and sat back down at the table, stirring it absentmindedly.

  Aunt Rita continued, “I must confess, I’m not much of a cook, but I’ve got cereal in the cabinet.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She put down her tablet. “I know this isn’t easy. Nelson thought you could use a fresh start.”

  “I know.”

  “St. Augustine is a great little town. I think you’ll like it here.”

  “Yeah, a great little town. Just wonderful,” he said, unenthusiastically.

  “Give it a chance,” she laid a comforting hand on his wrist. “Remember, beginning today, you work in my shop downstairs.” She smiled. “I can’t have you acting all mopey toward the customers. You’re going to have to smile.”

  He exhaled. She was right. Aunt Rita had let go of her only employee, a teenager who had worked in the antique toy shop for nearly a year and a half, so she could hire Liam. He would try to put on a happy face, even if it was only a mask.

  He decided breakfast was in order after all. After a bowl of cereal, Rita got dressed, and the two of them went downstairs to the shop with the black-and-white dog following close behind.

  Last night, Liam had barely paid attention to his surroundings as they had passed through the shop. Now he saw the assortment of items and games on display. An antique cash register sat on the back counter. “Wow. How old is this thing?” he asked, pointing at the register.

  “Old enough. Ever worked a register like this one before?”

  “Is there anyone alive who has?”

  Rita chuckled. “I’m barely 40, and you’re making me feel very old.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. You’re going to be good for me, Liam. I’m a bit out of touch with your generation, and I don’t get out much. Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. Reaching into her pants pocket, she pulled out a flip phone. “This is for you. I know it’s not what you’d like, but as soon as you make some money, you can get a smartphone. Until then, you’ll be included on my plan, and I’ll pay for your minutes.”

  Liam stared at the phone. It wasn’t that he was unappreciative, but he could never pull this phone out in public for fear of ridicule. It might actually be older than the cash register.

  Aunt Rita glimpsed at the antique clock on the near wall. “8:45. We open in 15 minutes, but we rarely see anyone in here before 9:30. I need to make a deposit at the bank on the corner. The bank opens at 9:00, so I’ll be back just after opening. On the off chance someone does come in and buys something with cash, just use the calculator beside the register to add the sales tax, then push the tender button on the register to give change. Tax is six-and-a-half percent. If they need to use a card to pay, delay them until I get back.”

  “How would I delay them?”

  “Engage them in conversation. Ask them where they’re from, where they’re staying. Mention some of the history. Do you know about the Hotel Ponce de León down the street, which is now Flagler College? Or anything about Henry Flagler himself?”

  “No to both.”

  “Well, then get them to talk about themselves. Everyone loves to do that.”

  “I guess.” Liam looked back at the clock. He was confused. “Is that clock for real?”

  “Of course. It’s over 100 years old. Why?”

  “It has IIII instead of the Roman numeral IV.”

  “Clock makers occasionally used four I’s instead of IV. No one knows why. It’s as if they got into a bad habit and kept it up. You’d be surprised how many people ask me about it.”

  Aunt Rita grabbed an envelope behind the counter. “Pilot, stay here with Liam.”

  The Malamute lay on a small, round rug in the corner. His ears perked up when he heard his name, but he didn’t try to follow her.

  As she was leaving, Aunt Rita pointed to a hanging sign on the back of the door. “At exactly 9:00, turn this sign around to OPEN. I’ll be back as fast as I can. Until then, you may want to begin to familiarize yourself with the merchandise. The more you know about the toys, the better. Oh, and I’ll train you on the cash register when I return.”

  Liam thought about his aunt as she walked out of the shop. She was old—in her early 40s—but she was in good shape, had long brunette hair, and he supposed she had an attractive face. His father used to say she had “classic facial features”—whatever that meant—and that his sister attracted men like flies, so it was curious that she had never started a family.

  Suddenly, everything was quiet. Liam looked to Pilot who stared back at him. “Guess it’s time to look around,” he said to the dog. The interior was a little larger than the size of the family room in their house in St. Petersburg. Many of the antique toys were displayed in glass cases. He assumed these were the more valuable items and, checking the prices, he was right. On the far wall to the right, shelves held wooden, mostly hand-carved toys. He walked over to a free-standing bookcase which contained vintage board games on the top two shelves, including Monopoly, Clue, a Ouija board, Mystery Date, and Scrabble. The lowest shelves held used children’s books.

  Aunt Rita had one display case labeled Toys from the Early 1900s. Each toy had a small placard in front of it with the name of the toy and date of manufacture: Tiddlywinks (1901), Erector Set (1913), Lincoln Logs (1916), Piggy Bank (1903), Cu
p and Ball (1902), Spinning Top (1907). Liam walked from one side of the shop to the other looking over the items.

  At 9:00, Liam swung the OPEN sign around. He had no sooner turned his back, when the glass door opened, startling him. He whipped around.

  Standing before him was a teenage girl with long strawberry-blonde hair and fringed bangs down to her eyebrows. Lively brown eyes were set within a soft face fresh with a summer tan. She was wearing a white shirt, green shorts, and green tennis shoes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You…you didn’t.” Liam composed himself.

  Pilot went to the girl and nuzzled her, wagging his tail, his dark gray eyes sparkling. She bent down to pet him. “Hey, boy. How are you doing?” Then she spoke to Liam, “You must be Ms. Poston’s nephew.”

  “Uh, yeah,” he barely managed. He cleared his throat, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “I’m Bailey. Bailey Deeth. Is Ms. Poston here?” she asked. Pilot remained at her side.

  Liam found his voice. “She just went to the bank. Should be back in a few minutes. You can wait, if you like.”

  “I don’t have time. I’ve got to be at an interview. I was hoping to get my check.”

  “Check?” Liam didn’t understand. “For what?”

  Bailey started to speak, hesitated, then fixed her gaze on Liam. “I used to work here. You…um…have my old job.”

  Liam was speechless. How could he be so stupid not to figure out she was the employee Aunt Rita had released?

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

  “I’ve got to go. Please tell her I’ll be by later this afternoon.” Bailey looked past Liam at the wall, the display cases, the bookshelf. “I’m really going to miss this place.”

  Liam wanted to console her, wanted to apologize again for being the one responsible for her losing her job, but he froze. His emotions had been out of whack for over a year, and he didn’t know how to respond or what to say. So he gave the only reply he could muster, “I will.”

  With that, Bailey left the shop.

  Two minutes later, Aunt Rita returned.

  Liam told his aunt about Bailey stopping by. She nodded and offered to watch the shop while he went upstairs and unpacked. He still had his bedroom to set up, so he took advantage of the time. By 11:00 a.m., he was back downstairs.

  “You settled in?”

  “Sorta. Any customers?”

  “A few. One purchased a rather expensive antique toy. If I could get two or three purchases like that each day, it would be nice.”

  “Do you have a website for orders?”

  “Yes, but most of our sales come from tourists strolling by who stop in out of curiosity. Every once in a while, we’ll get an online order; usually someone in search of a specific toy to remind them of their youth.”

  Youth, Liam thought. He couldn’t understand why adults always wanted to be young again. He would give anything to leap ahead 10 or 20 years in his life. Maybe then the pain would be gone.

  3

  Over the next hour, several customers came and went. Only one made a purchase: an old Lionel engine for a train set. Aunt Rita gave Liam a crash course on how to work the register. At noon, Aunt Rita grabbed Pilot’s leash. “You mind walking him? I’ll fix us sandwiches for lunch.”

  He nodded. She attached the leash to Pilot, and the Malamute led Liam to the door.

  “You don’t have to take him far. I usually walk him down the street on the other side of the road, and we cut down Markland Place. Generally, he knows to avoid moving cars, but keep an eye on him. Oh, and take this in case you need it.” She reached behind the counter, caught up to them at the door, and handed Liam a small plastic bag. “Gotta keep the town clean,” she said with a grin.

  “Great.” Liam took the bag. He prayed to God he didn’t have to use it.

  They walked outside. It was overcast, yet still muggy, like the other Florida cities in August where he’d grown up. Pilot directed him right, staying to the sidewalk, and Liam followed behind. It was clear the dog had a routine, and Liam let the Malamute take the lead. They passed a number of businesses and people. In time, Pilot edged toward the street, stopped, and looked to the other side.

  “You want to cross over?”

  Pilot wagged his tail. Liam checked traffic, and they crossed the street. They reached the far sidewalk, continuing in the same direction. In the distance, the imposing red and white towers of a structure filled the skyline.

  Ahead, Liam saw the green street sign for Markland Place. They turned the corner, and the dog led them forward until he lifted his leg and relieved himself in the grassy right-of-way.

  “Okay, Pilot, let’s get back to the shop.”

  Pilot continued on, determined to keep the walk under way. Liam started to resist but quickly relented. Why not? The shop wasn’t busy. Aunt Rita wouldn’t mind.

  Markland dead-ended at Valencia Street. Pilot crossed to the other side and turned up the adjacent sidewalk, taking Liam with him.

  Dominating a large tract of land at the next street corner, a massive church rose; a basilica, if Liam recognized the Italian design correctly. Although of no interest to him, he couldn’t help noticing the magnitude of the structure. The main sanctuary was beige with terra cotta details. It had a turquoise dome—maybe copper—which towered over everything in the neighborhood. Most of the windows appeared to be stained glass. A broad set of stone steps rose to meet a series of Roman columns. Behind the portico stood three mahogany doors. To the side, a squat, eggshell-colored rotunda was connected to the main structure. The gardens of the church were bordered by low, thick stone walls and well-groomed hedges.

  Above the main door, an engraving within a stone circle read:

  AD

  1889

  Just below, large bold letters proclaimed:

  In Memoriam

  There was nothing to specify whose memory it was dedicated to.

  Liam considered the date of 1889. Man, this thing was old. He thought of ways he might redesign the church using contemporary patterns of random lines, looping curves, and generous spacing. There were always ways to update old designs and improve a building, and this relic was in total need of a redo.

  ****

  “You were gone longer than I thought you would be,” Aunt Rita smiled when they returned.

  “Pilot led me down some side streets,” Liam said, detaching the leash from the dog’s collar.

  “Oh? See anything of interest? I remember your father telling me you have a deep fondness for architecture. He mentioned once how he had shown you some of the plans for projects he was working on, and you seemed to have an innate understanding. His quote was, ‘Liam has an unusual eye for detail.’ ”

  Liam smirked. “I do love architecture but, unlike my father, I don’t care for old buildings. I like contemporary stuff.”

  Aunt Rita seemed perplexed. “I bet you don’t know much about the buildings around here. If you did, you might appreciate them.”

  “Nothing personal, Aunt Rita, but I seriously doubt it.”

  4

  As promised, Aunt Rita made sandwiches, and they ate them at the counter. Throughout the afternoon, customers trickled in and nosed around. A few bought items, but most just browsed. Liam remained on the lookout for Bailey with conflicted anticipation. He wanted to see her again, but he knew the situation would be awkward for him.

  “Mondays are slow,” Aunt Rita said with a chuckle as 4:00 p.m. arrived. To Liam, it was an uncomfortable laugh.

  “Liam, can you please take the trash out?” she asked, tying up the bag behind the counter. “There’s a dumpster behind the shop. Use the back door.” She pointed toward a narrow hallway in back and handed him the bag.

  He hesitated. He didn’t want to miss Bailey when she returned.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “No,” Liam responded. He would do it quickly.

  Outside, Liam sp
otted the dumpster to the left in the alley, braced against the back of another building. It was still scorching hot, but at least the dumpster was beneath the overhang of the building. He walked up to the container and grabbed the swinging lid to open it. Sudden movement on the left startled him.

  “Shit,” he jumped, craning his head around the side.

  A tanned man stood and faced him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said in a gruff voice. He had the stubble of an early beard and scruffy brown hair. He wore a faded, long-sleeved ruby-colored shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms. Despite his appearance, he didn’t strike Liam as a threat.

  Liam didn’t know what to say. “I’m…I’m just throwing away the trash.” He tossed it in, closed the lid, and turned to walk away. Hesitating, he spun back toward the man. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, kid,” his tone was pleasant but insincere.

  Liam noticed a dingy backpack lying on the ground against the dumpster beside him. Clothes were bulging from the top where the zipper wasn’t closed. He wondered if the guy was a drug addict.

  Liam returned to the shop. Aunt Rita must have noticed his curious expression. “What’s up?”

  “There’s a man behind the shop chillin’ by the dumpster.”

  “Did he bother you?”

  “No.”

  “Just avoid him, Liam.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “No, but St. Augustine has a large homeless population. He’s probably a transient. They wander from the back of one building to another begging for food.”

  “He didn’t ask me for anything.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s best to keep your distance.”

  Liam thought about the man. He appeared to be in his forties; about the same age his dad had been. He had seen homeless people before, but they’d always been haggard, their clothes in tatters. This guy didn’t look that bad, although he did need a shower and shave.