Savoir Faire

Scene One – The ballerina’s secret

Kate gave the box a delicate shake and something rattled out from under the ballerina’s perch. A single thin wedding band slipped loose and rolled around the case. Still, the ballerina didn’t spin. Kate poked gently around the dancer’s base and pulled out a folded card which released an even more delicate ring. Slowly, the tiny dancer came to life as the first rusty notes of Für Elise tinkled out, tentatively, achingly, completing a pirouette. Kate smiled and silently applauded the hesitant performance.

Slipping the rings over a finger, Kate gently pried open the card and read:

 

“Wow. An invitation to a wedding celebration … from more than sixty years ago,” Kate whispered as she tenderly turned the card around in her hands. “And double wow. That address—I live on Palmerston. I wonder if anyone living at 352 now knows who this family is… or was?”

Scene Two – The gathering

Brrr-i-nng. Brrr-i-nng. “I hate the sound of that bell,” Jaz muttered to herself.

There was loud banging on the door and a rattle of the doorknob. “Hey!” Kate exclaimed. “Is this some exclusive joint? You trying to keep the riffraff out?!”

Jaz laughed and flung the heavy oak door open again. “You’re here. Marvelous! C’mon in.” She greeted Kate with a big hug. “Riffraff are very welcome here. Exclusivity is overrated.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Kate retorted. “I was down the street a bit when this extraordinarily stunning woman, Catherine Deneuve incarnate, stepped out of a limo near your place. Seemed very exclusive to me. I did a double take when I realized it was—”

“Moi!” interrupted Harper merrily as she flung her arms in the air, making her presence unmistakable. “It was just an Uber, not a limo,” Harper countered. “I’m not that exclusive.”

“Oui! Oui! Bien sûr, c’était toi,” Kate exclaimed as Harper strode over to greet her.

Kate laughed as Harper pulled her in for la bise—a quick brush of both cheeks, perfectly Parisienne.

“You’re back! Wonderful! Bienvenue! How was your trip?” Kate asked.

“Let’s have some wine, mes amies. I’m absolutely at least a glass or two ahead of you both,” Harper urged. “And let me tell you all about Julien—I mean Paris—so ravishing, enchanting and delicious. Merveilleux!”

“Which was ravishing, enchanting and delicious, Julien or Paris?” Jaz asked.

“Both!” Harper replied with a devilish laugh.

Scene Three – Rings and possibilities

Banished from the kitchen, Kate and Harper were sitting on the purple velvet Chesterfield sofa. The magnificent, regal piece was surrounded by masses of floor cushions and footstools loaded with throws and pillows. It was the only piece of furniture in the room with arms and a back. Comfortable, enormous and well-loved.

As Jaz completed the final touches to dinner, they chattered away. Harper continued to regale them with tales of Paris, with much emphasis—and no luscious detail spared—on the spring fling she’d had with an exquisite young French artist named Julien.

Kate got up to set the table. Jaz passed her the plates, napkins and cutlery. Turning back to the kitchen, Kate said, “You’ve given me four plates and things, Jaz.” She tried to hand the extra back.

“It’s okay. Go ahead and set for four.” Jaz grinned impishly as a loud thud resounded from the balcony. A heavy construction plank landed on the balcony railing, Jake’s solution to the inconvenient gap between his balcony and hers.

A pair of tan deck shoes leapt off the plank onto the balcony. Jake emerged from the forest of potted plants, dusted off his jeans and faded blue linen shirt. He ran his hands through his damp, blond sun-streaked hair, tucking the loose, curled ends behind his ears.

“Oo-oooh,” Harper exclaimed. “Are we having a little dessert with dinner?”

Jaz giggled.

Kate and Harper stared with intrigue as a beaming young man entered through the balcony door. “Good evening, ladies! I hope you’re all well,” he called out warmly. The women returned the greeting delightedly. Jaz introduced Jake as her new neighbor.

“He moved here a few weeks ago. He’s from Australia.” Jaz sputtered a bit, suddenly nervous. She was apparently a little embarrassed now that Harper knew they were more than just neighbors. Blushing, she blustered on, “Well, he was born and raised in Australia. Spent time in B.C. He works in construc—”

“Ja-az, let the boy talk,” Harper interrupted and winked lasciviously.

Jake was about 25 years old, handsome and clearly a welcome addition to the dinner party.

Bright, casual conversation flowed throughout dinner, interlaced with gentle teasing and sensual innuendo. They sprawled on Jaz’s jungle of cushions and ottomans around the coffee table, which was actually a large oval dining table whose legs Jaz sawed off. Set with flowers and colorful candles, mismatched plates, napkins and flatware, the table was a marvelous jumble of riches even before the meal was served.

Dinner was delicious, abundant and, as always with Jaz, a feast for the senses. The air was thick with the lingering earthy warmth of the spinach and chickpea tagine—cinnamon and cumin, ginger, smoked paprika and a whisper of saffron. Alongside was a platter of grilled, spiced chicken and bowls of cucumber and carrot salads. All followed by fresh, tangy mango and raspberry gelato. Every mouthful hummed with spice and the slow unfolding of Morocco’s deep, intoxicating flavors. Sublime.

Harper entertained with luscious French trifles that bewitched her audience. The group relished every detail, interrupting with questions and the occasional salacious aside.

During a momentary lull, Kate piped up, “I made a couple of interesting discoveries at Salmagundi this afternoon.”

“Oh, do tell,” Jaz insisted.

“Yes,” Harper added, “let’s hear some other worldly stories from that marvelous potpourri of Étienne’s. Earthly, yet otherworldly. And somewhere other than Paris, for a change.”

“You know, even though I’ve worked with Étienne for years, there’s always something new to discover,” Kate said. “Anyway, I’m dusting and poking around, checking things out. I came across a charming little box covered with a carving of a jungle full of monkeys. It was light, so I, of course, thought it was empty.” Jaz and Harper issued little gasps, having heard some of Kate’s Salmagundi stories before. “I cracked it open to see. It wasn’t empty… inside was a dried-up monkey’s paw.” Bigger gasps escaped from the gathering. Kate smiled, slightly relishing the effect of her story.

“I didn’t open another thing. Until later, when I spotted an old jewelry box. This, I thought, might be safe to get nosy about. I opened it and it was a regular old jewelry box… ballerina, Für Elise and velvet lining. It was lovely.” Kate sighed. “Unfortunately, it was pretty much broken. The tune was a little rusty. The beautiful little ballerina did not spin. The velvet lining was crumbling and peeling. So sad. I poked around a bit to see why she wouldn’t pirouette and found these.” She laid the card and rings on the table.

Gentle cries of “Oh, wow,” “Beautiful,” and “Fascinating” came from around the table. Then the questions started. “Who are these folks?” “Why both rings in the box?” “Right. And not on folks’ fingers?” And of course, “What are you going to do with them?”

“I know, right? Amazing,” Kate responded. “The only thing I do know is that this wedding celebration, from 60-odd years ago, was in a home right here on Palmerston.”

Jaz picked up the card. “Hey. You’re right, that’s just up the street. Literally what? Ten houses, or something? Incredible!” she said.

“How romantic!” Jake said. “Imagine the possibilities. They eloped and lived happily ever after on some glorious, foreign, tropical island. Leaving everything and everyone behind.”

Harper offered another possibility. “The groom got cold feet and jilted the girl at the altar.”

“Or the bride came to her senses and she backed out,” Jaz countered.

“Wised up. Right. You go girl,” Jake agreed. They all laughed.

After a moment of reflection, Kate said, “Maybe I’ll just stop by the house and see if the current resident has any connection. Knows anything about this—Oh!! Wait. I just remembered I met a woman this afternoon just up the street. I’d just finished walking Beowulf.” She paused and looked around the table. “Her name was Elise.”

Scene Four – Paris follows Harper home

“What a lovely night,” Harper said.

“Mmm, and that dinner, yum. Typical Jaz. Fabulous Jaz,” Kate added. “Welcome home, again, Harper. I’m glad you had such a fabulous time in Paris. You deserved every minute of it.”

“Thank you, darling. And you! What a delightful mystery you’ve uncovered. Keep me in the loop. I want to know every detail,” Harper responded. She leaned in; they shared a quick hug and la bise good night.

Kate unlocked her trusty steed and turned north towards home.

Harper stepped into her waiting rideshare. She greeted the driver and sighed as she got comfortable in the back seat for the ride home.

As the car pulled into her condo building’s wide driveway, she spotted a man lurking in the shadows. She tensed a bit as she was about to open the car door. She stopped. “Would you give me a moment, please?” she said to the driver. She reached into her bag, pulled out her cell phone and dialed the front desk.

“Good evening, The Lighthouse Condominium, front desk. Max Barton speaking, how may I help you?”

“Good evening, Max. This is Harper Bond. I’m outside in a Uber and there’s a fellow loitering in the shadows here. He’s making me a little uneasy. Would you mind meeting me at the door?”

“Yes, of course, Ms. Bond. Coming now.” She watched as Max stepped out from behind the marble counter and crossed the grand lobby.

As Max opened the tall brass and glass doors, Harper stepped out of the car, smiling gratefully at him. Just then, the man burst from the shadows and rushed toward Harper, arms stretched wide. She shrieked and recoiled. Max leapt forward and brought him down in a linebacker tackle.

“Harper! Chérie! Mon amour!” the man cried, struggling in Max’s grip.

Shocked, Harper called out, “Julien? JULIEN?! What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you! I missed you!” Julien said in heavily accented English.

Still rattled, Harper said, “Max, thank you. It’s okay. I know this man. You can let him go. He’s not a threat. Just a massive surprise.” Harper sighed.

Harper and Julien gathered themselves, said good night to Max and headed up to Harper’s penthouse suite. There was no one else in the elevator, but Julien and Harper didn’t speak as they sped up 46 stories. Harper unlocked her door and invited Julien into her sleek, modern home.

It was a corner suite, its floor-to-ceiling windows facing south and west, with spectacular views across Lake Ontario. Sailboats and motorboats dotted the water, ferries crossed to the Toronto Islands, and on a clear day you could see right across the lake. Sunsets were often magical. Harper never tired of the vast view.

Her furniture and décor were minimalist—mostly black and white, with leather, marble, and glass—quite masculine, yet elegant.

They talked awkwardly for a bit over a glass of wine. After a while, Harper asked firmly, “Julien, what are you really doing here?”

“I’ve come to be with you, mon amour, bien sûr. Why else?” Julien responded, apparently surprised by her question.

“What do you mean ‘to be with me’, exactly?” Harper asked without hesitation.

“Is my English not good, chérie? To be with you. You and me together,” Julien replied, grinning joyfully. He held up his hands, pressed his palms together and interlocked his fingers in a solid grip. “Ensemble.”

Harper stared in disbelief. Her brow furrowed, her mouth slightly ajar. Beneath the disbelief, though, was the tiniest hint of delight.

Scene Five – Foreplay, apparently

Jaz paused for a moment before her bedroom door to survey the after-dinner chaos remaining in the living room. The table was still strewn with napkins, wine glasses, a couple of wine bottles and other miscellanea. The cushions were in complete chaos… not all that different from her norm. Jaz loved the riotous tableau of color and texture. It was an almost exact representation of herself.

Jake grabbed Jaz’s hand and pulled her into the bedroom, closing the door after them.

“Hey, hey, heeey, slow down, Cowboy,” Jaz said. “Uh, do you have cowboys back home?”

“Yeah, we do. Jackaroos,” Jake replied.

“Well, okay, Jackaroo. How ’bout a little attention to detail before, umm, diving in… jumping in or whatever you Australian cowboys do?” Jaz asked.

“Hmm, you’re right, of course. A little foreplay is always in order,” Jake admitted. After a little pause, he asked, “Buuut, haven’t you already had a full day of foreplay? All the prepping of that magnificent meal?”

Jaz thought for a moment, then said, “Oooh, aren’t you a clever, sexy devil. I’ve really been playing at the fore all day, haven’t I? Chopping, slicing and dicing for hours. Spicing and herbing, testing and tasting, tasting and savoring and savoring… More chopping and slicing and—”

Jake took over. “And dicing, chopping, chopping and chopping… Oh, yeah. Ooh, yeah, YEAH… yu-u-um. Yes… YES!”

After a brief pause, Jaz teased, “Hmm. I’ll have what he’s having.”

Laughing, giggling and the rustling of bedclothes ensued.

Scene Six – 352 Palmerston Boulevard

It wasn’t that late, but the night was dark and eerily quiet. This, combined with Kate’s encounter with the monkey’s paw, had her a little spooked. There was not a soul on the street as she rode home. Beyond the distant city noise from College Street, the only sounds were the rattle of Merlin’s frame and whir of his wheels.

The address was a little more than halfway between Jaz’s and Kate’s, up Palmerston. She slowed as she approached the house. She’d lived in the area for years and loved and admired the neighborhood every time she passed through.

She dismounted and rested Merlin against the lamppost in front of the old Matheson residence, 352 Palmerston Boulevard, one of the aging beauties on the street. Still grand and graceful, but it had not borne the passing of time well.

The same was true of the grounds. Barred by a black iron fence, the front yard was overgrown with weeds and tangled garden remains. Small stone pillars held the fragile, rusted gate almost upright on its hinges. Even in the dark of night, the house and grounds were clearly neglected, tired and worn.

Kate leaned lightly against the stone gatepost, slipping into the parties of yesteryear, big band music flowing through her mind. Imagining a dance, Kate rested a hand on the creaky gate. The security lights flared to life, yanking her out of her reverie. Heart pounding, she stumbled back, grabbed Merlin and flew home.

Scene One – Jaz

“Brrr-i-nnng. Brrr-i-nnng.” The abrasive sound of the old twist doorbell rang out, always impatient. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” Jaz called as she stumbled out of her bedroom. Wearing only grey sweats and a sports bra, she wrestled with her tangled, Western U hoodie. One arm completely inside out, the other only partially right way around. She managed to get it on wrong way out, as she clambered over the colorful piles of floor cushions and ottomans which filled her living room. She squawked, scowled and swore when she stubbed her toe on a footstool and tugged impatiently at her sweatshirt.

“Brrr-i-nnng. Brrr-i-nnng.” “I’m coming!!” she shouted again.

Growling, she managed finally to get her sweatshirt on right side out. Jaz yanked the black hair elastic off her wrist, swiftly wrapped her mass of black, wavy hair up into a messy bun, stopped for a moment by the kitchen, and inhaled deeply, savoring the heady aromas from the Moroccan tagine simmering away on the stove.

Calmed by the deep breath and delicious smells, she looked back at the bare-chested young man who tumbled out of her bedroom after her, t-shirt tossed over his shoulder and struggling to pull on grey sweatpants. Jaz strode backwards towards the front door, flapping her hands to shoo him out the balcony door. “Hurry. Hurry,” she whispered sharply, smirking to herself as he hopped from one leg to the other trying to shove his bare feet into his shoes. Giving up, he pulled open the balcony door and waved a quick ‘see ya later’ at Jaz, with the hand that held his socks and runners, and leapt out onto the balcony.

Jaz yanked open the heavy oak door greeting Harper with glee. “Harper, welcome home! Ooh-la-la! How was Paris?” She embraced her friend warmly.

Scene Two – Harper

“Fabulous!” Harper purred, leaning around Jaz, craning to get a better look at the balcony where she spied a backside clad in a pair of Juicy Couture sweats disappear into the forest of potted plants Jaz called her kitchen garden. Crooking an eyebrow questioningly, Harper asked, “A little dessert before dinner?”

Embarrassed, Jaz ushered Harper in, as she giggled, “Indeed. And how sweet it was.” She followed Harper’s gaze to check that her visitor had made a successful escape. “Come on, let’s have some wine and you can tell me all about Gay Paree!”

Harper, indeed, had the look of classic Parisian chic. She wore well-fitting jeans, a crisp, white shirt, a bold, red pashmina and red suede Hermès ankle boots. Her infamous Jackie O shades held her deep, chocolate brown hair away from her face. Tall and incredibly striking in appearance, her Athenian features reflected her elegance and her formidable corporate lawyer presence.

Harper swept into Jaz’s home. “And you can tell me all about what you had for dessert,” Harper teased.

Scene Three – Kate

Beowulf spotted somebody walking down Palmerston Boulevard and simply sat. Kate was partway up the walk at the other end of his leash. She was jerked to a complete stop by Beowulf’s sit. One leg flew up in the air. One arm outstretched behind, her wrist tangled in the leash, Kate spun around on tiptoes. Finally she landed face-to-face with the mountain of a dog. He licked and slurped her adoringly for the performance. A canine equivalent of a standing ovation?

“Wulfie!” she squawked as she struggled to move him toward the house. “Come on, you beautiful beast! Time to go home.” Kate leaned over the giant Harlequin Great Dane, rubbing his ears and head. Following his gaze up the boulevard, she spotted what had caught his attention. An elderly woman, well dressed in a somewhat dated look, but couture, nonetheless. She was tiny, slightly bent with age, yet carried herself with a frail, faded grace. The woman wore an elegant, pink, vintage Chanel suit with navy trim. Her navy pill-box hat was set at a slight, jaunty angle. She proceeded slowly with the aid of a walker.

Kate held firmly onto Beowulf, ever the hero, but unpredictable. She wasn’t sure if it was the walker or the candy-pink, chew-toy-like image of the small woman that likely bounced around in his head that he lusted after, but at 125 lbs, he could easily demolish both with hugs and kisses. Beowulf was sure to devour either of them. He was a good boy. He adored people and toys and anything that resembled either.

Beowulf’s excitement grew as the woman slowly drew closer. Wriggling around on his spot as the woman approached, he slapped Kate up the side of her face with his enormous, wet tongue several times. “I have to stop using the lemon verbena moisturizer when I walk Wulfie. He likes the taste way too much.” She sighed to herself, dodging the beast as he tried to go in for seconds and thirds.

Beowulf jumped to his feet and barked in a happy, friendly greeting. A “C’mon, play with me,” bark. “We can roll around on the grass. I have a nice lawn here and a bigger one out back.” He was prancing excitedly from one paw to another, tail and bum wagging wildly.

“He’s very friendly,” Kate called out. “He loves to greet people. He’s just so-o-o big. Wulfie, sii-i-it.” Beowulf sat, still vibrating with excitement. “Good boy,” Kate said, rubbing his head as she moved to hug him between her legs. Beowulf, panting, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, began to calm down. Kate kept gently cooing to him, rubbing his head and ears.

The woman stepped closer, offering her white cotton gloved hand for a sniff. “Aren’t you a lovely boy?” she said calmly a few times.

Relieved that he didn’t mistake her for the giant chew toy, Kate echoed, “Yes, he is a lovely boy.”  Making introductions, Kate said, “This is Beowulf, Wulfie for short. I live in the neighborhood. Not here, though. I’m just walking this big, beautiful beast,” she said. “I’m Kate, by the way.”

“Well, Beowulf, you are an extraordinary creature—a strong, courageous hero, I’m sure—protecting the neighborhood from squirrels,” the woman chuckled.

Kate laughed, “Indeed. Squirrels, acorns, and the occasional runaway juice box.”

“Wonderful!” she exclaimed gently. “Nice to meet you both, Kate. I’m Elise. Have a lovely afternoon. I hope we meet again,” Elise said, giving Beowulf a goodbye caress.

“Thank you. You too, Elise,” Kate replied, hugging Beowulf tightly as he squirmed to deliver his farewell.

Kate toiled to coax Beowulf into the house. When she finally succeeded, she kissed the creature goodbye and made her way outside.

Kate pulled her own beast out from the side of the house—a baby blue vintage Reid three-speed.

“Merlin, my trusty steed,” Kate said, patting the old, tan leather seat. She mounted her bicycle and pedaled down Palmerston Boulevard.

Scene Four – Jaz

Jaz was in her element, stirring, smelling, tasting. Adding a pinch of this and a dollop of that. Bliss.

Harper’s voice cut in sharply. “Jaz, where’d you go?! Here I’ve been waxing poetic about my adventures in Paris and you haven’t heard a word I said, have you?”

“No, no, Harper, I was listening, honest,” Jaz grumbled.

“All right then, what is the name of my Parisian lover?” Harper demanded, laughing.

“Um… er…  uh… it had something to do with cooking,” Jaz muttered. “Ganache, brioche, basil, consommé, al fresco, chiffonade—oh! Chiff, Chip, Chas. No! Julien!” she exclaimed.

“Finally! Though really, Chiff? What kind of a name is that?” Harper asked.

“Well, you know chiffonade, julienne, brunoise,” Jaz said loftily. “It’s all cuisine to me.”

Scene Five – Kate

Kate loved this time of year with all the early shades of green everywhere. The first bursts of color from spring blooms—snowdrops, hyacinths, daffodils—peeking through the delicate greens in the front gardens all along the street.

Kate swooped along the boulevard, feet up in the air off the pedals every once in a while. Clad in Chucks and Lululemon gear, absentmindedly sailing along the way.

It was a lovely spring day. The warm, early afternoon sunlight was filtering through the canopy of old maple trees that shaded the charismatic street. This mile-long stretch of Palmerston was a charming enclave in Toronto, bound at each end by stone and wrought iron gates, Bloor Street to the north and College Street to the south. Both sides of the boulevard were lined cheek to jowl with late Victorian red brick homes. Not quite mansions, but grand and majestic, nonetheless. Old-fashioned cast-iron lamp posts ran along the sidewalks. A peaceful elegance still lingered here, a whisper of the past breezing through the street.

Leaving the quiet neighborhood, Kate rode east along busy College Street for a few blocks, then south through the chaos of sounds and colors that was Kensington Market. Fruit and cheese shops, bakeries, aromatic spice stores, a multitude of cafes and restaurants, the market was always bustling. She crossed Spadina Avenue through Chinatown and on to the few blocks of Baldwin Village.

A small collection of late Victorian storefronts, most now updated and converted to chic restaurants, bistros and cafes, Baldwin Village continued to house a few older businesses, including an old antiques and curiosities shop called Salmagundi, where Kate worked a few afternoons a week.

Pushing open the store door, Kate was welcomed by the mellow ring of the brass doorbell, the rich aromas of cigars, cardamom, and coffee. The warm air was filled with scent of sandalwood, old books and dust, and strains of Édith Piaf singing La Vie en rose.

Kate’s sensory reverie was interrupted by Étienne’s warm greeting, “Ah, bonjour, Katherine, mon petit chou! Comment ça va?”

“Bonjour, Étienne! I’m well, thank you. And you?” Kate replied. She hung her jacket up on the rack behind the desk and bent to give Étienne light kisses on each cheek. “Coffee’s hot, shall I pour you a cup?’

Kate inhaled the rich aroma of the coffee infused with cardamom.

They chatted for a bit, before Kate turned her attention to the shop and began her vain attempts to tidy piles, stacks and collections of items.

Soft spring light shone through the store windows. It was early afternoon, too early for any hint of sunset to be in the light, but there were shades of red, orange and yellow glinting on objects in the shop. The hints of green, blue and purple gave away the secret of the aged, stained-glass transom panel above the entryway.

Admiring the glints of light, Kate absentmindedly dusted the various relics, trinkets and treasures as she wandered the shop. Salmagundi was a curiosity shop, packed to the brim with antiques, objets d’art and regular old, odd objects—a myriad of kitsch and curios. Established in 1916 and nestled in Baldwin Village, Salmagundi was owned by Kate’s great-uncle, Étienne Beaufort de Orléans, for many years now.

She ran a feather duster over shelves, between stacks of books and plates, inside and over vases and jars, pulling out her damp cloth when a smudge needed to be removed, her dry shammy when a quick polish was required. This weekly undertaking felt like an abundant scavenger hunt to her. There were prizes and treasures everywhere, and her goal was to find them all. She did tire of the pursuit some days most often after happening upon one too many a horrific objects—a dead tarantula, a stuffed rat, a shrunken skull—before finding a treasure—an old family photo, some rare coins or antique jewelry.

This was one of those days. She had lifted the lid of one box carved with delightful little monkeys playing in a jungle scene. Gently lifting the lid, she shrieked at what was inside—a shriveled monkey’s paw. She snapped the lid closed loudly.

Étienne called out from behind a gentle curl of cigar smoke, “Chérie? Are you all right?

“Oui. Oui. Merci. I’m okay,” she replied. “I just found a-a-a thing, a thing in a thing… Again.” She shuddered. “You’re quietly, gently going around dusting, opening bits and bobs, finding little treasures and then BOOM this thing or some other wretched thing pops up. Su-u-uch a delight,” she added with unnoticed sarcasm.

“Yes, it’s like a little magical kingdom, isn’t it?” Étienne empathized. “You never know what’s going to turn up.”  He looked at his watch. “Bon! Time for me to go. The game of Pétanque waits for no man,” he said as he stood. Folding his newspaper on the table, he knocked the ash off his cigar and laid it to rest on the heavy brass ashtray.

He was a robust man in his eighties. His appearance depicted some bygone era.  His thick mustache, long sideburns, and mostly absent hair were bright white, the telltale vestiges of his ginger-haired youth. He slipped on his Burberry trench coat and lifted his fedora from the rack.

“Have a lovely evening, ma puce. Wish the ladies well for me. And you’ll have to tell me all about Harper’s Parisienne adventures, salacious and otherwise. Not a detail to be excluded, especially of the former.” He winked expressively. Etienne kissed Kate on the forehead. The bell above the door sounded as he left.

Kate chuckled to herself over Étienne’s insatiable appetite for all things French and his deep interest in Harper’s affairs. She continued with her housekeeping, adjusting the displays here and there, potentially bringing more disorder than order. Pausing to admire her new arrangements, she spied a little sparkle peeking out from between some stacks of books. She reached in and gently maneuvered out a small, old jewelry box.

Kate turned the box in her hands and gently wound the key on the bottom. Then, given her earlier encounter with the monkey’s paw, she very tentatively pried open the lid as the notes of Swan Lake sounded haltingly. The delicate ballerina was perched, ready to pirouette, but did not. Kate poked gently around the base to discover why the ballerina wouldn’t spin. “Oh, you poor thing. Is your leg broken? Wait, what’s this?” She pulled out a small, folded card wedged under the figure. Still the ballerina would not spin.