Destined Read Free

read
a lot of novels as well.” I hoped the confession would balance my precarious
karma.
    “I do love a good mystery, don’t you?”
he said and I nodded. We smiled like two conspirators, sipping our tea and
looking at each other appraisingly.
    “What kind of books do you sell?” I
tried to get him talking again. “What other merchandise?”
    “Many things, whatever we come across.
If it’s remarkable.” He put his mug on the table and gestured with his lean,
wrinkled hands. “Curiosities, art, antiques and rare books. Much of it is
acquired and sold through private connections, more so in recent years. Not
getting out as much as I used to.” He appeared to make a decision and stared at
me with a searching expression. “I’d like to liquidate some inventory. The
showroom there, it used to be our store. I want to open it again. Turn some of
these dust-catchers into cash!”
    A tingle of excitement sizzled through
me.
    “Would you be interested in getting
things up and running again?” he asked.
    “As the store manager?”
    He nodded, and relief shot through me.
In the back of my mind I felt something click like a domino falling into place,
and the pattern and fabric of my world shifted. My chest relaxed and I breathed
full and deeply for the first time in months.
    This was it, this was my path.
    “Just you and me, to start,” he said, “Someone
else to help us when we know what we need. Eventually I’d want you to run the
whole shebang, while I do what I do, upstairs.” He pointed at the ceiling.
    “You mean…the private connections?” I
asked, thinking he must have an office on the second floor. I wondered about
his repeated use of the word “we,” since there did not seem to be anyone else
around.
    He nodded again, confirming his
private sales activities.
    “Well?” he asked and named a salary
figure. Though not huge, it was enough to pay my living expenses and keep my
car on the road. In fact, it was more than I had been making at my last job.
    I hesitated briefly, hovering between
trust and fear, but then I plunged in and accepted his offer. We shook hands
and he seemed very pleased. I was too, considering my rent was due and I had
saved barely enough to survive beyond then without begging my mother for
another loan.
    We chatted about what time I should
appear in the mornings and leave at night, when I was to start (tomorrow), days
off (Sunday and Monday plus holidays), and he took me on a brief tour of the
first floor.
    What I’d thought from a distance was a
brass samovar turned out to be an elaborate espresso machine. The wooden
counter was referred to as “the coffee bar.” I peeked into one of the glass
cases and saw the glint of sparkling crystals and an enormous geode, amethyst
perhaps. A stack of framed Redouté rose prints and small oil paintings leaned
against the wall. Feeling excited, I could sense potential.
    And, I would be the manager . A step up for me. Best of all, it
appeared that I would have quite a bit of autonomy, which I have always found
necessary for the longevity of the arrangement. I am self-motivated, to say the
least. (Lexi would call it “bossy!”) 
    Which reminded me. I wondered if Mr.
Paradis would call the previous employers I had listed and talk to her. She’d
better not say anything to ruin my chances. Stop it right now Emily, I said to
myself sternly. You are going to jinx it! I deliberately imagined a smooth road
ahead.
    At the back of the showroom a door led
into a hallway at the rear of the building. Narrow stairs went up from here and
the closed door next to them was secured with a heavy bolt, probably the
entrance to the basement. A skinny door under the stairs revealed a tiny
bathroom with a slanted ceiling and pull-chain light fixture. Across the hall
was the entrance to a huge old-fashioned kitchen. There was also a back door
leading outside to a covered porch that opened onto a narrow alley behind the
building, occupied by a row of dumpsters