The Ming and I Read Free

there. But only if we get to do the dishes.”
    “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Mama said, and hung up.
    It took me just a second to switch from menus to Ming. I scurried back to The Nook. Rob and Bob were still there, and so was the vase. Rob was gently patting it dry with one of his silk shirttails. Paper towels, he told me, were too rough.
    I had been there at the beginning of the transformation; still, I could hardly believe the end product. Just looking at it brought tears of joy to my eyes.
    “How much is it worth?” I asked sensibly.
    “Five thousand minimum at a dealer’s auction,” Bob said. “Retail between ten and fifteen.”
    The tears of joy streamed down my cheeks.
    “If you don’t mind my asking,” Rob said, “how much did you pay for it?”
    “Well, uh—actually I didn’t. I’m not sure, but I think it might have been put here by Ms. Troyan, that poor woman who was hit by the car yesterday.”
    “Then of course the Ming’s value is only an academic question,” Bob said, looking pointedly at me.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Well, it isn’t rightfully yours. You just said so yourself.”
    “But I found it in my shop,” I wailed. “What about finders keepers? Isn’t there such a law?”
    “Well, you have to notify the police, don’t you? Then they have to track down Ms. Troyan’s heirs, assuming she has any.”
    “Assuming she doesn’t?”
    “That’s another story, of course. Eventually the vase might end up yours. Unless…”
    I reverently took the vase from Rob. It was much lighter than I had expected. “Unless what?”
    “Well, unless the vase didn’t belong to Ms. Troyan in the first place.”
    The tears slowed. “Who then?”
    Bob shrugged. “Maybe it was stolen. Or smuggled into the country. In either case it might take years to sort it all out, and in the end this beauty would probably go up for sale at public auction.”
    I stared at him with eyes as dry as cotton balls.
    “Don’t listen to him,” Rob said, tucking his wet shirttail back in. “It was all those Toledo winters that made him so negative. He was just giving you one scenario.”
    “Oh?”
    “You could just keep it, you know. Not tell the police. After all, maybe you did buy it at an auction along with some other stuff, and just never noticed it before.”
    Bob gave his partner a reproachful look. “That wouldn’t be right, Robert.”
    “But we have no proof that the vase doesn’t belong to her,” Rob protested.
    I smiled at him gratefully.
    Bob shook his head. It was clear he was disappointed in both of us.
    “Anyway, Abby would never do such a thing.” He looked at me pointedly. “Would you?”
    I shook my head reluctantly. I would never steal anything, of course. Even we Episcopalians still have that commandment on the books. But I wanted to think of this situation as falling under one of those gray areas of ethics, the kind you can debate for hours in a college dorm with a bottle of Boones Farm wine.
    Unfortunately my brain is two and a half decades older, and I now drink chardonnay. While it was possible I might have bought the vase as part of a lot, I never would have set it out for display in The Nook. Besides, I had seen Ms. Troyan holding a vase that looked similar to this one while it was yet in its ugly duckling state, and the odds of two ugly ducklings showing up in my shop were not good. Or so I’d like to think.
    “All settled then?” Bob asked gently. “I’ll make the call for you, if you like.”
    “No,” I said quickly. “It’s my responsibility, so I’ll call.”
    He gave me a questioning look.
    “I promise,” I snapped.
    “Let’s go,” Rob said, taking Bob by the arm.
    I meant what I said. I would call Greg, but only to invite him to dinner that night. News about the vase could keep until then. In the meantime I would keep the beauty with me behind the counter. Between customers I could at least fantasize that it was mine.
    I put the vase in all its