The Key in the Attic by DeAnna Julie Dodson Page A

her. It was almost like stepping into a meadow full of birds, cheery and busy. When Mr. Malcolm called her the week before to give her the estimate for the repair, she had immediately told him to go ahead. The cost wasn’t quite as high as she had expected, and she was more determined than ever to have something positive happen to Mary Beth. This would cheer her up some, and that would make it worth every penny it cost. Mary Beth would be so surprised when she brought the clock back, working again and running like new.
    Mr. Malcolm looked up from his desk where he was examining a little brass-and-ivory clock no more than four inches high, and his rheumy eyes brightened.
    “Ah, Mrs. Dawson.” He put down the jeweler’s glass he was using. “Good to see you. How can I help you?”
    “I came to pick up Mary Beth’s clock. The one with the forest scene carved into it.”
    “Oh, that one. That’s a real beauty. But, I’m sorry you came all the way here. Mrs. Brock’s husband picked it up this morning.”
    “Her husband !?”
    “Yes. I wasn’t here, but my assistant said he was a very nice fellow. He said he wanted to surprise her. I’m sorry he didn’t let you in on it though. It would have saved you a trip.”
    Annie could only stare at him, open mouthed. “Her husband?”
    “Yes. Is something wrong?”
    “Mary Beth doesn’t have a husband, Mr. Malcolm.”
    Mr. Malcolm didn’t say anything for a moment. “And I suppose you still have the claim slip?”
    Annie dug it out of her purse.
    “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Dawson. I wasn’t here this morning. My staff has strict instructions not to release any repair items without a slip.” He got up and retrieved a ledger book from the counter behind him and opened it to the last used page. Then he picked up the telephone on his desk and pressed the third button at the bottom. “Jennifer, may I see you a moment?”
    The girl who came from the back of the shop was young, probably not long out of school, and she couldn’t stop apologizing. She was almost in tears.
    “I didn’t know. He described the clock to me and said it belonged to Mrs. Brock. Then when I told him that wasn’t the name it was under, he said he remembered that you had brought it, Mrs. Dawson, and he gave me your name. I thought it was OK. He paid for the repair. I didn’t think he’d do that unless it was his.” She bit her high-gloss lip. “I didn’t know.”
    “What did he look like, Jennifer?” Mr. Malcolm was being extremely patient. Annie was glad he was being kind to the girl, but she hoped he realized this was an extremely serious matter too. Mary Beth would be heartbroken.
    Jennifer only shrugged her slim shoulders. “I don’t know. Just a guy.”
    “Was he young or old?” Annie asked.
    “Sorta old.” The girl thought for a moment more. “Yeah, he was sorta old. Probably as old as my dad—forty or fifty or something.”
    Annie managed to not roll her eyes. “What color was his hair?”
    “Umm … kinda brownish blond, I guess.”
    Annie had a terrible thought. Frank Sanders might be as old as forty, and he had sandy blond hair.
    “What there was of it,” Jennifer continued.
    Annie shook her head. “What do you mean? He was bald?”
    “Yeah, pretty much He had one of those little fringe thingies around his head and then like three strands across the top. Do guys really think that helps?”
    Hmmm. The hair didn’t sound much like Sanders’s, but the rest of the girl’s description wasn’t very precise either. He wanted the clock. It had been obvious from everything he had said, from the way he looked at it. Could he have been so brazen as to just take it?
    “What else do you remember about him?” Annie asked.
    “Kinda tall, I think.”
    Annie frowned. She would never categorize Sanders as tall. Maybe the girl’s estimation of “kinda tall” was about as accurate as her idea of “sorta old.”
    “Do you remember the color of his eyes?” Mr. Malcolm asked. “Or