“You’d think it’s been nine months instead of nine hours since she’s seen us.” Cash pats my back with a wide, warm palm. “You okay, Maggie?”
“Of course.” I push the words past the lump in my throat and step back. “So what do you say, boys? Should we finish the list?”
Cash studies my face for a second, his eyes narrowed slightly. I know my cheeks are red. I know my eyes are overly bright. But, bless him, he doesn’t comment on either.
“Lead the way.” He motions to M.S. Rau’s front door.
Now, let me disabuse you of any notion that M.S. Rau Antiques is your average antique store. There are no shelves filled with dusty heirlooms. No smell of old wood or rusty metal. Instead, everywhere you look there are jewels of untold value, stately statuary, and antique furniture that looks like it belonged to royalty—rumor has it, some of it actually did.
Once the three of us are standing inside the door, Cash gives me a wide-eyedholy craplook.
I chuckle and warn him, “Don’t touch anything.”
“No shit,” he agrees.
A man dressed in a striped bow tie greets us, introducing himself as Peter, and I tell him we’re here for the tour of the back room.
“Very good.” He does a little bow that seems vaguely European. “But first, let me take you around the main showroom.”
He waves for us to follow him and then spends a good half hour pointing out some of the more interesting pieces in the collection. There’s a gold-and-diamond-encrusted egg that, when you press a button, opens up and a mechanical bird rises from the halves, flaps its wings and tail, and then disappears back inside the egg. Peter tells us it could be ours for the low, low price of $350,000.Gulp.
Then he shows us a ring bearing a nearly fifteen-carat Burma sapphire. The gem’s blue is so deep and rich, so vibrant it’s almost hypnotic. I find myself falling into it. Getting lost in it. Fancying it’s spelled or cursed or was once the magical amulet of a Burmese shaman.
“That’s some serious bling,” Cash murmurs.
“If you wish to walk out with it today,” Peter says with a wry smile, “we can get the paperwork started.”
“Sure,” Cash jokes. “How much should I make the check for?”
“Nine hundred thousand dollars should just about cover it.”
“Holy shit!”
Instead of getting offended, Peter chuckles and nods. “Holy shit, indeed.”
We’re shown a Tiffany chandelier that costs more than I make in three years. A complete set of porcelain dishes once owned by the 8th Duke of Hamilton. And the opera glasses President Abraham Lincoln used on the night he was assassinated. Theactualopera glasses.
Overhead lights illuminate everything, making the whole store sparkle. Our footsteps are muffled by tight pile carpeting. And I swear the smell of history hangs in the air, dense and a bit cloying.
“This place is more a fine arts museum than an antique store,” Luc whispers to me, being careful to keep his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his elbows tucked in tight.
I don’t blame him. I’ve never been more cognizant of my body and the space it occupies, and I’mhalfhis size. I fully suspect this place follows the rule of “If you break it, you buy it.” And Lord knows, I can’t afford anything in here.
“Now,” Peter says, “are you ready for the pièce de résistance?”
“It gets better?” Cash blinks.
Peter bows again, looking pleased with himself. “Follow me.”
He motions us to a wall that’s been wallpapered to look like fully stocked bookshelves. I miss the brass handle protruding from the center of the wall until he grabs it. Then, with a twist of his wrist, he opens a secret door.
I use the termdoorloosely. It’s about six inches thick, backed by steel, and is more like the opening to a vault.
“After you.” Peter motions for us to precede him. Then he guides us through three stories of museum-quality paintings by Monet, Renoir, and Norman Rockwell. He points out Napoleon’s death mask, an actual Enigma machine, and the entire bedroom set of King Farouk, the last king of Egypt.
By the time we head back to the main floor two hours later, darkness has fallen, and my head is spinning.
“I can’t believe I’ve lived here my whole life and never realized this was all smack dab in the middle of Royal Street,” I say.
