Chapter 5 - The Trace of the Treasure
The bell above the door of Curio & Co. Antiques chimed pleasantly as Noah and I stepped into the warm, dimly lit shop filled with the rich scent of polished mahogany, old paper, and dust.
The shop was a labyrinth of history—glass display cases filled with vintage pocket watches, shelves lined with leather-bound books, and corners crowded with nautical instruments and vintage tools.
An elderly woman with kind eyes and silver hair tied in a neat bun looked up from behind the counter, smiling warmly as she spotted Noah.
"Well, hello there! I remember you," the woman said, leaning over the glass case. "You're the little fellow who liked our brass compasses."
Noah beamed, stepping closer. "Hi, Mrs. Gable! We're looking for something special."
Mrs. Gable blinked in surprise, recognizing us both. "My goodness, yes! You're Daniel's wife, aren't you? How have you been, sweetheart?"
"We've been alright, Mrs. Gable," I said softly, stepping up to the counter. "Actually, I need to ask you a difficult question. In the past week, did a young woman—about twenty-nine, pregnant, with blonde hair—come in here trying to sell some items?"
Mrs. Gable’s warm smile faltered slightly, her expression turning cautious. She glanced between Noah and me, then nodded slowly.
"Yes. A young woman came in about four days ago. Said she was cleaning out her family's estate or some such nonsense," Mrs. Gable said, her voice dropping a fraction. "She brought in a small, unfinished wooden boat with pencil marks on it, a heavy metal toolbox, a brown leather flight jacket, and a vintage wristwatch."
My heart pounded against my ribs. "Did you buy them?"
"She wanted to sell them for quick cash," Mrs. Gable said, shaking her head with visible disapproval. "She didn't know the first thing about what she was holding. But I knew Daniel. I knew how much he loved that little boy of his, and I knew he built that boat by hand for Noah. When she walked in offering those things for fifty dollars total, alarm bells went off in my head."
She reached down beneath the counter, opening a heavy wooden drawer.
"I told her I didn't deal in estate disputes without proper verification," Mrs. Gable continued, pulling out a familiar brown leather jacket, followed by the heavy metal toolbox, the vintage watch, and—wrapped carefully in bubble wrap—the small, unfinished wooden sailboat with its pencil lines still visible along the ribs.
Tears sprang to my eyes, hot and unbidden. I placed a trembling hand over my mouth.
Noah gasped, his face lighting up with absolute joy. "Daddy's boat! You found it!"
Mrs. Gable gently set the sailboat on the glass counter, her eyes moist as well. "She tried to sell them, sweetheart, but I refused her. I told her I wouldn't take them unless she had written permission from the legal owner. She got angry, took the fifty bucks she managed to squeeze out of some junk shop down the block for the rest of the bedroom furniture, but she left these behind because I told her I was calling the police if she didn't leave my shop."
Mrs. Gable looked at me, her expression fierce and maternal. "They're right here, Rachel. Exactly where they belong. I kept them safe for you."
I reached across the counter and wrapped my arms around the elderly woman, burying my face in her shoulder. "Thank you, Mrs. Gable. You have no idea what this means to us."
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"Family is everything," Mrs. Gable whispered softly, patting my back. "And some people forget what that actually means."
As we walked out of the antique shop with Daniel's toolbox in one hand, the leather jacket draped over my arm, and Noah carefully holding the precious wooden sailboat against his chest like a sleeping bird, I knew the tide had completely turned.
