The Locket
"What's that box?" Michael Whitby asked his husband, Douglas Pemberly. "It's got at least a year's worth of dust on it."
"That's because I got it out of our storage unit," the co-owner of Treasure Hunt Antiques replied.
"More of your grandfather's things left over from his flea market days?"
"Yeah. Slowly but surely, I'm making progress clearing it all out."
Michael, who was writing his blog on collecting and collectibles, was curious about the contents of the box, so he temporarily left his laptop to look over Doug's shoulder.
After slicing through the packing tape with a box cutter, his partner opened the cardboard flaps and peered inside.
"An electric wok," he laughed. "And not just any electric work but a vintage West Bend model right out of the Seventies."
"In avocado green, no less!" Michael declared with feigned revulsion. "No wonder your grandfather couldn't sell it."
"I don't know if it would classify as an antique, but it's certainly vintage. I'll stick it on the shelf and see if anyone is interested in making an offer on it."
He put the wok to the side and searched the box for more items, announcing each find.
"A Jewel Secret Ken doll, still in the box. A baseball signed by Dustin Pedroia. A set of Wizard of Oz Pez dispensers. And a lot of packing peanuts."
"Ugh! I hate those things. They fly all over and ...."
"Wait. There's something here at the bottom."
"It's a locket," Michael said after seeing the piece of jewelry in his husband's hand. "Perhaps there's a photograph inside it."
Douglas ran his finger around the perimeter of the locket but could find no way to open it.
"Maybe it's not a locket," he supposed. "Maybe it's just a plain necklace. It's nice enough, though. Someone will probably buy it."
"It looks gothic to me. A red rose on a black background."
"Maybe Martha will like it."
Martha Prescott, the former host of Thriller Network's Classic Horror Movies, liked all things dark and spooky. A woman who sometimes wore a skeleton cameo might very well want to accessorize her wardrobe with such a pendant.
"I'll tell her about it when we see her at the Fourth of July barbecue," Douglas declared.
"That's next week, isn't it? I almost forgot all about it. I think the subject of my next blog ought to be bicentennial collectibles."
"Good idea. Why don't you ask Josiah if you can photograph some of the items he's got on display at the Sons of Liberty Tavern?"
"I will. In fact, why don't we go there for dinner tonight? I'm in the mood for a good meat-and-potatoes meal."
* * *
There was no need for Douglas to mention the necklace to Martha when he saw her at the barbecue, since someone purchased it the day after he put it in the glass case with the rest of the jewelry he was selling. Riley Cleary, a practicing Wiccan from Danvers, had driven to Puritan Falls to visit Abigail Cantwell at the Bell, Book and Candle New Age shop. The two women went to lunch at the Green Man Pub and afterward stopped at The Quill and Dagger bookstore and Sweet Indulgence candy shop before entering Treasure Hunt Antiques.
"Good afternoon, Abigail," Douglas greeted her. "Is there something I can help you and your friend with?"
"No, thanks, Doug. We're just looking."
"Well, if you need assistance, just yell."
As Abigail nostalgically examined the dolls from the 1950s and '60s, Riley browsed through the jewelry on display.
"What an adorable necklace," she opined. "How much do you want for it?"
"Which one is that?"
"The one with the red rose on a black background."
Since he could find no comparable items online, Douglas did not know the value of the item and thus was not sure what to charge for it. Thus, he quoted the customer a price on the low side, and she immediately agreed to pay it.
"Did you find something?" Abigail asked, carrying a Madame Alexander Wicked Witch of the West doll to the check-out counter.
"A necklace. Isn't it lovely?" Riley asked, holding the pendant up for her friend to see.
Although the proprietor of the Bell, Book and Candle agreed with her, there was something disturbing about the necklace.
After processing her payment, Douglas handed her Visa card back to Riley.
"Would you like a bag for that? Or would you prefer to wear it now?"
"Neither. I'll stick it in my purse so that I won't lose it."
Once both women had paid for the items, they left the shop and said their goodbyes. Riley then got into her Subaru Crosstrek and headed for home, while her friend returned to her shop.
There is something decidedly creepy about that necklace, Abigail thought as she sent her assistant to lunch and took the girl's place behind the counter. I hope the dear girl doesn't regret buying it.
Riley, a waitress at Nathaniel's, a restaurant inside the Hawthorne Hotel, did not work on Mondays or Tuesdays, so she drove straight home to Danvers from Puritan Falls. Once inside her apartment, she made herself a cup of Green Mountain coffee in her Keurig coffeemaker and sat down at her kitchen table. While waiting for the Nantucket blend to cool a little, she removed the necklace from the interior pouch inside her handbag.
Unlike Douglas Pemberly, she had no difficulty finding the button to open the locket. On the contrary, she found it purely by accident. Up until the front of the necklace opened on its tiny hinges, she had no idea the necklace was a photo locket.
"What a nice surprise. I can put a picture of ...."
When Riley got a good look at the miniature photo inside the locket, she recognized the face at once, even though the picture must have been taken at least thirty to forty years earlier.
"What a strange coincidence!" she exclaimed. "This is a picture of my mother when she was a young woman! What are the odds that I would find this locket and buy it?"
Once she was finished with her coffee, she rinsed out the mug and returned it to her cabinet. Then she took her cell phone out of her purse and found her mother's phone number in her contacts. She let the phone ring ten times before ending the call.
"She's probably out shopping," she assumed. "I'll phone her later."
Taking advantage of her day off, she picked up the used paperback edition of Rosemary's Baby, which she bought at the Salem Flea, an outdoor flea market held once a month in Salem's Derby Square. Due to its supposedly harsh portrayal of witches, she never read the 1967 novel written by Ira Levin, nor had she watched the 1968 Roman Polanski film adaptation. However, since she bought the book for less than a dollar, she decided to see what all the hype was about. With the air conditioner keeping the room a pleasant seventy degrees, she stretched out on the couch and turned to the first chapter.
She had just finished the fourth chapter when her phone rang.
That must be my mother, she thought and put her book down on the coffee table.
"Hi, Mom," she answered without looking at the caller ID.
It wasn't her mother; it was her sister, Sydney.
"Mom's gone."
"Gone? Gone where?" Riley foolishly asked. "Mom never goes anywhere except to Shop 'N Save."
"She died," her sister clarified.
"What? When?"
"Just a few minutes ago. She came to visit me this morning. We were having lunch on the deck when she suddenly grabbed her chest and collapsed. I called 911, but she died on the way to the hospital."
In the days that followed, both sisters endured the emotional turmoil that accompanied the death of a loved one. Since their father had died two years earlier, they were left to make all the funeral arrangements themselves.
"What should we do with the house?" Sydney asked.
"I suppose we should sell it. You've got a home of your own, and I don't want the headaches that go along with owning a house. I much prefer living in a rented apartment."
"We'll have to clean it out, then. I have some unused vacation time. I'll take a week off and organize a yard sale."
"I'll help. I can also contact a realtor. Who sold you your house?"
"Jacqueline Astor from Puritan Falls."
"I'll give her a call tomorrow."
* * *
It took four days for the sisters to box up their mother's belongings. Naturally, there were keepsakes that neither of them wanted to part with: family photos, her wedding and engagement rings, a strand of pearls and love letters written by their father.
"I've got dibs on the grandfather's clock," Sydney laughed. "It'll look right at home in my living room."
"Fine," Riley agreed. "But I want the Chanel purse."
"Fair enough. Now, as far as the kitchen goes, I'll take the nonperishable food in the cabinets home with me. But I don't have any room in my refrigerator or freezer."
"I've got plenty of room," her sister told her. "Besides, if I take all this stuff, it'll save me a trip to the grocery store."
The night before they were to hold the yard sale, Sydney enlisted her husband to help put several folding tables on he lawn. Meanwhile, she and her sister put price tags on the items they wanted to sell.
"Are you sure you don't want Mom's winter jacket?" Sydney asked. "It's like new. I just bought it for her last Christmas. I'd keep it myself, but it's too small for me."
"No. I've got two winter coats already."
Her sister put a price tag on it and tossed it into a pile of clothes.
"Wait. These can't be Mom's shoes," Riley pointed out when she saw a pair of four-inch heels next to her mother's orthopedic sneakers.
"No, they're mine. I was going to take them to Goodwill, but I might as well see if I can get a few bucks for them first."
"You know, that's not a bad idea. I ought to clean out my closet and get rid of the clothes I don't wear anymore. And I have a pile of books I've already read."
Along with used paperbacks, several blouses and a few pairs of pants, Riley put a price tag on the locket she recently purchased from Douglas Pemberly. Although she had admitted it when she first saw it, she now cringed every time she looked at it.
I know the picture inside it was of my mother, she insisted.
Yet when she opened it the day of the funeral, there was a photograph of two people inside, neither of whom was her deceased parent.
"This is a perfect day for our yard sale," Sydney opined when she met Riley at their mother's house the following morning. "Not a cloud in the sky. Furthermore, it's a pleasant seventy degrees with no humidity."
"Thank goodness! The heat spell we've been having is unbearable," her sister groaned.
As they had hoped, the pleasant weather coaxed many potential customers out of their air-conditioned homes. The early birds, eager to get the best bargains, arrived just before seven, while the sisters were still bringing items out of the house. By noon, more than a hundred people had stopped to browse, and the majority of them left with purchases.
"How much do you want for this necklace?" an elderly woman from Gloucester inquired.
Assuming the woman would haggle to get her to drop the price, Riley quoted double what she had paid for the locket. Instead, Winifred Ives got her wallet out of her purse and handed over the cash without comment.
"I just love roses!" the seventy-two-year-old widow exclaimed. "I have an entire jewelry box filled with earrings, necklaces, bracelets, brooches and rings with roses on them."
Delighted with her latest acquisition, Winifred drove back to Gloucester. She walked into her house, went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. As she sipped it, she examined the necklace. Her finger brushed against the small button on the side.
What's this?
Curious, she pressed it, and the locket opened. Inside was a photograph of a couple on their wedding day. Winifred squinted and held the locket close to her face to get a better look.
These two look familiar. I know I've seen this photo before.
As she finished her tea, she stared at the tiny picture, but the memory eluded her. It was not until she went outside to water her flower garden and noticed that her neighbor's hydrangea bushes needed pruning that she recalled where she'd seen a much larger version of that picture.
That's Ned and Thelma's wedding portrait! They keep it on their fireplace mantel. But how did that young woman at the yard sale get it? I doubt very much she was related to them.
The Nelspeths had no children, nor did they have any siblings living in New England. Ned had a brother in California, but he was a bachelor.
Oh, well. I suppose I ought to let Thelma know I have it. She might want it back.
Although she liked the necklace, she would feel guilty keeping it if it belonged to her neighbor. So, Winifred walked over to her neighbors' house. She knocked on the door, waited and knocked again, but there was no answer. She then peeked into the garage window and noticed that the couple's Subaru was not inside.
Maybe they wanted to get out and take advantage of this lovely weather, she assumed. I'll stop by tomorrow and give it to her.
* * *
After eating her breakfast the next morning, Winifred Ives got dressed, picked up the locket off her dresser and headed out the front door. Instead of a Subaru in her neighbors' driveway, there was a Honda Accord.
Ned must have got a new car, she assumed. I'm surprised. He loved that old Forester, and it had plenty of miles left on it.
She knew very little about cars. Perhaps something major was wrong with it, and Ned decided it was cheaper to buy another car than to pay for the repairs.
Rather than head down to the sidewalk and up her neighbors' driveway, she took a shortcut and walked across the lawn. When she climbed the stairs up to the stoop, she rang the bell. An unknown woman answered the door.
"Can I help you?" the stranger asked.
"I'm Mrs. Ives. I live next door. Is Thelma in?"
"I'm Jeanelle Bideford. I worked for Mr. Nelspeth. Won't you come in?"
"Where's Thelma?" the elderly widow inquired as she followed the stranger into the living room.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Ives, but the Nelspeths were killed in a car accident yesterday. I came here to pick up their cat."
Stunned by Jeanelle's news, Winifred plopped down on the sofa and fought back her tears.
"I ... I can't believe they're gone," she stammered.
"I know how you feel. Were you close to them?"
"Given the difference in our ages, we didn't socialize often, but we were on very good terms. I'm going to miss them."
The old woman looked up at the wedding portrait above the fireplace. Suddenly, she remembered the locket in her hand.
"It's funny," she told Jeanelle. "I bought a locket at a yard sale yesterday, and when I opened it, I found the Nelspeths' wedding picture inside."
Intending to show the photo to the young woman, she pressed the button on the side.
"That can't be!" she exclaimed, looking down at the locket.
"What's wrong?"
"The picture ... it's not the same one that was there yesterday."
Although not normally a superstitious woman, Winifred was frightened by the bizarre occurrence. There was no logical explanation for what had happened. No one, least of all Winifred herself, switched the photos.
It must be cursed, she decided.
Having reached that conclusion, she wanted the locket out of her house. She could have simply thrown it in the trash, but instead, she chose to return the piece of jewelry to its previous owner. After going back to her house for her car keys, she drove to the house where the yard sale had been held the previous day. Unaware that the homeowner had died, she knocked on the door, expecting the young woman who sold her the locket to answer.
She's not home. Well, I don't want to keep this thing one minute longer than necessary.
Winifred took the locket out of her purse and placed it in the mailbox.
Hopefully, she'll find it when she gets home.
* * *
Riley Cleary was driving home from work when she received a phone call from Jacqueline Astor.
"I've got a couple from Boston who are interested in seeing your mother's house," the realtor informed her. "Is it all right if I show it to them tomorrow morning?"
"Sure. I just have to straighten the place up a little. We had a yard sale there this weekend, and there are some empty boxes lying around. I'll just break them down and put them in the recycling bin."
"That would be great."
"I was on my way home, but I can head over there right now."
Riley pulled into her mother's driveway and gave the front lawn a brief inspection. There were some scattered papers left over from the sale. After picking them up, she tossed them in the trash cans. Then she stopped at the mailbox and took out a pile of letters, circulars and magazines that had accumulated over the past few days. Finally, she took her keys out of her purse, unlocked the basement door and went into the house. As she climbed the stairs to the main floor, the locket fell from between two sales catalogs.
How on earth did this get here? I sold it to the old woman at the yard sale. Maybe she dropped it on the way to her car, and someone picked it up and put it in the mailbox. If I knew who she was, I'd return it to her. God knows, I don't want it!
In less than fifteen minutes, the boxes were broken down and placed in the recycling bin. Riley then found a plastic grocery bag in her mother's hall closet and put the pile of mail inside it. She would take it home and sort through it there.
That about does it. I hope the potential buyers make an offer on the place.
She turned to leave and saw the locket on the kitchen table.
I'll toss this in the trash can on my way out.
Riley was holding the necklace in her right hand when she took the first step down. Unknowingly, her hand pressed the small button, and the locket opened. She looked down at the photo and felt an icy finger of fear pierce her heart.
"It can't be!" she screamed.
But it was. Inside the locket was her high school graduation picture.
* * *
At Treasure Hunt Antiques, Abigail Cantwell stepped up to the counter to pay for her Ideal Tressy doll.
"I had one of these when I was a little girl," she told Douglas Pemberly. "You press the button in the stomach, and her hair grows."
Moments later, Michael Whitby stepped out of the shop's office, holding a necklace in his hand.
"I didn't know we had another one of these," he said.
"What is it?" his husband wondered.
"It's a black necklace with a red rose. It's like the one Abigail's young friend bought last week."
"Poor Riley," the customer whimpered when she saw the locket.
"What do you mean by that?" Douglas inquired.
"She fell down the stairs in her late mother's home and broke her neck. Jackie Astor found her dead body the following day when she brought two potential buyers to view the house."
"How tragic!" the antique dealer exclaimed.
"Yes, it was. She was just a young woman."
"Do you want me to put this necklace aside for Martha?" Michael asked.
It was Abigail, not Douglas, who answered.
"No. Trust me. That locket is bad luck."
Michael shrugged his shoulders and tossed the locket in the wastepaper basket. Neither he nor Douglas noticed when they emptied the trash that evening that it had disappeared.
Two weeks later, it showed up on a vendor's table at the Salem Flea in Salem's Derby Square. It remains there still, but sooner or later, some poor unsuspecting person would buy it and bring the curse down on his or her own head.
Salem gave me this locket last Mother's Day. One day, I cast a spell to lock him inside, but he cried so pitifully that I let him out again.
