Aurendel - Strays

Jack drove towards town, planning how he should start his search. He needed to find out what those fishermen did with the mirror. Where would those geezers be this time of day? The shrimp boats would be in, and with the sun over the yardarm, they’d probably be starting the day’s spree down at the Brown Pelican by the pier.

Jack bypassed the downtown area and the arty district. Both were mostly closed up. They really rolled up the carpets once the season ended in April. The community relied heavily on winter residents--snowbirds. He headed south and west to the boat docks and parked his truck in front of the Pelican.

The Brown Pelican had not bowed to political correctness and the public health nazis. As he entered, Jack wished he’d brought his pipe in self-defense. The place smelled of cigarettes, cigars, fried fish, and beer. He casually surveyed the dim smokey interior for the two old men. They were at a table near the end of the bar, drinking beer and playing checkers. He sat down at the end of the bar and ordered a draft, then, acting as if he’d just spotted them, greeted the pair.

“Afternoon, Mick, Jesse.”

Mick looked up from the checkerboard. “Hey, Jack.” Then he shouted at Jesse, “Look who’s here!”

“Eh?” asked Jesse, as he looked up. “Oh, hey there, Jack.”

Raising his voice, Jack asked, in a joking tone, “Find any more sunken treasure today?”

Mick laughed heartily, and Jesse wheezed. “No,” said Jesse, “nothing more. You thinkin’ of takin’ up treasure huntin’?”

“Not anymore. Ten years ago I would’ve. Now I’ll stick to writing about it.”

Jesse wheezed again. Jack guessed that was supposed to be a chuckle. He asked, “Any ideas how that thing got there?”

“Probably come off a fancy yacht, lost in a storm,” answered Jesse. “There were some bad ones last year.”

Mick disagreed. “That mirror was old. There’s been pirate ships and Spanish galleons in these waters. Probably come from a sunken treasure ship. Wish I was young enough to go diving.”

“The glass was new,” argued Jesse.

Mick harrumphed indignantly. “Nobody makes fancy mirrors like that anymore. That big? It was bigger ‘n anything you’d find in a furniture store or the like. And heavy--that was solid wood, not veneer.”

“Eh! If it’d been in the Gulf that long, the frame would’ve rotted!” Jesse retorted. “It might’ve been antique,” he grudgingly conceded, “but it’d’ve had to’ve been somethin’ some rich fella bought, put new glass in, had on his yacht, and went down.”

“Well, fellas,” interrupted Jack, “why don’t you take it down to the antiques district and get it valued?”

“Already did,” Mick said, triumphantly.

“An’ didn’t get much, neither,” Jesse growled sourly. “Tol’ you it wasn’t so old.”

“What’d they say about it?” Jack asked.

“Took it to Downey,” answered Mick. “He’d never seen nothin’ like it. Said it didn’t look like any--what is it he said, Jesse?”

“Didn’t look like no style of no period he knew.”

“What did it look like?” asked Jack.

Mick described the mirror’s heighth, width, thickness, and weight with plenty of gestures, plus comments and corrections from Jesse. He continued, “There was this pattern carved in it, like circles with crosses in ‘em, almost like wheels or somethin’.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of anything like that either. Doesn’t sound Spanish, nor French. Maybe English, but I’d have to see it,” Jack commented. “Could you show it to me?”

“Nope,” replied Jesse. “Sold it to Downey.”

“Maybe I’ll stop by his shop. I’m curious. Think he’d be there?”

“Couldn’t say,” said Mick.

Jack finished his beer and laid his money on the bar. “Interesting story, fellas. Maybe I can get somethin’ to write out of this. Been a pleasure.”

As he left, he heard Mick say to Jesse, “Writers are funny people.”

Jack drove his truck back to the antiques district and parked at a meter on the street. The broken window of Tom Downey's was boarded up, and the sign on the door read “Closed”. Well, maybe there was someone there anyway. Jack got out of his truck and walked to the door. He knocked loudly, peering through a small window set into the door. No sign of life. He cursed under his breath. As he stood there, glaring at the “Closed” sign, a rather portly man about his own age stepped out of the shop next door.

“Looking for Tom?” the man asked.

“Matter of fact, I am,” Jack answered.

“He’s gone to an antiques show. Likes to trade on the road this time of year. Anything I can help you with?”

Jack glanced at the store name painted on the window the man was standing beside. “Okachula Finest Estate and Heirloom Jewelers”. He shook his head. “Actually, I was looking for a mirror.”

“Well, I do have some very nice dresser sets--mostly silver plate, but one genuine tortoiseshell . . .”

“No, not that kind. This is more a curiosity. Two fishermen hauled in a big mirror in their net, and sold it to Tom. I was hoping for a look at it.”

“Oh.” The jeweler looked disappointed.

“Do you have any idea when he'll be back?”

“I think he said Monday--taking a four-day weekend.”

Jack snorted in disgust. “Oh, well. Thanks,” he said, and walked back to his truck.

“Have a nice day,” called the jeweler.

The afternoon was wearing on, and Jack hurried to beat the thunderstorm home. When he arrived, he headed straight for his study to tell the wolf what he’d learned, but the wolf wasn’t there. Jack cursed, and walked all through the house. No sign. Jack went out the back and began to search in earnest. In the woods on the west side of his house he found the wolf’s clothes neatly folded on a treestump, the crutches leaning against the stump next to the clothes. It had apparently decided to go exploring, on all fours--or threes, as the case might be. The damn fool. Didn’t it know it would get itself shot? Jack sighed, and began the arduous task of trying to track an animal with human intelligence.