Protector - Laurel Dewey [144]
Emily reached over and stroked Jane’s shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
There was no way Jane was going to sleep that night. So, instead of heading for the bedroom, she propped up a set of pillows on the living room couch and sat watching television. Thanks to Dan, she could choose from the “semi-snowy” NBC channel or the crisp reception of PBS.
Emily started the evening sitting alongside Jane but quickly wound up sleeping with her head on Jane’s lap. Jane lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. A truck’s headlights slowed in front of their house. Jane leaned forward just enough to see that it was Dan conducting his self-appointed night duty. She noted that he observed the lone porch light on outside. Jane recalled that he suggested a “trouble code” of both the garage and porch lights turned on to signal his help. She shook her head. Jane was always the one protecting the weak and innocent, not the other way around. Sitting there with only the light from the television to illuminate the room, she was overwhelmed by the realization of her present situation. Gone were the nights of playing pool at RooBar, getting loaded with Mike and passing out on the couch. Her father was dead. Mike had moved on to a new life with a girl who seemed halfway decent. Whenshe took a step back and analyzed the situation, Jane concluded that she was totally alone in the world. As for her career, Jane had no clue where that was headed. Her job had become her identity and she worked hard to get where she was, sacrificing relationships in the process. If her career was going to hell, she had no clue where she could fit into the world.
With this self-realization, it was all Jane could do to keep an interest in the television show. It was the popular Antiques Roadshow. The series’ premise was simple: average people dug through their dusty attics and crowded closets for cherished knickknacks that hopefully had some monetary worth. The individual—usually with a hopeful glint in their eye—stood by while a knowledgeable antique appraiser discussed the historical and sometimes quaint background story of their treasures and whether they were of any great worth. After suffering through four original Norman Rockwell prints and a woman with a vase that she swore belonged to George Washington, Jane was just about to change the channel to the crop report. But the camera suddenly focused on an unusual desk—the same distinctive desk that Jane’s mother had owned and that also stood in the Lawrence house. It was the one Jane nicknamed “The Riddle Desk,” due to the hidden compartments that were only known to the desk’s owners.
The owner of this particular desk, a middle-aged woman, stood on one side of the piece while the antique appraiser stood on the opposite side. “How long has your family owned this desk?” the appraiser asked.
“My mother bought it before I was born at an estate sale. So, thirty plus years, at least,” the woman chuckled self-consciously.
“You don’t see many of these desks anymore. They are rare and they are all different. What looks like an ordinary desk with various compartments is actually a clever ruse, thanks to the creativity of the artist and builder of the piece. His name was Cornelius James. James was actually a very gifted painter, renowned for his ability to depict still life objects so well that people would try and grab them out of the painting. However, as brilliant as he was, he couldn’t make a living from his painting. This angered James, especially when his peers were raking in the money for their drab artwork. Cornelius James decided to make a bold statement against those ‘canvas whores,’ as he called them. Consider it poetic justice with a dash of vengeance thrown in for good measure! This desk and the others that he designed became his audacious answer to the art world. You see, besides painting, James was also an excellent craftsman. He blended his artistic gifts and built a desk with a hidden message. That message was ‘Look behind the exterior