PART 2:
When they reached Ridge City, they started asking questions, making their way through the pawnshops. They stopped at Hawley Brothers Pawn, a shop filled with all manner of useful things. On another day, Nathan might have spent some time going over the second-hand merchandise, looking for a deal.
When they mentioned the chess pieces, Sam Hawley made a face.
"We don't deal with McAvoy anymore," he said. "He brings nothing but trouble."
"Stolen merchandise?" Ezra asked.
"I don't need that kind of pain," Sam said. "Told him as much when he came through."
"He had the chess set?" Nathan asked.
Sam smirked. "Wanted more than I could afford for it. Asked for $150."
Nathan was stunned. $150? It had cost him $100 to buy the clinic space, and that was a painful amount. It had taken all his careful savings. He'd yet to recover from that price.
The pawnbroker smirked as he said, "Try Woodman Pawn. I think they're more inclined to deal with McAvoy."
Woodman Pawn had a difference ambiance – richer, darker, more luxurious, but Nathan felt a strange anxiety as they entered. It didn't feel right.
As if to counter him, Ezra said, "I have a good feeling about this one."
Mr. Woodman looked a little furtive when the chess set was mentioned, but after a certain amount of prodding and a stream of compliments from Ezra, Woodman loosened up a bit. Standish mentioned that he knew McAvoy and knew that he had the chess set.
"He spoke highly of your store and I was hoping you were clever enough to procure it. Is it still here?" he asked leadingly. "If so, I would like to see it."
"Why yes, there was a chess set," Woodman said, his chest puffed with pride from the bullshit that Ezra had been slinging his way. "It was exceptional, and I couldn't pass it up!"
Nathan's gaze swept the store, looking for it.
Ezra went on, "Certainly, such a piece won't sell quickly. We are willing to negotiate with you regarding the price."
Woodman looked smug. "I purchased it specifically for one of my customers who enjoys fine things. I sent a messenger to him as soon as I had the set, and sold it to him immediately - for more than twice what I paid."
"It's already gone?" Nathan asked, unable to keep the sorrow from his voice. More than twice what he'd paid? That meant it sold for over $300. That was enough to buy substantial property. Truly, more than $300? It seemed impossible to believe.
"He likes the weird stuff," Woodman said and then looked speculatively at the pair. "I made a good deal with that one."
"McAvoy stole that set from this man," Ezra said, jabbing a thumb in Nathan's direction. "This is the artist who created it."
Woodman scowled. "Where's your proof?"
"Our faces were carved in the wood!" Ezra returned.
A flash of recognition crossed Woodman's face, only to deepen into a frown. "Do you think I looked that closely at it? I think you're full of crap. You have no proof that it was stolen? Why would I accept the word of…" and he looked as if he'd just smelled something foul, "… a gambler and a darkie?"
Ezra slapped a hand on the counter. "Because you saw our faces on those pieces! You know the truth of the matter!"
Woodman shook his head. "No, no, I can't be certain. You're taking advantage of me. I know your type! I've dealt with con artists before." He pointed at Ezra's face. "You're trying to stir up trouble. Bet someone used you as models. Bet you claim it's yours all the time then cheat good men out of their money. I'm betting McAvoy was in on the deal. Get out of my shop before I have you thrown out by the law."
"We are lawmen from Four Corners!" Ezra stated.
The pawnbroker didn't look impressed. "Four Corners? That crummy little town? Lawmen? I don't believe you." He curled a lip in distain. "Just look at you. Who would want either of you protecting their town?"
Ezra's stepped back. "Believe what you will. I can do nothing to sway you, but you shall be paying for this when all is said and done!"
Woodman leaned forward. "I wouldn't count on it," he growled. "Now, get out of my store!"
Ezra looked about ready to jump the counter and attack the man, so Nathan put a hand down on his arm, trying to still him. "Mister," he said in a calm voice. "Mr. Woodman, could you please tell us the name of the man who bought it? We'd just like to speak to him about it."
"That's confidential," the pawnbroker snapped. "I'm not going to send the likes of you after one of my best customers and an Alderman."
Ezra straightened as if impressed. "An Alderman?"
"The youngest elected," the pawnbroker said importantly. "I voted for him."
"Indeed," Ezra said, his anger seeming to leach away. "One must stand up for one's neighbors in such matters."
"Of course," Woodman agreed.
They stood in silence for a moment longer, as if nobody knew how to end the confrontation. Finally, Ezra placed his hat on his head and said, "Good day, sir. I'm sorry that you couldn't help us in this matter."
"Hey," Woodman called as they turned to go. "If you actually did carve it, I'd be open to buying some more. I have folks who want savage stuff. If you can get me any of those, I'm sure to sell them."
Nathan looked over his shoulder as they left the establishment, but didn't nod to his suggestion. Instead, he faced forward and left with Ezra.
.7.7.7
"Now, what do we do?" Nathan asked as he moved with Ezra through the street.
"To the Ridge City Reporter," Ezra said. "Journalism will be our salvation."
Nathan shook his head. "Nobody's going to report on a chess set, Ezra," he said. "I mean, I don't think Mary would even write a story on such a thing." She hadn't, actually.
"The youngest Alderman in town, who lives in this vicinity. Certainly, something about him has been mentioned from the City Council." Ezra smiled broadly. "We only need to ask the right questions, find the correct stories and we'll be on our way again."
Ezra was on the move, and Nathan hurried after him.
.7.7.7
The youngest Alderman on the City Council, who lived just a few blocks from the pawnbroker, wasn't hard to find. The clerk at the Ridge City Reporter had been helpful, pointing out the dates of the election. It was just a matter of finding out the ages of the councilmembers and then tracking down where he lived. The young alderman was a subscriber, after all.
The Spencer home on the corner of 3rd and Beech was an extravagant structure, large and well-appointed, surrounded by a fence to keep out the riff-raff. An auspicious place for Ridge City – probably the best home in the little town. Obviously, the owner liked to flaunt his wealth.
Nathan looked across to Ezra as they opened the gate. He found a pleasant smile.
"No worries, Nathan," Ezra said. "It's only a matter of time now."
An officious man opened the door when they knocked. He looked surprised, then offended. "Deliveries are made at the back," he said in a low voice.
"We're here to see Mr. Spencer," Ezra said brightly. "We have a message that concerns him."
"Please, give the message to me," he said. "I will see that Mr. Spencer receives it as soon as warranted."
"It's rather important that we see him immediately and in person," Ezra went on. He continued to smile, charmingly and convincingly, standing with his hands held behind his back. "We have information of a private nature." He lowered his voice then, ducking his head, looking secretive.
The man wasn't impressed.
"It about his father," Nathan tried.
The servant's gaze met Nathan's for a moment. That did it.
"It's very important information that needs to be relayed directly," Ezra said.
He still didn't open the door any further, but he looked interested.
"We're not leaving until you let us speak to him," Ezra said. "I'm sure you'd rather not have us raise a scene here, on your property, at your front door. What will the neighbors think?" He glanced over his shoulder and looked to the street where people were ambling along. "Consider how they'll talk."
The man grimaced and opened the door a little wider to allow them into the vestibule. "Please wait here," he uttered. "I will speak to Mr. Spencer."
The men shuffled into the grand house, hats in hand and looked about at the opulence of the place. Mr. Spencer had obviously done well for himself. His wealth was on display everywhere. Every surface and inch of wall seemed to be crammed with artwork.
Once they'd provided their names, the servant slipped through another door. Almost immediately, a young maid came through the same doorway. She looked a little embarrassed as she stood beside the passageway.
"It will be just a moment," she said quietly, then bit her lip and tried to look natural.
Ezra sighed and threw Nathan a sidelong glance. Obviously, she was sent to keep an eye on them. Apparently, they looked like the types who might rob the house blind, given the chance.
"Now, he's just showing off," Ezra said in a low voice
Nathan gave the maid – little more than a girl – a warm smile. She still looked anxious, as if she'd rather be anywhere but there. She smiled softly in return.
The other servant wasn't gone long. When he returned, he gave the maid a questioning glance and receiving a shake of the head in response. She looked glad to be relieved of her duty.
Satisfied, the man said, "Please come with me. Mr. Spencer will see you now."
They moved further into the house until they came to the study. The room was to be absolutely stuffed with brick-a-brack, tables and shelves. Spencer sat at his desk, hunched over piles of papers.
Nathan's gaze searched the clutter, looking for any sign of the chess set. There was so much here, but still no sign of what he sought.
"Mr. Spencer," the servant said in a low voice. "I would like to announce Misters Standish and Jackson."
"Thank you, Jones," Spencer said, not looking up from his work. The man disappeared soundlessly and Spencer continued to write for another minute before he lifted his head. "What can I help you with?"
Ezra smiled again. "Mr. Spencer," he said in a light tone. "I hope you're having a delightful day. The weather has been quite pleasant lately, wouldn't you say?"
Spencer groaned and said, "I don't have time for idle chit chat. Jones told me that you had news about my father. Is the gout getting worse?" He sounded bored.
"Not that we know of," Ezra replied smoothly. "But we are concerned for him. I understand that you've been in touch with him recently?"
"In touch?" Spencer response. "I shipped him a birthday gift, I respond to his telegrams. I've done that much."
At that comment, Nathan blinked. A gift?
"Very good," Ezra said. "And how kind of you to think of your father when he's feeling ill. I'm certain he will be happy with your thoughtful present. Perhaps it is something that he can enjoy during his infirmity."
"He should," Spencer responded. "I paid enough for it."
Nathan cleared his throat and asked, "A chess set?"
Spencer gave him a queer look. "How'd you know?"
Feeling his heart sink, Nathan tried not to look upset.
Ezra continued to smile. "Oh, a lucky guess. My companion enjoys a game of chess and believes that everyone should have one. A good game is a balm for the soul when one is housebound."
Spencer nodded, looking suspicious. "What do you want?"
"I was hoping that you could put us in touch with your father," Ezra said. "An investment has paid off and we were hoping to find him here. Unfortunately, our information led us to the younger Spencer at instead of the elder."
"Investment?" Daryl said, looking more interested. His expression changed as he looked both of them up and down. "And why should I trust you? Why did you know about my gift?"
Nathan started explain the truth of the matter. "Mr. Spencer, you see, we're seeking…"
Ezra cut him off, "Of course, you can trust us," he said, making Nathan cringe a little. "We are on a mission of utmost importance and need to speak to him immediately."
Jackson glanced to Ezra, seeing him smiling still, trying to look as trustworthy as possible. The problem was, the conman had that look…
Spencer scowled. "What's my father's first name then?"
Ezra shrugged off the question. "I don't have my paperwork with me and I'm afraid that the information has left my mind." He fluttered a hand beside his head.
"Yeah, right," Spencer picked up a bell from his desk. He rang it hard and immediately the door opened. Jones obviously hadn't moved since he left the room.
"Jones," Spencer said. "Please escort these 'gentlemen' from my home and do not let their sort in again." His expression showed the depth of his disappointment in his servant.
And with that, they were summarily expelled from the Spencer residence.
.7.7.7
"Now what?" Jackson asked, his hands sunk into his pockets, as the two strode through town. "If he sent the chess set to his father, we don't know where to find it. We don't even know his first name."
"Well, not presently, but soon," Ezra said. "Spencer the younger said that he shipped the gift. Our next stop will be the shipping office at the train station. With a little persuasion, I'm sure we'll find out where the gift went."
"Ezra, I'm not so sure about this," Nathan muttered. "We're just getting deeper into this and it's leading us to trouble."
"Trouble?" Ezra replied. "How have we caused any trouble? We're trying to right a grievous wrong."
"We should've told him the truth," Nathan stated.
"Never," Ezra responded. "He is the type who hangs onto his money with all his might. I know the type. The gift to his father was meant as a show of wealth. Do you honestly think he'd try to reunite you with something so expensive out of the goodness of his heart?"
"I don't think we should be lying to people."
"Did we lie?"
Nathan shot Ezra a look.
"Well, not much." With a determined stride, Ezra continued on his way through the town, toward the train station. Nathan had to hurry to keep up.
.7.7.7
The agent at the shipping office hadn't been a tough nut to crack. Once Ezra had discovered the man's pride in his memory, it only took a few questions to get the name George Spencer and St Louis from him. Unfortunately, that was the depth of the agent's mind vault and he would not pull any official records to confirm further details.
Nonetheless, Ezra declared that was plenty, and immediately moved to the train's ticket office. In spite of Nathan's protest, Ezra purchased the necessary fares. Next, Ezra sent a carefully worded telegram to Four Corners.
They set up their horses at the livery and then headed back to the telegraph office, finding a message from Chris waiting. Ezra shook his head as he read, saying, '"I am imaging that vein in his head throbbing as he read our note."
"Your note. You didn't let me read it."
"I just told him that we were on a quest, a quest of destiny."
Nathan groaned and rubbed his head.
Ezra went on, "He sends his love, and tells you to listen to everything I say."
Nathan grimaced. "Hand it over," he said. Ezra looked offended, and made a move to shove the note into his pocket, but Nathan was quicker, grabbing it from his hand.
"IS THIS WELL ADVISED? STOP SEND WORD BEFORE YOU DO ANYTHING STUPID STOP KEEP EZRA OUT OF TROUBLE STOP"
"He doesn't seem agree with this," Nathan muttered. "We should go back."
"Ridiculous," Ezra replied. "He told you to let him know before we do anything stupid. So, that means we are not currently doing anything stupid. And, if you are to keep me out of trouble, that means I am not currently in trouble. How can I get into trouble if we're not going on an adventure?"
"Ezra, you can get into trouble any day of the week, anywhere you put your feet."
Ezra grinned at that, showing off his gold tooth. "He gives us his blessing. Besides, I've already purchased the tickets. You wouldn't want me to lose money in that deal."
"I can't leave the town for that long, Ezra. I can't ask Doc Meer to help for much longer. He's visiting and I don't want to bother him."
"And when has anyone ever worried about whether or not they're bothering you? It's part of the profession you've both chosen. Poor choice if you asked me. You would do the same for him, if asked. He's there for a few more days, so we have plenty of time. Let's be going."
The third class tickets put them into a creaky old car. It was, of course, all that was available for Nathan. If Ezra had any disappointment on their circumstances, he kept the thoughts to himself and stretched out in row of seats.
The journey was long, and Ezra spent much of it in the club car, plying his trade, but returned to the third class car for the night, looking dejected. "Amateurs," he said unhappily, "and cheap ones at that."
Nathan spent his time talking with the others traveling in the car, reading and watching the scenery go by. The weather was fair and the time passed quickly enough.
He sent telegrams from the longer stops when he was able. Apologizing to Doc Meer and updating Chris. Larabee sent terse replies, asking when they were going to get back. "Soon as we can," Nathan responded, not wanting to commit to a time.
He was glad that he didn't have to face Chris directly. At least, all was well in Four Corners. Meer was keeping an eye on any injuries that cropped up.
As the ride dragged on, and Ezra lingered in the club car, Nathan realized how ridiculous this had become. He'd only wanted to track down the thief, but a simple ride to Ridge City to ask questions was stretching on far too long.
It was just a chess set after all. Just a 'thing'. He knew he had to prepare himself for the fact that it might be gone forever now. He'd lost so much in his life, this was the least of it.
He closed his eyes at the landscape rumbled past and fell asleep when it grew dark. When he awoke, Ezra was back, draped across his seats, asleep as well.
And then, suddenly, they were pulling into Saint Louis. There was a rush of passengers and they stepped down into the bustling station.
He'd never seen a place so full of people before. The surging waves of humanity almost overwhelmed him.
Ezra waded through the crowd as if it was natural to him, steering them through the bustle and to the shipping office. The agent in Saint Louis wasn't as loose-lipped as the one in Ridge City, and they came away with nothing. No matter, Ezra said, and their next stop was the telegraph office. Instead of talking to the agents at the desk, Ezra gestured to one of the delivery boys who loitered nearby. He held up a coin and the boy came running.
They had the address of George Spencer (who sometimes received messages from Daryl Spencer), in no time at all. For an extra penny, they even received an escort.
"That's the place," the kid said, pointing to the little first floor apartment.
"You sure?" Ezra said. "I'd hate to think all of my good money has come to nothing."
"I ain't lying," the kid said. "That's the place where George Spencer lives. You mark my word!" The boy nodded and then turned on his heels. In a flash he was gone, running back to the telegraph office to await his next delivery.
"Not at all like his son's residence," Ezra said speculatively.
"It's nice though," Nathan stated. "Just smaller. If he has the gout really bad, he's not going to want to walk around much. Probably needs a smaller space."
"Excellent thinking, Mr. Jackson!" Ezra replied. "No stairs makes for a better living space. Shall we proceed?"
Once again, they were on the verge of finding the missing chess set. Please, Nathan prayed, please, let it be here this time. Let this be easy. Let me see it again.
And then what? What would happen if they found the set? Already they knew it had sold for over $300. That was an astounding amount of money, more than he'd ever had in his possession.
"Hang on a minute," Nathan said quietly, before they approached the door. "How're we gonna go about this, Ezra? Are we just going to tell him to give it back? Are we gonna try to buy it off him? I can't see how he'd just give up something that cost so much, and I just don't have that kind of money."
"And neither do I," Ezra replied dourly. "The club car was not kind, in spite of my most fervent efforts. At this point, we need to ascertain whether or not he has it. He's three times removed from the theft now and hasn't paid a penny for it. With any luck, we may be able to strike a bargain with him. Sadly, of course, because he had nothing to do with the theft, we can't arrest him for it, can we? He's an innocent party. We can claim that you're the true owner and perhaps he'll listen to reason. It's obviously yours because you smartly carved our images into the pieces, but he might believe as Mr. Woodman did, and think we're trying to scam him."
"If we have to buy it, I won't be able to afford the kind of money," Nathan said tiredly. "It'd take me forever to save up that much."
"We'll manage something," Ezra said. "I have a small stake that I should be able to build up if I can find the right table."
"I don't know how I'll pay you back," Nathan said.
"We'll work out terms." Ezra said offhand. "If we're lucky, he might take pity and be willin' to accept a pittance for it. He might not know its worth. It won't hurt to ask. And, if he asks for an exorbitant amount, we'll see if he would agree to installments."
"I can't take on that sort of responsibility, Ezra. I can't spend the rest of my life paying for something. I'm not going to be tied to that kind of debt, not to anyone."
Ezra gave Nathan a long look. "But it's important to you," he said. "If we find it, we must do everything we can to get it back."
Nathan felt sick just considering it. The prices paid at the pawnshop were more than he could afford. If George Spencer asked for even more, he couldn't ever come up with it. And, the idea that he might have found the set, and still have to leave it behind, hurt him to the core. "We shouldn't have come," he muttered.
"Nonsense," Ezra responded. He gestured to the apartment. "It won't hurt to ask. Let's at least try."
Nathan nodded and they headed toward the door.
.7.7.7
An older woman opened the door and gave them a curious look. "Can I help you?" she asked tentatively.
Before Ezra could speak, Jackson blurted out, "Ma'am, we'd like to talk to Mr. Spencer about a chess set that his son sent to him."
"Oh!" the woman said brightly. "Did you like it? It's about the nicest thing that Daryl ever gave him."
The response confused the pair and they glanced at each other.
"Come in, come in," she encouraged and stepped back from the doorway. "George! Someone's here to talk to you about the chess set."
They moved into the little domicile, finding it much less crammed than the son's home. It was lighter and brighter. They moved easily through the sunlit passageway.
"Emmie?" a voice called from another room. "Did you say they wanted to talk about the chess set?"
"Yes, George," she called as she led the way. She glanced over her shoulder. "He's been so excited to talk about it."
She turned into a room, and they found George Spencer in a large comfortable chair, one swollen leg raised on a cushion. He smiled. "Gentlemen, how good of you to stop by. Please, forgive me. I have trouble standing. Have a seat. Emmie, can you bring some tea for our guests. It's so good to have guests. Please, be seated. Be comfortable. Hello, I'm George Spencer."
Ezra stepped forward to shake his offered hand. "Ezra Standish, at your service, sir. And my colleague is Nathan Jackson."
"Nathan and Ezra, Nathan and Ezra," he said tapping the side of his head. "If I repeat it, I'll remember it. Have a seat! Have a seat. Emmie! Please, can you find something for our visitors? I'm sure they'd like to try your lemon cake. It's the best. The very best. You can't ask for anything better. Please, have a seat."
They sat, because they couldn't handle being told again.
Emmie went to the kitchen, humming, and Nathan looked around the room, desperate to see the chess set, but the room was plain, nearly empty, with only a few chair, and a desk. A little vase of flowers sat on the windowsill.
"So pleased you came for a visit. You wanted to talk about the chess set, right?"
From the kitchen, Emmie called, "I'll have the tea ready in just a moment. The water was already on boil. Just a moment!"
Ezra smiled, and stated, "You see, Mr. Spencer, my friend here is the artist who…"
George's face changed as his jaw dropped. "Pawn! You're a pawn!" He pointed at Ezra, and then looked to Nathan. "Emmie!" he called. "Emmie! Nathan is the pawn who's on both sides! He's the one!"
Emmie came racing back into the room, teapot in hand. She held a hand to her mouth as she gazed at Nathan in something akin to reverence.
Nathan sat back.
"And Ezra's one of the white pawns. Look at him! He looks just like the gambler pawn," George said, jabbing at finger at Ezra. "Just like him!"
"Oh my! Oh my!" Emmie cried. "He's right. You're the spitting images of those pieces." Tears nearly came to her eyes and both Ezra and Nathan looked at her in alarm.
"Oh, I wish we still had it here so that we could compare," George said wistfully.
Emmie puttered around, pouring tea into cups that sat on the back table, but Nathan wasn't paying attention to that.
Emmie spoke. "I'm so delighted! I've been wanting to ask this question ever since I first laid eyes on it. It is the same person on both sides, isn't it? Or are they brothers? Twins? What does it mean? Why are they on both sides?" She looked at Nathan intently. "It is you?"
Nathan didn't seem to hear her. "It's not here?" he asked fretfully.
George smiled. "Oh, Daryl is always buying us expensive useless things. We have no room." He lifted a hand to the simple space he was occupying. "I suppose he thought I could make good use of a chess board, but such a piece as that should never be kept private. It deserves to be on display and admired by all. It would be a sin if I kept it to myself."
Ezra furrowed his brow. "And where, pray tell, is it?" He smiled when Emmie handed him a teacup.
Spencer the elder looked proud. "Where I send all my best artwork. It's at the museum."
Nathan didn't move when Emmie tried to hand him a cup. "What was that?" he asked, unable to believe his ears.
"The museum," George stated. "It's just up the street. They put it on display in my wing." He smiled proudly. "I have total control over what is shown there. That chess set is exactly where it needs to be. You should be so proud, Mr. Jackson, to know your work is in such a prestigious place. Everyone can admire it!"
Ezra asked, "Then, it would be possible to retrieve it? You see, the set was stolen from my friend's possession. Stolen and sold to a pawnshop where your son retrieved it, unknowingly." He took a sip of tea and settled the cup delicately on the little saucer. "Certainly, you see that it should be returned to him.
Spencer frowned as he listened, then opened a drawer on his desk. He came up with a slip of paper. "Daryl sent me the receipt. He purchased it legally." He smiled ruefully at where the price had been circled. He held it out, so Ezra took it. "And the set belongs to me, and I did the right thing when I sent it where everyone can admire it."
Ezra scrutinized the page. "But, certainly, you are open to the idea of getting it back to the true owner?" The corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. "We'd be willin' to pay a fee for your kindness. I suppose we can meet the price he paid." He looked dubious as he gazed at the circled price.
George and Emmie exchanged glances.
"You should be so proud," Emmie said, looking lovingly at Nathan.
"No," George responded. "Don't you see, Mr. Jackson? It would be wrong to take that piece of art from the public. It should belong to the world, not one man. Such a marvelous work should be seen by everyone. It would be a sin to take it from the public, to remove it from the museum – a sin."
Nathan just stared as Emmie continued to hold his teacup.
"A sin," George said again.
TBC