Chapter 5 - The Glass on High Street
The drive downtown was fast and silent. Washington drove his sedan through the light snow falling over Columbus while Derek sat in the back with his clipboard, frantically texting the television production crew to buy us time.
"They can stall with the marching band performance for six minutes," Derek called out over the headrest. "That gives us until 8:05 PM before they have to return to game coverage. If we aren't back in your living room with the ball by eight, the slot is gone."
"We'll be there," I said, staring out at the blurred streetlights.
Kruger Fine Antiquities sat on a historic block of High Street, its dark iron grilles pulled down over the display windows. A wrought-iron sign swung gently in the freezing wind.
Washington parked on the curb, hazard lights blinking. We ran up to the glass door. Inside, a single security light illuminated glass cases filled with vintage watches, antique silver, and signed sports memorabilia.
There, sitting on a velvet pedestal right in the center display case near the register, was Samuel's football.
The silver signatures of the 1984 Pioneers gleamed under the spotlight.
"It's right there!" Washington said, cupping his hands against the glass. He rattled the brass door handle. Locked tight. A small sign read: Hours: Mon-Sat 10-6. Closed Sunday.
"There's an emergency contact number on the corner of the glass," Derek noted, pointing his pen at a tiny gold sticker.
Washington dialed the number immediately. He put it on speaker. It rang four times before an old, gravelly voice answered.
"Yeah? This is Arthur Kruger. This line is for alarm emergencies only."
"Mr. Kruger, my name is Washington Fennimore. My wife sold you a signed 1984 state championship football at two o'clock today. It was stolen property from my mother's home. We need it returned immediately—it's part of a national television broadcast in twenty minutes."
A pause on the line. Then a heavy sigh. "Son, I bought that item in good faith from a woman who had the original certificate of authenticity and a signed bill of sale with your family name on it. I paid eighteen thousand dollars in cash."
"She didn't have the right to sell it!" I spoke into the phone, my voice cutting through the wind. "I am Evelyn Fennimore, Samuel's widow. That ball is being donated to the State Sports Hall of Fame tonight. I have the police report number right here."
"Mrs. Fennimore..." Kruger's voice softened slightly, but remained firm. "I know who Samuel Fennimore was. He was a good man. But I'm a businessman. I don't open my shop on Sunday nights, and I don't hand over eighteen thousand dollars' worth of inventory without my cash back in hand."
"We can wire you the money first thing Monday morning!" Washington pleaded.
"Not good enough," Kruger said. "Cash on delivery, or we wait for the police property division to settle this in court next month. Have a good evening."
The line went dead.
Washington slammed his hand against the doorframe. "Dammit! We don't have eighteen thousand dollars in cash sitting in an ATM at seven-thirty on a Sunday night!"
I looked at the ball sitting under the light inside the shop. Then I looked at the business card Derek had retrieved from the display case back home.
"Washington," I said slowly. "Why did Rosalina have the original certificate of authenticity?"
Washington froze. "What?"
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"To sell that ball to a high-end dealer like Kruger, she needed the original 1984 authentication papers," I said, my mind racing. "Those papers weren't in the display case. They were in Samuel's steel lockbox in the basement... the one with the key Rosalina mentioned."
I turned to Derek. "Call the TV station. Tell them to send the mobile broadcast unit to Kruger's Antiquities on High Street instead of my living room."
