Chapter 4
Gideon had finished his tasks for the day and moved to the front room to retire with a book. There was little chance anyone would come in, but maybe someone would stop by with another job. That would be all right.
He was currently working his way through a biography of Arthur Conan Doyle, a fascinating and talented man.
He’d finished a chapter and was turning the page as the small bell over his door jangled. He looked up, frowning at the interruption.
A pretty young woman had come in. Not that young.
A few years younger than he was. She wore a kind smile and held a large blue velvet box in her hands.
The edges of the box were lightly worn from age.
He already knew what was in it. Music box.
Or mantel clock. Slight chance it was an automaton, but she didn’t look like she could afford an antique like that.
He placed his bookmark between the pages and stood. “Hello. Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” She stared at him as if she was searching for words. “I don’t know how to explain this except to jump right in. I’ve gotten myself in a bit of a pickle.”
“How so?”
She set the box on the counter between them but kept her hands on it, her fingers tapping the surface. Her nails were painted pale pink. “I’ve taken this on as a job. To refurbish it. And I said I could fix the mechanism.” She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“You want me to do it?”
“Yes.” She looked up, hope in her hazel eyes. “Can you?”
Of course he could. He frowned further. “I don’t even know what you’re asking me to fix.”
“Oh! Right.” She lifted the lid off the box, revealing its contents.
He almost reacted. Was he really looking at what he thought he was looking at? If so, this was a very rare object indeed.
She took the music box out and opened the lid.
The moment he saw the bird, he knew. His pulse picked up a notch. “This is a Blaise Bontems.”
Her brows lifted. “That sounds important.”
His frown returned only to flatten into disapproval. Did she really not know what she had? “Where did you say you got this?”
“I didn’t. But it’s not stolen, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He hadn’t been. But he was now.
She correctly interpreted what he was thinking. “I got it from the woman who hired me to fix it. I’m not a thief.” Her expression turned stern, her gaze flashing with indignation. “Do you really not know who I am?”
His eyes narrowed as he tried to place her. He knew so few people in town. Had she been in his shop before? No. He’d remember her if that was the case.
Hands on her hips, she let out an exasperated sigh. “I own the business right next to yours. We’re neighbors. I’m Sabrina Moreau. Bits & Pieces?”
“Oh.” She still didn’t look familiar. “Hello.”
“Hi.” She sighed. “Can you fix this or not?”
“I—of course, I can fix it. But it’s not going to be cheap. A piece like this … it’s not like the parts are still being manufactured. I’ll probably have to make them myself and—”
“How much?” She’d gone from exasperated to worried and was now chewing her bottom lip.
“I need to have a closer look at the works. See what’s usable, what’s not.”
“When can you do that? Right now?”
“I suppose I could.”
She exhaled. “Okay, great.” She moved to one side and leaned on the counter.
He didn’t like being watched, not because he didn’t know what he was doing but because his curse might kick in at any moment. Then she would think he was careless. Or lose faith in him.
He didn’t like exposing himself this way. “It would be better to do this in my workshop.”
“Where’s that?”
“The back room.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing.
“Would you carry the box back there? It’s right this way.” Better to have her handle it. If this was genuinely a Blaise Bontems, it would be catastrophic for him to drop such a rare and valuable object.
“Sure.” There was skepticism in her voice.
Already she was losing confidence in him. He could feel it. “Until a work order is signed, I prefer the item remain in the care of its owner as much as possible.”
A weak excuse but one that sounded plausible.
She followed him through.
He gestured to his workbench. “Right there is fine.”
She set the box down. He took his seat, carefully opened the box, and lifted the music box out.
“This was well-loved,” he said softly.
She nodded. “I thought that too.”
Holding it with both hands, he turned it over and almost immediately found the mark he’d been looking for. “It is a Blaise Bontems.”
“And that’s a big deal, isn’t it?”
He set the box down and looked at her. “Blaise Bontems was really the grandfather of automatons. He and his family were known for their birds, especially, because of how lifelike the singing was. When he started making them, no one else was doing anything like it. He even made one for the queen of England.” His attention returned to the box.
“This isn’t just a music box. It’s history. ”
“I had no idea. What might a music box like this be worth?”
He shook his head. “Anywhere from ten to thirty thousand dollars. More at auction, I’d imagine.”
“Holy smokes,” she whispered.
“Bontems automatons are highly collectible.”
“I can imagine.” She inched closer. “The little bird inside there is so beautiful. It’s a shame it doesn’t move or sing anymore, but you’ll be able to fix it?”
“I hope so.” It would be an honor to work on this piece, but work is exactly what it would be. He already anticipated having to make parts. “Let me get it open and see what kind of shape it’s in.”
She leaned in even closer, letting him catch a whiff of her sweet perfume. It was nice, not overpowering, and not too sweet. Just enough to make him want more. A pang shot through him.
He ignored it. And her. He had no choice if he wanted to end his family curse. He’d been around attractive women before and managed. Not as attractive or as nicely perfumed as Sabrina, but he’d manage.
Although it would be easier if she wasn’t so close.
In an effort to get her to back up, he gave her a perturbed look that he didn’t feel.
She ignored it, tucked a hand beneath her chin, and seemed perfectly willing to wait on his next move.
He clicked on the lamp above his bench and pulled it closer. Her chestnut hair gleamed in the light. Maybe that’s what smelled so good.
Focus on the music box.
He opened the lid, and a little bird, about the size of a hummingbird, rose out of the box. Gideon nodded. “See that? Real feathers. He used them to make his automatons look as lifelike as possible.”
“Those are real?” She came nearer to get a better look, her arm brushing his.
The shock of it froze him in place. When was the last time he’d had contact with another person?
“I thought they were metal when I first saw them, but that was a silly thing to think. How would metal look that real?” With the tip of her finger, she stroked the bird’s tail several times. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?”
Gideon cleared his throat. “Let’s see if we can get it to do anything.”
She straightened. “I was told it didn’t work at all.”
“Was a key tried?”
“She did mention a key, but I didn’t even see one.”
He checked inside the lid. Nothing. He turned the box over. There it was, held in place by two small metal prongs. He pried it loose and inserted it into the side of the box.
“All right, let’s see what happens.” He gently turned the key. There was the right amount of tension, not too tight, not too loose. Maybe the mechanics just needed a cleaning.
On the second turn, the bird’s tail twitched.
Sabrina sucked in a breath. “It moved!”
“A good sign.” Gideon almost smiled. He turned the key a third time.
The bird’s beak came open with a tinny clack. Then black smoke began curling up from the music box.
Gideon froze, mortified. His wretched curse had struck again.