“That’ll be next to impossible, I’m afraid.” He leaned an arm against the counter and I got a whiff of orange blossoms with a dark base note of hawthorn. “A viewer this old has undoubtedly changed hands any number of times. Unless you know how it came to be in your cellar, I don’t know how you’d be able to trace the provenance.”
“That’s why I came here, Mr. Dowling—”
“Owen, please.” He flashed a beguiling grin.
“I think you may be in a unique position to help me...Owen. There’s a small silver tag on the bottom with the name of this shop and an inscription.”
He lifted a curious brow as he turned the viewer over. “So there is. ‘To Mott, From Neddy. Together Forever,’” he read, a frown fleeting across his features as he studied the plate.
“Do you recognize those names?” I asked anxiously.
“What? No,” he said with a distracted air. “I was just trying to remember when we switched from silver plating to brass tags for inscriptions.” He paused, considering. “I don’t recall ever seeing one like this, so I think we can safely assume the viewer was bought and sold before my time.”
“I know it’s a long shot,” I said on a hopeful note. “But I thought you might have a sales receipt or even a record of the engraving.”
“The computerized files won’t go back that far, and even if they did, it would be impossible to locate a receipt without a last name. But if I may make a suggestion?”
“Please.
“If you’d like to leave the viewer, I’ll be only too happy to show it to my great-aunt. She’s owned the shop for nearly forty years and I believe she used to do all the engraving herself. The names in the inscription are rather unusual, so there’s a chance she might remember them.”
“Would it be possible for me to come back later when she’s in?”
Owen Dowling shook his head regretfully. “Her visits are few and far between, I’m afraid. She rarely even comes to Charleston these days.”
“I see.” I pulled a business card from my bag and placed it on the counter between us. “If you or your aunt should think of anything, would you please give me a call?”
He glanced down at the card and another scowl skidded across his forehead, but when he looked up, his expression showed nothing but a mild curiosity. “You’re a cemetery restorer.”
“I am.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met one before. Sounds like a fascinating profession.”
“It can be. Anyway, thank you for your time.”
“It was my pleasure. I only wish I could have been of more assistance.”
I shrugged in resignation and thanked him again as I returned the stereoscope to my bag.
A phone rang in the back and he pocketed my card with an apologetic smile as he glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry. I’m the only one here so I have to get that. But please...” He waved a hand to encompass the showroom. “Stay and have a look around. Take your time and enjoy our curiosities.”
“I have an appointment, but some other time perhaps.” My voice trailed away as he disappeared through the curtain and I could hear the rumble of his voice as he answered the phone. I would have liked nothing more than to spend the rest of the morning browsing through all the oddities and treasures, but I had to get to my meeting with the Greater Charleston Historical Society.
The pleasing tinkle of the bells followed me out into the sunshine. As I started down the cobblestone alley toward the street, something compelled me to glance over my shoulder.
Owen Dowling stood just beyond the doorway peering after me. He had a phone to his ear, and as our gazes connected, he stepped back into the shadows as if he didn’t wish to be seen.
I experienced the oddest sensation in that moment. Part premonition, part déjà vu. I’d never met the man before, had never been to that shop. Yet I couldn’t shake the notion that I had been guided to Dowling Curiosities for a reason, and that my visit with Owen Dowling had somehow set something dark and dangerous in motion.
Seven
Later that afternoon, I headed out again, this time to see Dr. Rupert Shaw at the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies. As I came around the side of the Institute after parking, I shot a glance across the street at Madam Know-It-All’s, the palmist I’d become acquainted with last fall. I didn’t linger to try to catch a glimpse of her. I was in too much of a hurry to speak with Dr. Shaw.
“He’s expecting you,” the new assistant said with a smile after I introduced myself. “I’ll take you back.”
She escorted me down the hallway and motioned me through a set of thick pocket doors. “Go on in. If either of you need anything, I’ll be at my desk.”
“Thank you.”