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Drakon’s Past
by N.J. Walters
 
Copyright © 2018 by N.J. Walters. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

Constance Owens pulled her ten-year-old van into the driveway of a single-story dwelling on a quiet street in one of the older, historic areas of Las Vegas.

On cue, the front door was pushed open, and her sister ran out to meet her. Constance turned off the engine and climbed out of the vehicle.

It was only the two of them now that their grandfather was gone. Their parents had died when they were both kids, leaving them to be raised by their mother’s father. Grandpa Watkins had not only shared his home and his love with them, but also his passion for the vintage and antique. She missed him, especially on days like today when she was returning from an estate sale and buying trip.

“Help me bring the boxes inside.” Constance carefully lifted out a box filled with crystal and china and handed it to Abigail.

“So did you get anything really interesting?”

Constance laughed and walked into the house, bypassing the living room and heading straight to the bedroom at the back. They’d converted their grandfather’s old bedroom into a storage area and workshop for both of them after he’d passed.

“You mean did I find something I’m going to keep for myself?” As a rule, Constance didn’t collect anything in particular. She bought and sold, never becoming attached to any particular item. But now and again, something caught her eye and her heart.

Her grandpa had told her many times she’d inherited his gift for knowing where to find something valuable when others passed it over. And that was true. Many times, she’d watched him pull something out of a junk box at an antique store or delve into an old box at a yard sale and find something spectacular at the bottom.

He’d also cautioned her to use her talent sparingly. The last thing she wanted was to get a reputation for finding such things. That would just make other dealers and sellers keep a closer eye on her. And in their business, that was what you didn’t want.

“Well?” Abigail asked as she set the box onto the worktable.

“Maybe,” she conceded. Constance had a passion for jewelry, not the expensive stuff, but the unusual and vintage. Over the years, she’d amassed quite a nice collection.

Abigail stopped beside her and bumped her hip against Constance. “That means you did. I want to see it.”

“As soon as we get everything inside,” she promised.

When they went back out to the driveway, their next-door neighbor Mrs. Karsh was standing on her front step. “Back from another trip, I see.”

Constance waved. “I am. And I found some gorgeous perfume bottles. I’m almost sure you don’t have them.”

Mabel Karsh had lived beside Constance’s grandpa for as long as she and her sister had been here, and Mrs. Karsh kept an eye on Abigail when Constance was away.

“Bring them over later.”

“I will,” she promised. She and Abigail quickly unloaded the rest of the boxes, leaving a small table and iron headboard in the van. Constance knew a shop in the city that would almost certainly buy both.

She detoured to the kitchen to get an ice-cold glass of lemonade. Abigail was right behind her, practically vibrating with excitement. “Show me.”

She took a long sip of lemonade and made a production of swallowing. “Ah, that’s refreshing.”

“Constance, don’t tease.”

She set down her glass and grinned. Truthfully, she couldn’t wait to share her find with her sister. “If the gems in this were real, it would be worth a fortune.” She went to her purse and opened it, pausing for dramatic effect. Then she pulled out the long chain of stones. The setting was silver, of that there was no doubt.

“Oh my God.” Abigail’s jaw dropped and then slammed shut. “Those are emeralds.” She snatched the necklace, walked to the patio door, and held it up to the light. The gems caught the light, refracting it. Leaning closer, she studied each stone intently, turning the necklace one way and then another. They’d both learned well from their grandpa, but it was Abigail who knew the most about gemstones. When she turned back to Constance, she was pale. “This is the real deal.”

Constance’s knees grew weak. “It can’t be. They’re fake, great fakes, but paste nonetheless. Look at how large they are.” Even as she said it, she knew she was wrong. When it came to gemstones, Abigail didn’t make mistakes. Constance might have a knack for finding things, but her sister was the same when it came to precious and semiprecious gems.

Abigail shook her head. “No, they’re not.”

Constance took the necklace from her sister. “But I found it in a box in the basement.” The silver had been tarnished and dirty, the gems dull. The necklace hadn’t looked all that great when she’d purchased it.

Abigail grabbed her by the arm. “Here, sit down before you fall.” She shoved Constance onto a chair and retrieved her lemonade for her. “Drink some more of this.”

She dutifully took the glass and sipped, the necklace gleaming in her free hand. “I found a wooden crate in the basement with four cool dragon statues and another smaller metal box nestled inside. At the estate sale,” she added, knowing she was rambling. “The gentleman died suddenly, and his son wanted everything sold off as quickly as possible. I paid a hundred each for the statues. The metal box was locked and the seller insisted on opening it. The necklace was grimy and dull. They charged me fifty bucks.”

She still couldn’t believe it, even though a little part of her had known the necklace was special. Something had sent her to the basement, even though there was nothing else but a few old tools down there. And cobwebs. There had been a ton of those, too.

“I cleaned it up at the motel last night and figured it was a good copy. Who in their right mind tosses a real emerald necklace into a box and leaves it in the basement. We’ll have to sell it.” That was the first rule of Grandpa Watkins. If it was expensive, you sold it and banked the profits.

Abigail shook her head. “No. Real or not, it only cost you fifty bucks. Pay the business more than that price and keep it.” Her sister draped the necklace over Constance’s head and settled it around her neck. “It looks good on you.”

She really wanted it. She wanted to keep the statues, too. Maybe she would. As her sister pointed out, as long as she paid the business double what the necklace and statues cost her, they were making money.

“The statues are cool, too.” She looked at her sister. “Their eyes are gems.”

“Like the emeralds?”

She shook her head and then nodded. “One of them is. The others are different.”

They stared at each other and then bolted for the back bedroom where they’d left the boxes. Abigail beat her to the room, but Constance knew which box she’d stashed the statues in.

She flipped open the flaps and dug through the packing paper. The statues weren’t overly large, about six inches high and carved from different materials. There was an onyx one with diamond eyes, a wooden one with blue eyes, a bronze one with red eyes, and a crystal one with emerald eyes.

“Holy shit.” Abigail picked up the crystal one and studied it. “The gems look the same.” The eyes were large, appearing almost too big for the dragons, but they somehow worked. “They’re all real.”

Constance lifted the bronze statue with red eyes. The carving was exquisitely detailed with each patterned scale visible. It must have taken a skilled artisan a very long time to create such an item. The dragon was fierce, the eyes cold in spite of their hot color. “We need a second opinion.”

“Only take one.” Abigail held up the wooden one. “I think this is teak, and the eyes are definitely sapphires.”

“I don’t think we should keep these.” Constance placed a hand on her stomach almost feeling sick. “There’s something about them that isn’t right.” She couldn’t say what it was, but suddenly, her instincts were screaming at her to get rid of the statues. Funny, but she didn’t feel the same way about the necklace. She reached up and touched the vintage silver chain around her neck.

Abigail slowly nodded. “The dragon sculptures go. The necklace stays. But they all need to be locked up.”

“Agreed.” Constance wrapped each statue back in paper and placed them in a smaller box. She heaved a sigh of relief when she closed the lid. She had no idea why she was reacting to them so strongly now. She hadn’t when she’d bought them.

Or maybe she had, but the thrill of the find had overshadowed her internal alarm.

She carried the box to the small walk-in closet off the bedroom. It was half filled with an antique iron safe that weighed a ton. Her grandpa had taken out a wall to get the darn thing in and reinforced the floor to hold it.

She spun the dial until she’d put in the right combination. The big space contained only important papers, their grandpa’s watch, several sets of cuff links, and his wedding ring.

Constance placed the box in the safe. Reluctantly, she removed the necklace and set it on one of the metal shelves. She didn’t take a full breath until the door was closed and locked.

“Okay. I’m going to unpack everything and post some listings online.” The rule for making a living in this business was to sell fast, pocket the profit, and move on. “Then I’m going to take the perfume bottles over to Mrs. Karsh before she comes looking for them. Tomorrow, I’ll take the teak dragon to Mario.” Mario Gonzales was a fellow dealer and an old friend of her grandpa’s. “I’ll text him tonight. Tell him I have something I want him to look at.”

Abigail chewed on her bottom lip. “Are you sure you should?”

Constance shook her head. “I’m not sure about anything.” Her chest was tight, so she rubbed her hand over it.

Her sister threw her arm over Constance’s shoulders and squeezed. “That’s one heck of a find. And you know what Grandpa used to say.”

The two of them shared a look. “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.” They spoke at the same time and then laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it.

“Right.” Constance rubbed her hands over the denim of her jeans. “Best to get to work.”

After several hours, Constance stood and stretched before grabbing the box with the half-dozen vintage perfume bottles nestled in the bottom. Mrs. Karsh had a passion for them even though she didn’t wear perfume. Whatever she didn’t buy, Constance would list online.

“I won’t be long.”

Abigail waved her off.

It was hard to leave the room. Just knowing the dragon statues and the necklace were there pulled at her. She didn’t like the sensation. She’d never been one to catch collector fever, having to have something at all costs. She liked jewelry and had some wonderful pieces, but if they needed the money, she’d sell them in a heartbeat.

She wasn’t so sure she could part with the statues and necklace, which ironically made her want to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Why had she bought them?

Because they were important. Because they were dangerous.

She went out through the front door and across the driveway to Mrs. Karsh’s home. Why did she think the statues were dangerous? They were inanimate objects made of stone, wood, crystal, and metal. It was the stones that made them alive.

Constance stopped and a shiver ran down her spine. She glanced up and down the street, but there was no one outside, no one watching her. A sense of dread filled her and she suddenly didn’t want to leave Abigail alone in the house, which was silly. She was right next door. What could happen?

She shook herself and made her way to her neighbor’s front door.