Ordinary Things

Ordinary Things

On the eve of his tenth birthday, Malcolm Milkworth found a tarnished pewter brooch with a broken clasp lying in the alley behind Sully’s Fish Market. It was cast in the shape of a dragon with interlacing scrolls on the face and body. A silver tongue protruded from its mouth as if it were breathing fire. Its single jade eye glinted in the sun’s reflection when Malcolm reached down to examine it. He tucked the brooch safely away in his back pocket feeling as if he’d just stumbled upon one of the Queen of England’s crown jewels.

Thus began Malcolm’s peculiar habit of collecting abandoned and discarded objects.

His mother chided him for picking up “such worthless rubbish” but Malcolm didn’t see it that way. To him, every found item had a secret and mystical history of its own. He found a kindred spirit in Mr. Simon Templeton, Proprietor of MacGuffin’s Shoppe of Antiquities and Rare Finds. Malcolm often brought his discoveries to MacGuffin’s on his way home from school. Mr. Templeton would pull out his magnifying glass with a serpent carved in the gold-plated handle and peer at the item with curiosity. ”Hmm, as they say, ‘one man’s trash is another man’s treasure’. You have a keen eye for observation, son. You can see the extraordinary in what others see as ordinary.”

As Malcolm’s collection grew, Mr. Templeton presented him with a silver-plated triangular-shaped box to house his collectibles. A wintry scene of three horses running through a field was etched on the metal lid.

“I think it’s time you had a proper receptacle for your collection, young man. It belonged to my great grandmother Miriam Templeton and she kept her collection of antique brooches safely tucked away in this box. It’s a family heirloom and I want you to have it.”

Malcolm took the box home and placed all his treasures in the silver tin. He closed the lid and tapped it three times as if casting a magical spell.

“From this day forward”, he whispered, “ye shall be called The Milkworth Collection.”

On a chilly day in mid-January after a heavy rainfall, Malcolm wheeled his bike through a muddy field behind an abandoned canning plant to feed the family of feral cats that were permanently camped on the property. The mangy black feline who Malcolm called Pharaoh was batting his paw at the end of a rusty pipe and the movement caught the boy’s eye. As he came closer, he noticed the cat was playing with a strap that was attached to a khaki knapsack stuffed into the pipe opening. He pulled out the sack and opened its contents. In it he found a plain black journal with the letter “M” embossed on the cover and a long rectangular-shaped key with an orange molded plastic handle.

He opened the journal to the first page and saw a list of items and dates written in an unfamiliar language. He leafed through the pages and found numerous black and white illustrations of art objects: a pair of antique-looking vases with floral motifs on the body and snake-like handles above the neck; a brooch in the shape of a four-legged insect with braided antennae; a framed painting of a landscape near a riverbank with a man in huntsman attire seated on a horse. On the last page of the journal, he found the following words written in English: “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” – Thomas Merton. MSI Clns. NE Wing.

Malcolm placed the journal and key back in the knapsack, pulled it over his shoulder, jumped on his bike and sped to MacGuffin’s.

He found Mr. Templeton on a ladder dusting a shelf of bronze statuettes.

“Mr. Simon, you have to see this.”

Simon pulled out his magnifying glass and examined the first page of the book.

“Interesting. Rather intriguing. If I’m not mistaken, son, this looks like it’s written in Finnish. A list of items of some sort. And I believe the dates noted are 15th & 16th century.”

“Can you translate?”

“No, not that well. A young man from Helsinki worked here in the shop for a summer and I picked up snippets of it.”

“And look…at these sketches. Do you think the list of objects are descriptions of the sketches? Maybe it’s a list of art pieces and paintings?” Malcolm asked.

“Yes indeed, you may be right. Where did you find this son?”

“In this backpack stuffed in a pipe by the old Mills cannery.”

“It is peculiar that the book seems to have been intentionally hidden in the middle of nowhere.”

“And then there was this oddly-shaped key in the sack…it’s says SI Mfg on this orange part.”

“Yes, strange indeed. You may want to have Rita at the Milfred Mikashus Museum of Art take a look at this. She’s a docent and quite the expert in fine art pieces. The museum is about half a mile from here.”

Malcolm tucked the journal and key back into the knapsack and rode his bike to the museum. He entered through a black mirrored revolving door and headed to the info desk in the lobby atrium.

A woman with pomegranate-colored hair and large double-hooped gold earrings greeted him at the desk. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m looking for Rita Gleeson. Is she here today?”

“Yes, Rita is working today but she’s currently giving a tour. Should be back in about 30 minutes. You’re welcome to wait in the lobby. In the meantime…here’s a map of the museum. Oh…and just to let you know…the Irving Exhibit in the northeast wing is temporarily closed. There was a robbery here several days ago. Some very valuable pieces of art were stolen from the Collection so they’re conducting an investigation. Such a shame. I do hope they can find the thieves and recover the pieces.”

Malcolm thanked the receptionist and sat down in the lobby to examine the map. On the upper right the map read, “Marcus and Sabrina Irving Special Collections. Northeast Wing.” He pulled out the journal and turned to the last page. MSI Clns. NE Wing. His pulse quickened and the back of his neck was tingling.

He placed the journal back into the backpack and walked across the marbled floor to the northeast wing. The entrance was roped off and a sign placed in front of the red velvet rope read, “Temporarily closed until further notice.” Malcolm gazed up at a horseshoe-shaped arch framing the entrance. There were words carved into the granite stone at the curve of the arch. “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” – Thomas Merton. Malcolm opened the journal again. He looked at the last page to make sure he wasn’t going crazy. The quote in the book was indeed the same one carved on the arch above his head.

Malcolm gripped the knapsack tighter around his shoulder and tried to keep his legs steady as he walked back to the info desk.

“You’re in luck, young man. Rita just go back.” The red-haired woman smiled at him through her green-rimmed glasses and pointed to a tall woman in a flowing brocade scarf at the other end of the counter.

Rita looked up as he approached and greeted him with an outstretched hand. “Welcome to the Mikashus. How can I help you?”

Malcolm placed the journal on the counter with shaky hands.

“I have something I think you’ll want to see.”

Rita eyed Malcolm with curiosity and opened the journal. She scanned the first few pages and drew in a quick breath.

“These are…where did you get this, young man?”

Malcolm told her about the pipe in the abandoned field.

“You are aware that we just had some very valuable goods stolen from the museum recently. And are you aware that the items in this journal are an inventory of those objects?”

“No, I didn’t know…I mean yes, I did just find out about the robbery. And I thought…this key was with it too. I wonder…” Malcolm hesitated. “I wonder if maybe this is a key to the place where they’re storing the…the stolen stuff?”

Malcolm almost expected Rita to laugh at him but she reached an arm out and patted him on the shoulder.

“If this is what I think it is, this is a remarkable find. Let’s go back to my office, Sherlock Holmes. I need to make some calls.”

Within the hour, the authorities were in Rita’s office and a large man with a loose-fitting tie with coffee stains on his white shirt was speaking with Malcolm. He introduced himself as Detective Ramos.

“You’ll need to take us to the field where you found the knapsack, Malcolm. In the meantime I have a man looking into storage units in the area. I’m quite sure your hunch is right. The thieves most likely hid the stolen goods in a storage unit and intended to go back and retrieve the backpack and move the goods to another location. But, if my hunch is right, you beat ‘em to it!

Ramos paused for a moment and added, “You do know about the reward?”

Malcolm shook his head, “No, sir, I don’t know about a reward.”

“Well, young man, if we find a storage unit that opens with this key and the stolen goods are still there, you will receive a finder’s fee.”

“Oh, that’d be cool. Like $500 or something?”

Ramos rolled his eyes and slapped Malcolm on the back.

“A bit more than that, Detective Malcolm. How about $20,000?”

By the following afternoon the authorities had linked the key to a storage unit within five miles of the field where Malcolm found the backpack. The unit was opened and all the stolen art pieces were intact and accounted for. The investigation led to a suspect who worked as a maintenance worker at the museum. The worker was linked to an international theft ring based in Finland.

In addition to the finder’s fee, Malcolm received an honorary policeman badge and a citizen commendation certificate for leading law enforcement to the stolen goods.

Malcolm tried repeatedly to give some of the reward money to Mr. Templeton but he steadfastly refused.

“No, son, keep the reward for yourself. I simply led you to Rita. And I’m sure your parents will agree that some of the funds should be put aside for your future studies. Or future discoveries. Possibly in the field of forensic science?”

“Actually, Mr. Simon, I’ve decided I want to be an archaeologist.”

“Well, Malcolm, that does indeed seem quite suitable for you. Forensic archaeology. Needless to say, I envision many more remarkable finds in your future.”

Written by

Lori Bowman

Redondo Beach, CA