Finders Keepers

What do you consider valuable? Is it a piece of jewelry, a work of art, or maybe a family photo? Some wealthy people gauge their success by the number of rare items they’ve collected. Finding missing treasures for rich investors is what I do¬ — I’m a finder. My job takes me from small antique shops to private collectors who are in financial distress and looking to liquidate valuable assets. The work is always interesting and occasionally dangerous if multiple finders are searching for the same object. We don’t get paid unless we recover a requested item.

Today, I’m hot on the trail of a hand-crafted jewelry box constructed in 1829 by a Russian artisan. It was in a Saint Petersburg Museum until WWII when the German Army looted the building. From there, the box would pop up from time to time as part of a private collection, then disappear again for years. It’s been twenty-five years since the last sighting.

One of my sources suggested I check out an estate sale being held at a small antique shop on Sanibel Island. He wasn’t positive I’d find anything of value, but felt it was worth a look. The day was pleasant, and the source was normally reliable, so I made the drive. I’m always impressed by the number of large estates on a relatively small island. My GPS directed me to a small, weathered shop sporting a hand-painted sign advertising, Estate Sale Today.

Two things immediately caught my attention as I searched for a parking spot. The first was the amount of high-dollar vehicles already here, and the second was a well-dressed, attractive woman entering the building. There are very few people in my line of work, so we often cross paths. Her attendance meant my source was on to something. She hadn’t noticed me, so the advantage was mine.

I waited until a small group of potential customers entered the store before tagging along behind them. My competition stood at the opposite wall with her back to me. Slowly, I worked my way up and down the aisles, inspecting items on exhibit while keeping her in sight. My curiosity was piqued when I saw a worse-for-wear jewelry box displayed on a glass table.

The box had a shabby paint job that attempted to disguise the original inlaid veneer. Its worn velvet lining looked original. What couldn’t be concealed was the design. The top separated into three sections. The middle piece was hinged in a way that allowed it to stand erect, revealing a self-contained mirror. This feature confirmed my suspicions. I carefully removed the middle draw, and as I suspected, the artisan’s initials were etched into the wood. My heart skipped a beat, as it always does when I make a significant discovery.

I was so involved with my find that I failed to notice my competition glide next to me.

“Hello, Garrett, find anything interesting?”

“Hi, Cassandra! Not really, just this beat-up box. How about you?”

“Just the usual collection of junk,” she replied. “I’ve wasted enough time here. Nice seeing you again.”

“Likewise,” I replied as she turned and walked out the door.

When I was sure she was not outside watching me through the window, I scooped up the box, found a similar-sized item, and brought them both to the proprietor. I paid the owner for both items plus an additional fee to have the antique shipped to a secure drop box I maintained for special acquisitions. The second item I had wrapped, then carried it out of the shop. As I expected, Cassandra was leaning on the car next to mine, waiting patiently.

“Looks like you found something after all, Garrett. That wouldn’t be the Russian jewelry box, would it?”

“Cassandra, why would you think that? This is just a gift for my niece.”

She smiled and removed a palm-sized single-shot derringer from her coat pocket and pointed it just below my belt.

“I don’t think your niece will receive her present today. Hand it over!”

The timing couldn’t have been better. Several customers emerged from the shop excited about their new acquisitions. I walked to the vehicle Cassandra was leaning on, her pistol tracking me, and placed the package on the hood. With my decoy now in her possession, I got into my car and drove away, giving her a mock salute.

Later that night, I received a text. Nicely played! See you soon. C.