He hesitated, then spat into his own palm. They clasped hands. “Done!” he said.
A wave of happiness surged over Antonia. She had a friend in San Francisco. At last.
When she got home, she went straight to the store. But Mr. Welles was there instead of Mrs. S. “She had some business to attend to,” he said. “I’m not certain when she will return.”
He sounded busy in a “go away, I’m busy” sort of way, so Antonia went to the apartment instead. Taking the stairs two at a time, she wondered if there might be any leftover pastries from Carmella in the kitchen’s pie safe. Once inside, she stopped.
Something was different.
A faint rustling sound drifted out from the back of the building. A footfall, the sound of something heavy scraping along the floor. Antonia peeked down the hallway and saw the door to the storage room was open. Not a lot, but enough to show light from the window facing the alley.
Maybe it was because of the tall tale she’d spun for Copper Mick, but all she could think of was Treasure Island, with the buccaneer Billy Bones, his mysterious sea chest, and pirates! Antonia pulled out the knife her maman had used to protect them both in Leadville. She opened the blade, the little ric-tic-tic sound a comfort in the dim hallway. Her thumb pressed tightly along the back of the open, locked blade, she set one silent foot in front of the other. The rustling grew louder as she approached the door. She paused outside, listening. Finally, she heard a whispered “Damn!” and relaxed.
She knew that voice.
Pushing the door open with one foot, she said, “Mrs. S?”
Mrs. S whirled around. “Antonia! You surprised me.”
She sounded kind of guilty. Like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t’ve been doing.
Mrs. S stepped aside, brushing her skirts as if they were dusty. Behind her, close to the window, was a large trunk Antonia hadn’t seen before. She knew every trunk and just about every box and crate in there from her secret times spent in the storage room with the dust, spider webs, and the occasional mouse.
Intrigued, Antonia ventured into the room. “I went into the store, and Mr. Welles was there. I guess you convinced him to help in the store?”
“That’s right.” Mrs. S looked down at the knife in Antonia’s hand. Antonia hastily closed the blade and shoved it into her pocket.
Mrs. S just said, “Antonia, I could use your help. As I recall, you are fairly handy with a lock, am I right?”
Antonia now saw a hatpin and a couple of hairpins scattered on the planks in front of the mystery trunk. “Yes’m.” She added virtuously, “But I haven’t picked anything since Leadville,” and crossed her fingers in the depth of her pocket.
“Well, see what you can do with this, if you would,” Mrs. S pointed to the trunk.
Antonia moved closer, got down on her knees, and squinted at the lock. “Did you lose the key?” She knew it wasn’t Mrs. Stannert’s trunk but was curious what she would say.
“It’s not mine,” said Mrs. S stiffly. “It’s Mr. Monroe’s. Or young Mr. Gallagher’s, if you will. In any case, it’s being stored here until his father returns. I am hoping there might be something inside that might provide a clue as to what happened.”
“Huh.” Antonia looked at the hairpins on the floor and picked up two. “Can I bend one of these?”
“You may.”
Ignoring the gentle grammatical rebuke, Antonia bent one of the pins, and said, “I’ll need to break the other.”
Mrs. S nodded.
Antonia inserted the head of the bent, two-pronged pin, and, using half of the broken pin, began to work the lock.
It didn’t take long. A satisfying snick and she was able to swing the hinge plate open. She sat back on her heels, pleased with herself.
“Excellent!” said Mrs. S and actually clapped her hands. “Now come. It’s time for supper. Mrs. Nolan will be most displeased if we are late.”
“We’re not going to look inside?” asked Antonia, disappointed.
Mrs. S took out her pocket watch and opened it. “No, we are not. We should leave now. I’ll take care of that later.”
Antonia started to grumble, but stopped herself. It didn’t matter, because she could sneak into the room any old time and look for herself. Still, she grumbled just a little, because otherwise Mrs. S might get suspicious.
Mrs. S locked the room behind them. As she pocketed the key, she gave Antonia the sort of look that seemed to cut right through to every lie she’d ever made. “Have you been practicing on this door? You were very quick with those hairpins.”
“No’m.” Antonia crossed her fingers again, behind her back this time, and quickly changed the subject. “D’ you think Mrs. Nolan might have apple pie tonight? Or pumpkin? She makes pretty good pie.”
“Well, we should hustle, because if there is pie tonight it will be gone in a hurry.”
There was pie, along with chicken and dumplings, which was one of Antonia’s favorites. Mrs. Nolan tut-tutted and fussed over them, saying, “Mrs. Stannert and Antonia! I’ve almost forgotten what you two look like. It seems like a month of Sundays since you’ve shown up for supper.”
“We have been busy,” said Mrs. S. The other boarders looked at her expectantly, but all she said after that was “I imagine none of your excellent cooking has gone to waste on account of us.”
Mrs. Nolan seemed pleased at the comment and took to fussing at Antonia, asking how she was doing at school, had she made any friends, and was that a new dress she was wearing, before reminding her not to talk with her mouth full. It was hard to eat and answer questions at the same time, because Antonia was determined to get a second helping of dumplings
