Page 1

Chapter One

He had been thinking things could not get any worse.

But here was Mrs. Dubonnet who ran the toy shop next door, filling him in on last night’s break-in while he tried to take in the yellow streamer of crime-scene tape stretched across the entrance of Time in a Bottle Antiques.

“But he’s all right?” Andy insisted, because anything else was unthinkable. “He’s alive and they took him to the hospital, so he’s…”

“He was beat up pretty bad,” Mrs. Dubonnet told him. She was trying not to stare at the purple-black bruising on his own face. “Your uncle’s not a young man.”

She probably didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation, but Andy still felt it like a punch to the heart. It was true. Uncle Cuthbert was seventy. Not a young man by any stretch. And even knowing that, knowing Uncle C. was struggling with things, Andy had allowed his own problems—allowed Marcus—to take precedence.

The cold December breeze kicked up white caps in the harbor, whipped and snapped the flags and banners all down the row of cute little shops lining Main Street, and whispered down the back of his neck. He shivered. “Why would anyone bother robbing this place? He can’t have been bringing in much business.”

“Easy pickings,” Mrs. Dubonnet said with all the certainty of a veteran beat cop. She was about sixty; a short, round woman with rosy cheeks, fierce blue eyes, and glossy black hair cut in classic Dutch boy style. She had been neighbors—and friends—with Uncle C. for the last twenty years. Her husband, the ubiquitous Mr. Dubonnet, was an occasional poker playing buddy of Uncle C.’s.

“Yes, but…”

Mrs. Dubonnet added loyally, “Cutty still has some nice pieces on the shelves.”

They gazed through the grimy front window at the full-rigged 1869 gunboat in a bottle sitting on a chipped and battered nineteenth century English inlaid rosewood handkerchief table. Those were probably the two most valuable items in the shop, and they were still sitting there undisturbed, collecting dust as they had for the past four years. Uncle Cuthbert did not price to sell. Andy had long suspected his uncle did notwantto sell his “treasures.”

“I should get over to the hospital,” he said.

“Let me know what you find out,” she said, and just for a moment her lower lip trembled.

“Will do.” Andy patted her arm, said with a confidence he didn’t feel, “I’m sure it will be okay.” He turned away.

“You’ll probably run into Clark.”

There was something in her tone—it sounded a little like a warning. Andy turned back. “Right. Well, he’s family.”

Clark Skylar was a distant cousin to Uncle C. and an even more distant cousin to Andy. Clark had worked at Time in a Bottle for a year or so, but there had been some falling out. Andy had never known the full details, but Clark and Uncle C. had seemed to move past it. Andy knew his uncle had spent Thanksgiving with Clark and his wife.

Mrs. Dubonnet said darkly, “There’s family, and then there’s family.”

Darkanda bit cryptic.

“Uh, sure.” Andy said politely, went down the steps, freezing in his tracks when Mrs. Dubonnet called after him, “Clark won’t be happy when he learns Cuthbert is leaving the whole kit and caboodle to you.”

“The whole…”

There was no hiding his shock, and, reading his face, she smiled grimly. “Yep. Everything goes to you. Cutty always said you were the son he wished he had.”

“But I don’t…”Want it. As fond as his memories were of spending teenaged summers at Safehaven Harbor and learning the antiques trade in the crowded aisles of Time in a Bottle, Andy’s life was in Philadelphia. His job, his friends, his…

Marcus was in Philadelphia, but you couldn’t blame the city for that.

And he couldn’t hide out in Safehaven forever. This was just a layover while he recovered from the breakup and figured out his next step. He was not moving to Safehaven. Not even for Uncle C. Anddefinitelynot if Uncle C. wasn’t going to be around.

Which was a terrible thought.

He said, “It’s way too soon to be thinking that way. I don’t—”

“Clark will be thinking that way. You can bet your life on it.” Her expression was as bleak as her tone. “Best to be prepared.”

Andy hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll let you know what I find out about Uncle C.,” he promised.

* * * * *