I saw a coyote on a cliffside, baying mournfully at the full moon. Hmm, interesting.

  Whatever his true nature, this shop owner and his people had been here for a long time—that truth was etched firmly in my brain—as if someone had just announced as much to me.

  “I need to replace a needle on a record player,” I explained, approaching the counter cautiously.

  As I got closer, I studied the details of my host. His beard was short and badly trimmed. It matched the bushy eyebrows that dominated his brow. Though there were streaks of gray in his hair and beard, his face was relatively free of wrinkles. His manner seemed open and friendly but I sensed a clear “keep out” sign for anyone seeking to know more about him.

  “Ah, that’s one I’ve not heard in quite a while,” Joe replied, looking up at the ceiling while drumming his fingers on the counter. “What model is it?”

  “Victrola XII, the tabletop model.”

  Joe ceased his finger drumming and patted the counter three times in a row. “Ah good, good, good. Still got plenty of those needles around.” He grunted. “Or do I...?” He shook his head. “No, no, Joe, you old fool, yes! Of course you do.” He suddenly seemed to remember I was still standing there. “Oh, sorry, sometimes I get lost in my thoughts.” He pointed toward the shelves at the far left of the store. “Back corner over there, third shelf from the bottom.”

  I nodded before going over to the designated spot. Once I did, I was immediately distracted by the large raft of Americana surrounding me. I passed everything from garden gnomes and pink flamingos to antique clocks and pocket watches. Some books were scattered among the flotsam, mostly hardcovers of substantial age. Each of them bore a title I’d never heard of. Seeing so little rhyme or reason to the shop layout, I was amazed that anyone, including the owner, could find anything in this mess.

  As directed, I located the needles exactly where Joe said they’d be. Kneeling down to look them over, the shop bell tinkled behind me. The soft footsteps crossing the hardwood floors indicated the new customer must have been a woman. The rapidity of her steps suggested anxiety. They didn’t stop until she reached the counter.

  “And a very good afternoon to you, Lizzie,” Joe said in the same avuncular fashion he’d used to greet me. “What can I help you with today?”

  “I...” Lizzie started to say before her voice faltered. I immediately recognized her voice as belonging to the same Lizzie from Ethel’s inn. And I also noticed she sounded far less sure of herself than she had at breakfast yesterday. “Are we alone?”

  “Do you see anyone else?” the shop owner asked and I was surprised he didn’t mention me. “What’s this all about?”

  “What it’s been about the last two times I came here!” Lizzie snapped. “I have more things to sell, things that are prized, one-of-a-kind objects that are worth a pretty penny!”

  “All right, all right, no problem,” Joe said, his conciliatory tone taking on a sickening oiliness. “What do you have for me today?”

  Taking three needles with me, I silently drifted away from the corner and edged back towards the counter. The utter lack of organization had one advantage, the shelves provided plenty of holes for me to inconspicuously observe Lizzie and Joe. In a tiny gap, I saw Lizzie’s back to me. Meanwhile, Joe was examining some gems through a jeweler’s loupe. I was no gemologist, but even I could see that all the stones were fine quality and they were large.

  “Afraid the best I can do for these is two thousand,” Joe said, putting the lope on the counter.

  “They’re easily worth ten times that!” Lizzie protested, throwing up her hands in dismay. I noticed she was wearing a pair of fashionable long-sleeved gloves that looked like they came right out of a 40s film noir. Very strange.

  “I would pay ten times as much, if I could afford to,” Joe admitted with gentle understanding. “But as a humble shopkeeper, I can’t exceed my budget for any payouts.”

  Lizzie threw her hands into the air and appeared completely beside herself. “Please, Joe... I need all the money I can get for them! This is really a matter of life and death!”

  Joe gave her a practiced look of reluctant negotiation before saying, “Tell you what... I’ll stretch the budget this one time, and give you… five thousand for the three stones.”

  “Can you make it eight thousand?” Lizzie asked, her voice sounding husky from tears that may or may not have been fake.

  Joe shrugged his shoulders and replied, “I could go as high as six.”

  “Sure you couldn’t go to seven? They’re worth sooo much more than that.” Lizzie’s voice was filled with hope, which meant Joe was close to the right price.

  The bearded man groaned a melodramatic sigh as he stared at the ceiling. “It’s against my better instincts.” Then he flashed her an all too toothy grin. “But okay, you’ve got a deal.” I was fairly sure the deal was all on his side.

  Even so, Lizzie sagged with relief as she exhaled the breath she was holding. The shopkeeper quickly swept the gems off the counter and reached under the cash register before pulling out a wad of bills. He slowly counted out seven thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills, which Lizzie gratefully scooped up.

  “Thank you so much, Joe,” she gushed. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Hey, I’m always glad to help whenever I can,” the counter man replied, grinning behind his beard. “Hope it takes you wherever you need to go.”

  Lizzie nodded as she hastily stuffed the money into her purse. “Me too... and thanks again!” She strolled back the way she came as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Not once did she glance in my direction, but I waited until the shop bell tinkled to confirm her departure before I dared breathe again.

  “Do you plan to be a Peeping Tom all day or are you gonna pay me for those needles?” Joe called out.

  I rushed up to the counter, but all the while my mind was stuck on what had just happened. I could only wonder if perhaps Lizzie was the dreamer I was after—there was nothing like financial issues to interrupt one’s slumber—perhaps her expensive lifestyle had finally caught up with her and she was living past her means?

  As I fumbled with my wallet, I asked Joe, “Why didn’t you tell her I was here?”

  “Because I like to make sure certain people know certain things, Sandman,” Joe replied while he rang up the sale on the cash register and I couldn’t help the surprise that waged through me. Apparently, the shock on my face was obvious because Joe smiled and added, “Oh, don’t worry… I ain’t gonna tell no one.” Then he handed me the change. “But I could smell the sand on you. There’s nothing else like it.”

  He leaned on the counter, looking deeply into my eyes. “She always takes the same route after she comes here, so she’s headed for the abandoned parking lot just up the street.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I like to keep an eye on all my customers.” Dropping the needles into a bag, he added, “Now you gonna waste your time talkin’ to me or catchin’ up with her?”

  Although I didn’t quite trust Joe and fully suspected his motives, I also didn’t want to lose Lizzie so I dashed out the door as fast as possible and the tiny shop bell clanged as loud as a church bell on Sunday morning in my ears.

  ***

  True to Joe’s word, I found Lizzie only a few steps away from the abandoned parking lot just up the street from Joe’s shop. Despite the urgency, I restrained the urge to run and simply hastened my pace. The last thing I needed was to draw any unnecessary attention to myself. Still, when I spotted the frazzled woman further up the street, I told myself not to rush. I called out her name, and she stopped and turned around.

  “Why, if it isn’t Sandman Syd!” she responded with a smile that was usually dazzling but today seemed brittle. “What are you doing in Shady Hills! Why aren’t you putting your store together?”

  “Taking my lunch break at the moment,” I explained as I drew nearer, trying to minimize my panting. “Having a good day?”

  “Oh, never better,” she all but purred, but I wasn’t buying it.

  I decided not to beat around the bush and took a page from Bailey’s direct book when I asked, “Do you often visit antique stores to sell your belongings?”

  She frowned at me. “How did you know about that?” There was alarm in her voice.

  “I was there, just now,” I explained. “I heard you negotiating with Joe.”

  “That asshole!” she hissed before glaring at me and the heat in her eyes started to smolder. “Were you spying on me?”

  Holding up my bag of newly purchased phonograph needles, I replied, “Not intentionally. I went there to buy something and happened to come in just before you did.”

  She looked around with concern, as if she were expecting someone to jump out at her. The oblivious townspeople passed by, minding their own business, but the worry I saw in her eyes was unmistakable. “I have no intention of telling anyone about your money troubles, Lizzie,” I assured her. “I only asked to be sure you’re okay.”

  Looking away from me, she said, “You know, if that line came from any other man, I wouldn’t buy it. But coming from you? Sincerity seems to be a birthright with you.” Looking me up and down, she added with a smile, “Tell you what... I’ll buy you lunch today.”

  “I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I accepted, based on what I just witnessed.”

  “Oh, please, Syd. You saw how much Joe paid me. A couple of meals won’t hurt my pocketbook, I promise.”

  “I’m supposed to meet Bailey at The Half-Moon,” I replied.

  She arched an eyebrow at me. “Hmm, maybe I’d rather just be alone with you?” When she gave me a wink, I swallowed hard.

  “While I appreciate the flattery, unfortunately, that’s not on the menu.”

  ***

  When we arrived at the Half-Moon, we had the place mostly to ourselves. I’d gone ahead and texted Bailey, asking her to give me an extra half-hour before she met us because I wanted to get to the bottom of this Lizzie issue first.

  A college-aged waitress took our drink orders and said she’d be back in a bit. Because I imagined this little meeting with Lizzie might require a bit of encouragement on my part (in order to get Lizzie to spill the truth about what was going on), I pulled out my handy pocket watch and laid it on the table.

  “Oh, what’s this?” Lizzie asked as she looked down at it, just as I’d hoped she would.

  “It’s a pocket watch that has been in my family since the late eighteen hundreds,” I answered as I lifted the beautiful object by its chain and dangled it before her eyes. Just as I’d hoped, Lizzie couldn’t keep her eyes off it. And the longer she couldn’t break her gaze, the deeper she fell underneath my spell. The timepiece had belonged to numerous Sandmen, each imbuing it with his own power until it was very magically strong. It was designed to hypnotize the viewer into answering questions truthfully.

  “It must be worth a pretty penny,” she continued as her eyes followed the timepiece from side to side while I continued to dangle it before her. It was only a matter of seconds before she was fully underneath the spell of the timepiece and it was at that point that I put the watch away.

  “Would you like to tell me what’s going on, Lizzie?” I asked.

  Lizzie nodded and leaned toward me, saying, “The truth of the matter is that I’ve been legally disinherited.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Did you get disowned by your family?”

  “You could say that,” Lizzie answered with a wry grin. “Not an unreasonable reaction after I exposed them to the authorities for smuggling antiquities.”

  “What sort of antiquities?” I asked with keen interest. I had another twenty minutes or so to get the truth out of Lizzie, after which time the timepiece’s power over her would expire and Bailey would show up for lunch.

  “Anything from the Middle East that’s old, valuable, and belongs in a museum. My family runs an import/export business that has a lot of links to that region. Twenty years of chaotic warfare is good for the illegal side of their business.”

  “Have they been doing it for a long time?” I asked, my eyebrows reaching for the ceiling. “The smuggling, I mean.”

  “I honestly have no idea,” Lizzie answered. “For all I know, my father could have been doing this since I was a little kid. But I got a good look at the records... the real company records... which he uses for all the secret sales. That’s how I discovered his reprehensible activities. He’s been shuffling precious relics of history around like they were baseball cards. So, I made some copies of the evidence before turning them over to the FBI.”

  “Which, I presume, they acted upon?”

  Lizzie opened her mouth to answer but stopped when she spotted the waitress coming back with our drinks. As soon as the waitress left again, Lizzie said, “Yeah, they acted upon it! They shuttered my family business forever. Daddy told me he had no choice but to cut me off, claiming that all the money he had left now belonged to his lawyers.” A sour smile crossed her lips. “But I know the truth... and he knows that I know.”

  I couldn’t disguise the surprise on my face—I never would have guessed her family was a bunch of crooks. And the more I considered it, the more I wondered if Lizzie was the sleeper who was suffering.

  Lizzie looked over her shoulder at the storefront window. “You never realize how many friends you have until a disaster like that happens. And now, I have a grand total of one friend after doing the right thing.” She highlighted her last two words with air quotes. “So, I grabbed all the valuables I could and took off.”

  “And your father’s searching for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does your last sale with Joe mark the end of all the valuables you intend to pawn?” I asked.

  Lizzie shook her head. “No, I’ve still got a few choice pieces I’m hoping to get a better price for. Joe can’t afford them, so I’ll have to go somewhere else.”

  I gently touched her hand and softly asked, “Is there anything that could land you in real trouble if you sold it?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Lizzie said, reaching into her bag. “This right here.”

  Taking out a small, golden cartouche, she held it close to her body. My trained eye identified it instantly, and I knew it belonged to Egypt’s Middle Kingdom period. The long, winding body of a snake was incongruously standing on two legs.

  “I brought it with me because I thought maybe Joe might offer me something for it,” she started and then shook her head. “But then I thought better of it because there’s no way he’d appreciate the history of this piece and I’m pretty sure he’d never be able to afford it.”

  “Where did your father get it?” I asked, almost unable to breathe because this item was beyond valuable.

  “I have no idea,” Lizzie said with a shrug. “This is the only Egyptian relic he had. I didn’t understand why until I held it.” The reverence she exhibited as she cradled it raised all sorts of red flags in my head.

  “If anyone caught you with that, you could be arrested on the spot,” I pointed out.

  “I know, I know, but I just can’t... let it go.” She looked at it with visible longing. “It’s the weirdest thing,” she continued, shaking her head.

  “What’s the weirdest thing?”

  “Whenever I keep it close to me, I’ve got energy to burn.” She sighed. “Yet, without it, I’m completely drained and irritable. I can’t even get out of bed without it now.” She sighed again. “I actually hate the idea of selling it.”

  My internal alarm bells were blaring. “You should really return that piece where it belongs. As soon as possible, and anonymously, if you must.”

  Lizzie stared at me. “You know something about it?”

  “Enough to say it’s dangerous,” I bluffed, grabbing a napkin and holding it over my hand as I asked, “May I...?”

  Lizzie reluctantly handed it to me after several long moments. Unpleasant energy jolted through me the instant the cartouche made contact with my hand. I should have been wearing gloves but the thin paper barrier of the napkin had to suffice... for now.

  It was then that I looked up and realized Bailey had arrived. Not only had she located our table, but she’d reached it before I’d ever even realized she was here. Now she stood beside me, staring at the cartouche with a frown on her face. She appeared to be vaguely hypnotized and enraptured by it.

  “No, don’t touch it!” I exclaimed as she reached out for it.

  But I was too late. The moment her fingers brushed it, her knees buckled and her eyes closed as she passed out. I grabbed her at the exact moment she began jerking and grunting and I realized with horror that she was having a serious seizure.

  Lizzie was immediately on her feet and around the side of the booth to grab Bailey’s head while I yelled for someone at the counter to call an ambulance. While everyone was distracted, I carefully wrapped up the cartouche in another layer of napkin before discreetly slipping it into my pocket. Lizzie was too distraught to notice.

  Chapter Twelve

  After I finished saying a prayer, I opened my eyes to the depressing hospital room I was sitting in.

  The paramedics had rushed Bailey to the hospital in an ambulance, and I followed behind them. My next three hours were spent anxiously waiting in the ER, dreading her diagnosis after what the cartouche might have done to her. Thankfully, her EEG scan was normal and all the other tests indicated a rapid recovery after enough rest.

  The attending physician, Doctor Gruff, insisted that Bailey spend the night under medical observation, a proposition I couldn’t object to. I was allowed to stay in her room after I fibbed a little and said I was her boyfriend, something which might have seemed presumptuous, but there was no way I was letting her out of my sight when such a night terror was on the loose.

  Hence, my urgent prayer to Anubis. Seeing Bailey in such a questionable state, I asked my patron saint to fulfill my Sandman duties for the evening. It was something I would never take lightly, but I sensed the secret son of Osiris was more than happy to relieve me of that responsibility.