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The clang of the tarnished copper bell added to the aged atmosphere of Charlie’s store. Jaime took a deep breath. She loved the musty smell of history both real and imagined. The creaking wooden floor sang of eras past. Sunlight rushed in under half-drawn yellowed shades to brighten the smile of a woman with bobbed hair holding a bottle of cola on a rusty-edged sign hanging above the back counter.

“Well, good morning, ladies. I’ve been waiting for you.” A stout man in his fifties greeted them from behind the counter. His ruddy complexion and full face made Charlie look like a clean-shaven Santa Claus.

“Sorry it took us so long. Nicole had to get some CDs.”

“More abuse for your tympanic membranes?” Charlie rubbed his large well-manicured hands together and looked at Jaime. “Well, I’m not making any promises about this trunk. The lid is imprinted with the name Homer Wellington.”vCharlie waved the girls to follow him into the back room. Large overworked ceiling fans blew his thin wisps of white hair into an amusing dance on his head. Charlie stuffed the stray end of his white shirt into his sagging blue slacks. They walked down a short hallway with a low ceiling to the back of the store. The trunk lay in the center of the room, not at all what Jaime expected. It was about the size of an extra-large suitcase with a flat lid. Although old, it was still in fairly decent shape. Jaime was disappointed there weren’t any chains wrapped around it to keep its obscure secrets safe.vThe combination storage and receiving area was dark except for a lone light bulb hanging in the center. The back windows, opaque with white paint, offered little help in illuminating the unkempt room. Charlie pushed his glasses back on his nose and squinted to see through the haze of dust created when he moved some old boxes to make more room.

“I haven’t had time to examine the lock,” he apologized, shaking his head. He walked to a worktable, running a hand through his thinning hair as he inspected the cluttered surface. “My locksmith kit should be here some place.”

“Hello, Algernon,” said Jaime.

Charlie’s Siamese cat sat perched on a stack of boxes, watching them with his shiny blue eyes. He stood up to receive his usual scratch behind the ears, but when Jaime walked past him to the trunk he sat down on his haunches and cleaned his face.

A small stack of papers drifted off the weathered desk when Charlie pushed them aside in his search. Nicole dusted off a chair that seemed safe enough to sit in and read the back of one of her CDs. Jaime watched Charlie in anxious silence from her place next to the trunk while he rearranged shaky structures of crumpled cardboard boxes, grimy tools, a tennis racket, and unrecognizable machine parts. Impatient, Jaime jumped up and went to his aid. She lifted a musty book missing its side binding and found the errant tool kit.

“Just what I needed. A pair of young eyes.” Charlie opened the kit, selected a tool and walked to the waiting trunk.

Jaime sat next to Charlie, trying hard to rein in her impatience, and watched him work on the lock. After some tense moments, the storekeeper coaxed it opened. On the top lay several plain, neatly folded wool sweaters.

“Charlie?” A muffled voice came from the storefront.

“There’s a customer. You girls go ahead and look.” He shuffled from the room.

Nicole helped Jaime pull out the sweaters and found an unusual-looking batch of old letters. They were tri-folded and written on transparent beige linen paper, tied together with a thin piece of lavender ribbon. Jaime pulled one out and opened it. “Look at….”

“All this junk,” said Nicole. “Sweaters, a bunch of moldy letters, a box of leaky batteries, and get this – wire. Some mystery trunk.”

“I was talking about this letter from a professor,” said Jaime. “He’s writing about some research project that they’re…”

“Ready to go? There’s nothing interesting in there.” Nicole stood and brushed off her knees. She walked to an old full-length mirror and checked her look.

Jaime folded the letter and stuck it back in the bundle. She knew she’d better hurry. Nicole was already bored. Pulling out a couple of old khaki shirts, she heard a crackling sound. Laying the shirts on the floor, she reached between them and pulled out a piece of folded parchment. She tested its texture between her fingers. Although it looked like regular paper, it had a metallic feel. Like foil, but stronger and thicker.

“Find something?” Nicole sat down next to her.

“I’m not sure.”

Jaime tenderly pulled open the exotic metallic paper, unfolding it to its full dimensions – about a quarter the size of a standard road map. A glow illuminated her face. Her eyes widened.

“A map!”

“Okay now you’re happy. Let’s go. We have just enough time to get to the bakery before I head home.”

“But Nicole, I’m not finished looking.”

“You know I have to go. You can come back and look some more. And I refuse to ride home on an empty stomach. Especially if I have to watch Davey.”

“But there are still some things at the bottom.”

“You have another map and a stack of letters to read. You know Charlie will call if he finds anything else. I mean he’s always calling you. But that’s probably because you’re the only other person in this state with a map fetish like his.”

Jaime gently ribbed her friend with her elbow, nodded and gave one final peek inside the trunk. She gathered the letters and map in a protective hold and headed toward the storefront. Although Nicole was a good friend, she didn’t have a mind for history or the delicious savor one experienced finding something unusual or ancient.

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