Kay Poole was the proprietor of Andromeda & Ash, which had occupied its spot on Berlin’s Main Street for so long, mostly it was tourists who even still noticed it was there. In Maine, tourism is big business, so that was okay. Kay was an antiques dealer.
That meant she’d received plenty of business from Kate’s family over the years. That also meant she was the only person in town who knew anything about the so-called “ripped blade,” the sword Kate’s family had leveraged over the years to get themselves out of tight spots.
As far as Kay was concerned, the sword was nothing but a curse. Several lifetimes ago, it had belonged to a Nazi.
In fact, she knew the real reason Tyler Salazar and his friends had been so obsessed with Kate’s family, why Priscilla Foster had fought so bitterly against them. Salazar had been a relic hunter, had tried everything to obtain that sword, and had been stymied at every turn by Foster. And in turn, by Kay, which was why she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in decades.
Kate’s maternal grandfather had returned from the war a deeply troubled man, which on the surface hadn’t seemed so unreasonable. It was years before he spoke a word about his experiences, years before anyone knew of the sword’s existence. It was Salazar who proved to be the tipping point. He’d been tracking the sword. This was the first time Kay saw it. It first crossed the threshold of Andromeda & Ash for safekeeping. No money changed hands that day. Kate’s grandfather trembled. Kay put it in her vault.
A few days later he returned, looking anxious. Kay closed shop and walked silently with him to the diner. She watched as his coffee cooled in front of him. He gulped it down, suddenly, as if time were about to expire and he would forever lose his chance for confession.
Then he told her his story.
He hadn’t shot a single soul, until he came across the soldier, alone, in a forest surrounded by baggage. Kate’s grandfather (the man’s name was Eugene, but Kay didn’t like to put a name to the face, preferred to honor his sacrifices) was confused. Was the man a defector? Had he been caught running away? Had he gotten this far only to give up?
He said he could smell the camp, knew what must be happening in there without ever laying eyes on it. He said there could be no mistake. Anyone in the vicinity would know. No one had done anything about it.
The soldier began to tell his own story. There had been a girl. She’d clutched this baggage. She’d been privileged. She could sing. She’d been kept for their amusement. But she’d been nothing, before. She’d been given this baggage by someone who’d also been allowed privileges. Who was gone now. And so was the girl.
The soldier had claimed the baggage. Within was nothing special, really. All the valuable things were gone, had been gone a long time. Except the sword. Clearly they had thought they could hide it. But nothing remained hidden from them. Eventually, everything was found.
He’d tried to run, when he found it. He said he’d felt strange, when he saw it for the first time. He couldn’t explain. All he knew was that he had to run. To keep it for himself. But eventually he’d stopped. He said no one had tried to stop him. He’d done it himself.
Kate’s grandfather found him like that. Saw him produce the sword. It wasn’t worth all that much. It was damaged even then. Ugly. Why would anyone treasure that? A story that had disappeared several deaths ago. Vanished into history.
Kate’s grandfather shot him, then. Put a stream of rounds into him. He said the soldier positively exploded.
And Kate’s grandfather ran, too. Reported back to his unit. He didn’t try to hide the sword. His buddies accepted it as just another memento of the war. They all had something.
He was still alive, when Salazar came to Berlin. But he was an invalid. He died soon after Priscilla Foster was impregnated.
Kay kept these secrets. No one cared. They were irrelevant to the murder. And in their way, explained it.
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