Chapter 5 - The Purloined Silver
Two days after the brochure incident, Paige struck again.
I had deliberately told Grant that Wednesday morning was my weekly four-hour volunteer shift at the county library’s literacy program. Instead of going to the library, however, I parked my car two blocks away behind Mrs. Higgins’ tall hedge and walked back through the rear garden path.
I let myself in through the cellar entrance and quietly ascended to the second-floor landing.
Downstairs, the front door clicked open.
Footsteps hurried across the foyer. It was Paige. She was alone, humming a light tune under her breath.
From the shadow of the upstairs landing, I watched through the banisters as she pulled an oversized canvas tote bag from beneath her arm. She walked purposefully into the formal dining room and opened the bottom cabinet of the mahogany breakfront.
Inside sat my grandmother’s heirloom sterling silver service: a twelve-piece set complete with soup ladles, serving spoons, and ornate gravy boats.
Paige began wrapping the silver pieces in tea towels and stuffing them into her tote bag.
“Just a little down payment for my troubles,” she whispered to herself with a smug laugh.
What Paige did not know was that forty-eight hours earlier, I had visited a local estate jeweler and antique appraiser. The authentic sterling silver—stamped with 19th-century hallmarks and valued at nearly nine thousand dollars—was already locked away safely in a climate-controlled commercial storage vault downtown.
The pieces Paige was shoving into her bag were cheap, silver-plated reproductions I had bought at an estate yard sale for forty dollars decades ago for backyard picnics. They looked nearly identical to an untrained eye, but were made of worthless nickel and copper.
Tucked into the hollow bottom of the silverware chest, hidden beneath the velvet lining, I had placed a small, folded index card.
Written in bold black ink were four simple words:
*THOU SHALT NOT STEAL.*
Paige didn't bother checking beneath the felt. She zipped her swollen canvas bag, checked her reflection in the hall mirror to adjust her lipstick, and hurried out the front door, locking it behind her with the key Grant had given her.
I walked down the stairs, watching her white Mercedes back out of my driveway.
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Greed makes people sloppy. It makes them blind. Paige was so drunk on the anticipation of an effortless windfall that she never bothered to inspect the prize.
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