Maggie Mae Part 2

What makes someone Irresistible is not their looks but the way they can
make your mind tickle your heart race and your soul smile all at once
― Drishti Bablani

Maggie’s uncle hid a rare document in his Gramercy Park mansion, and now we were trying to play detective and find it.

But, it’s not easy considering how distracting Maggie’s beauty can be.

And when you add to the fact I love her—passionately, blindly, and beyond all sense and reason, well, concentrating on anything other than her becomes almost impossible

But what Maggie wants, Maggie gets and so we began our demolition adventure at nine the next morning.

The house was incredibly beautiful—built in the mid-nineteenth century and still retaining much of its rare charm.

It did need some work of course, but even with the outstanding liens and renovation costs, it’d still fetch a good price on the New York Market—just not enough to pay for four years of university.

“Do you mind telling me what exactly we’re looking for?”

“Sure. It’s a document called The Missal of Silos—the oldest known paper document created in the Christian West.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Well, not the whole document—just an extant folio that most scholars don’t even know exists.”

“And how much is this worth, approximately?”

“Half a million dollars.”

I almost fell over. “That’s enough to pay for a lot of university courses.”

She smiled. “So, what are you waiting for? Let’s get to work.”

We started on the main floor and by Noon, turned up nothing.

We broke for lunch and then returned and started on the second floor. Again nothing.

We gave up for the day.

The next three days were a delirium of lifting floorboards and searching through cellar and attic and really, anywhere a document might be concealed.

Nothing turned up.

By the end of the first week, we were thoroughly exhausted and irritable as well.

“I’m going home and straight to bed,” Maggie said.

She looked totally shattered. I didn’t argue.

I drove to her apartment then went home and poured myself a scotch. I must have fallen asleep drinking because I didn’t awaken until eight the following morning.

Actually, the phone woke me. It was Maggie.

“Meet me at the house at nine. I think I know where the document is hidden.”

I didn’t argue. I was half-hoping I could crawl into my bed for a few more minutes of sleep, but as I lay atop the duvet, my curiosity got the better of me.

I got up, shaved and grabbed two coffees and made it to Gramercy Park by nine.

Maggie was parked outside and waiting. I opened the passenger door and slipped in beside her, handing her the usual morning latte.

“So, did you come across some correspondence from your uncle or get a sudden brainwave?”

“Not exactly,” she said—a bit evasively, in my opinion.

“Then, pray tell how you learned of the document’s whereabouts?”

“I didn’t exactly learn about it—I had a dream.”

I looked at her as if my look could kill. I was in no mood to be trifled with.

“You brought me down here on a whim?”

“Look, Martin—you know my uncle was a mystic. I knew if I couldn’t find the hiding place, he’d find some way of showing me—and he did.”

“Please explain,” I said tersely.

“In my dream, I saw him in the kitchen. He was talking to me—or at least his lips were moving, but I couldn’t understand. Finally, in exasperation he pointed to the cupboards.”

“You think the document’s hidden behind the cupboards?”

“I think so.”

“Well, let’s just get the crowbar,” I said hotly, “and take down the cupboards—we’ve taken everything else apart.”

I was ticked and she knew it.

“Thanks, Martin. You’re a dear.” She leaned over and kissed me and of course, being the fool I am, we then went in and spent the morning taking down every piece of oak cabinetry in the kitchen.

All to no avail.

I sat in the middle of the black and white tiled floor totally exhausted and vexed. My hands were throbbing and I managed to bruise and cut my knuckles in the process.

“It’s no use, Maggie—even divine intervention struck out. I guess you’ll have to either come back to work or take me up on my offer.”

“You’re a dear, but I will not be a kept woman.”

She noticed my hand. “Oh, you’re bleeding!”

She looked around for a Band-Aid or cloth, but of course, there wasn’t any. Then, she spotted a paper towel rack, screwed into the base of one of the cupboards.

“Here,’ She said, pulling off a strip, “This should do the job.”

As she pulled out the sheet, several rolled up pages of the Folio came with it. We stared at them in disbelief.

“Could your uncle have been pointing to the paper towel rack?” I asked, trying to come to terms with the sudden turn of events.

“I knew he’d help, Martin. I knew Uncle Eric wouldn’t leave me destitute.”

Well, he didn’t.

I’ve thought back over the events many times since.

Maggie of course did attend school and graduate as an archeologist.

We’re married now, but still own the Gramercy Park house. I didn’t have the heart to sell it …and it’s big enough, not just for the two of us, but for twins perhaps?

Maybe I’m giving into Maggie’s superstitious ‘vibes'.

But sometimes, I think there’s another set of footsteps in the house—but that’s just being foolish. Isn’t it?

© 2017, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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