FOR MC FROM MC

A walk on Marcellus Beach at sunrise pulls me back to the dawn of creation. As I amble south, on my right are the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, already glistening blue-green and stretching into infinity. In front of and behind me, a light beige ribbon of beach sand, raked only by nature, is randomly strewn with seashells. To my left, sea grape, palmetto, stubby palms, and other foliage grow in wild harmony, haloed by the rising sun.

As a writer, I think of the many events along of beaches such as this that have been shaped into novels, short stories, poems, and movies. To bring the human element into play, writers and filmmakers might add an element of the morbid – a toe sticking out of the sand – the mysterious – the all-too-familiar yet rarely encountered bottle washed up on shore with a message tucked within – or the mercenary – a few Spanish doubloons catching the eye and encouraging a lust for more.

At this moment, there are no toes, no bottles, and no coins – only pristine beauty. My mind is cleansed but not sparked. All this naturalness would only be defiled by any attempt to fit it into words.

I always walk farther along the beach than I should. Upon turning around to return to my car and my cluttered life, I find a different world. The sun has now risen above the foliage. Sun worshipers, many shellacked with sunscreen or lotion, have begun prostrating themselves under Sol’s not always beneficent gaze. Runners dodge these figures like so many obstacles in a training field. Devoted practitioners of Tai chi and Yoga refine their subtle movements as they face not East, but West toward the water. I’ve all but lost the primeval spirit that filled me only moments earlier.

To avert my gaze from humanity, I look at the water easing its way onto the beach. A black ring catches my eye. At first, it looks like a rubber seal of some sort. When I pick it up, I see it’s a bracelet. A black band of cut stones lies cradled in a ring of silver. There is an elegant clasp, also of silver. I look inside and can make out an inscription, barely. It says, “FOR MC FROM MC.” I also see a mark or imprint. It can’t have been in the water long as it is in almost perfect condition.

Curious, I walk back to my car with the bracelet and decide to go into the town of Marcellus.

It sits a short distance from the beach. When I arrive, I ask some people who look “local” if they know of a reputable jeweler in town. Those who can name a jeweler all give me the name of Leon Scrimmler, who owns Scrimmler’s Shop on Main Street. As I walk toward the shop, I pass by several jewelry stores. This encourages my confidence in Mr. Scrimmler.

Standing in front of Scrimmler’s Shop, I peer in and see the type of shop I thought had vanished years ago. Dark wood display cabinets fill the dimly lit shop. This is nothing like the glitzy, mirrored stores I just walked by. I enter and see an elderly man hunched over one of the display cases. He’s writing something in a book. Ceiling fans gently breathe air into the store.

“Hello. Sir?”

Leon Scrimmler looks up. “Oh, yes. Excuse me. I was entering something into my ledger before I forget it. I’m at that stage where I can remember my favorite foods of childhood but can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday, or if I even had lunch.” He laughed as he stretched the kinks from his back. “But I’m sure you don’t care what my favorite foods were or what I had for lunch yesterday, or if I even had lunch. How can I help you?”

I walked over to the display case Mr. Scrimmler was standing behind. He closed his ledger book, put a cap on his fountain pen, and placed it by the book ceremoniously.

“Mr. Scrimmler, I have been told you are a reputable jeweler.”

“To you, that must sound like an oxymoron, but yes, I consider myself to be a reputable jeweler. As my wife, Delores will affirm, we’d not still be living above the store if I was self-interested. I’m assuming you want something appraised or you wouldn’t have made that comment.”

“Not appraised so much as identified.” As I reached for the bracelet in my pocket I wondered what his comment would be. If he took at look and said it was nice costume jewelry and he could give me twenty dollars for it. I’d place it back in my pocket and thank him for his time. Somehow, I didn’t think he’d do that.

I pulled out the bracelet and gave it to him. He examined it quickly.

His immediate response was, “My word.”

Mr. Scrimmler took on an air of reverence as he continued to look over the bracelet. He studied the stones, the silver ring, and the clasp. Then he looked inside. Taking a magnifying glass, he seemed to be focusing on the small imprint or mark.

“My word.”

He looked up at me and wiped his eyes with a tissue. “Mr. ...”

“Cranshaw.”

“Mr. Cranshaw, you have here a work of true beauty and art.” No mention was made of its monetary value, only its aesthetic value. “This bracelet comes from the studio of Marty and Mary Cofflin. They live and work in Kentucky, outside Lexington. I’ve known and admired them for a long time but haven’t seen them for a few years. Do you mind if I give them a call? This is a nice excuse to talk to them again.”

“Sure. I’ve never heard of them. But then, I really can’t name any jewelry makers.”

“They aren’t jewelry makers really. They work almost exclusively in silver. Each piece they make is totally handcrafted and unique. To your eye, this bracelet might look pretty but generic. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ll just check for their number here.”

Leon Scrimmler pulled a Rolodex from a back shelf and placed it on a mat so as not to scratch the display case. “I’ve got all this digitized but still like to go through this contraption. Sentimentality I guess. Here it is. I hope this is still their number.”

He punched in the number and listened for an answer. I was a bit surprised he used a cell phone. “Hello, Marty?” I could vaguely here a voice on the other end but it was too soft and indistinct to decipher. “This is Leon Scrimmler.” “Yes, good to hear your voice, too.” “How is Mary?” There was a pause after Mr. Cofflin’s extended response. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Please accept my sympathy.” “Marty, I hope this is not an improper question but, this morning, a gentleman came in my shop with a piece of jewelry. I’m fairly sure it was crafted by you or Mary.” He glanced at the bracelet. “It’s a silver bracelet with a band of inlaid black ...” Mr. Scrimmler pulled his ear away from the phone. “It suddenly went dead,” he said to me. “Let me try again.”

When he punched redial, no one picked up. He did get an answering machine. “Marty, we seem to have lost our connection. Please call me back.” He waited a few minutes and received a text message. “Sorry to hang up on you, Leon. I was just shocked by what you said. We can talk a bit later, if you don’t mind. Please keep the bracelet at the shop.”

“Mr. Cranshaw, I know you have better things to do with your time than hang around a musty old jewelry shop, but I’m in a bit of a dilemma here.”

“Really, Mr. Scrimmler. I have nothing else on my plate this morning. I’m finding all of this fascinating.” I was actually seeing the beginning of a story.

“Speaking of plates, then. Have you had breakfast?”

“No.”

“Let me order us something. Are bagels okay? I’m thinking bagels with cream cheese, coffee, and orange juice. I’m not supposed to have any of those things, but I’m ninety-two and have never been sick a day in my life. I don’t plan for anything to change, including my diet.”

“That sounds wonderful, Mr. Scrimmler. Let me pay for my portion, at least.”

“Nonsense! You’re being held hostage. The least thing I can do is feed you somewhat decently.”

After placing the order, Leon Scrimmler invited me to make myself comfortable in a small back room. “There’s a computer here, if you want to surf the Internet.” He cleared off a table and launched the computer. “I’m going back out to wait on customers. I may be reputable, but I’ve still got a light bill to pay.”

He kept the door open a bit so I could see into the shop. A lady entered and looked around.

“Might I be of assistance, ma’am?”

I could hear the lady explaining what she was looking for. Leon pulled out a drawer and removed a cloth. I couldn’t see what was in the drawer, but the lady took a great deal of interest in whatever there was in it. She identified something and Leon gently took it out. His motions were all choreographed. It looked to be a charm for a bracelet. I hadn’t seen charm bracelets in years. I assumed she might be buying a present for a grand-daughter. After taking a closer look, she smiled and handed the charm to Leon. I now thought of him as Leon as I felt we’d known each other for some time.

While the lady looked over the charms, a boy entered the shop with bagels, juice and coffee in hand. “Please wait just a little while, son.”

Not to be rushed, Leon took the charm and laid it gently on a cloth. He retrieved a small box and placed the charm inside. He then covered it with a small piece of what looked to be velvet and placed a cover on the box.

I could hear him say, “What wrapping paper would you prefer? He pointed to several roles of paper hung on the wall. She made her decision and Leon carefully cut and wrapped the small box. He placed a string around it and made a fancy bow. Only then did he ask her for money. “That will be fourteen dollars and eighty-four cents. That’s including tax.” She retrieved her wallet from her purse and gave him some money. I heard her say. “Please, Mr. Scrimmler, keep the change.” Are you sure, ma’am? That’s over five dollars.” “Yes, of course.” Leon put the change in a box and not in the cash register. He placed the wrapped box in a paper bag and folded the top neatly before handing it to the lady. “Thank you ma’am for stopping by. I hope whoever the gift is intended for gets much enjoyment from it.” He was all old-world courtesy.

After she left. I called out to Leon. “That was a lot of effort for a small charm.” “Well, I am a reputable jeweler. I also like seeing people leave my shop happy and content.”

The boy with the breakfast goodies had been remarkably patient during all this. I saw him move his legs back and forth only once. Leon reached into his wallet and gave the boy some money. “Keep the change for yourself, son. You were mighty patient, and patience is a virtue.” The boy beamed as he handed Leon the large bag, took the money, and left the shop. Leon called back to me, “As I said, I love to see people leave my shop happy and content.”

He flipped the sign on the shop to “CLOSED” so we could enjoy our breakfast. After we polished it off, Leon said, “I haven’t heard back from Marty.” He checked his messages. “No new messages. Hmm, I know. I’m going to give Matt Culver a call. He’s a long-time friend of Marty and Mary, at least I assume he still is.” He flipped through his Rolodex and found his name, immediately following the Cofflins. “I’ll try this number.”

Leon punched in a number. Almost instantly, someone answered. This time, the voice was loud and clear, almost obnoxiously so. “Matthew Culver here, to whom do I pleasure of speaking.” “Um, Matthew, this is Leon Scrimmler.” “Leon Scrimmler! Well if that isn’t a voice from the past. What can I do you for?” Leon looked at me with bemusement. “Matthew, or Matt, do you keep up with Marty and Mary Cofflin?” There was a pause. “Of course.” “Then you know that Mary did about a year ago.”

There was another pause. “Yes, so sad. She was quite ill, I understand. I sent them a card but wasn’t able to do much else. I let my work get the better of me sometimes.” Once more, Leon gave me a look.

“Matt, I’ve been trying to reach Marty. It’s about a bracelet.” Immediately, Leon looked as though he already regretted mentioning the bracelet. Culver asked, “A bracelet. Silver with black stones?” Leon could only respond with an “Um.” He wasn’t sure he should confirm the description of the bracelet. Before giving Leon a chance to respond further, Culver said “Leon, I’m coming down. I remember where your shop is. Marty told me Mary lost that bracelet some time ago. He’ll be thrilled to get it back. It was very precious to us. I mean him. Expect me in two to three hours, depending on traffic.” He hung up, leaving Leon staring at his phone.

During the call, Marty had texted Leon. “I’m sorry I’ve left you on the hook, Leon. Please accept my apology. I’m on my way to see you. Do not let anyone have the bracelet. Above all, do not let Matt Culver know about it.”

Leon place the phone down and put his hands over his face. “My word. How did Marty even know I’d contacted Matt? I need to call Matt back.” He called, but there was no answer and Matt had no answering machine. Leon was not able to text him, either.

“Mr. Cranshaw ...”

“I’m perfectly fine, Mr. Scrimmler. I might nose around your shop a bit, if that’s okay.”

Leon went to the back room and brought out a book. “I just remembered this book. It contains a full chapter on the Cofflins. You might enjoy reading it while we wait.”

Leon served several customers, always with courtesy and graciousness. During a lull, the shop door opened and in walked Marty Cofflin. I’d just seen his picture in the book Leon had given me. Marty was scruffy looking and reminded me of a hillbilly. Leon and Marty hugged and tied to smile but the shadow of Marty’s deceased wife muted the reunion.

“Marty, how did you get here so quickly? You still live in Kentucky, don’t you?”

“I flew. I have friends in high places.” With that comment, the mood lightened slightly.

“Mr. Cranshaw, please come meet my friend Marty Cofflin.”

I came back into the showroom and shook Cofflin’s hand. His hands were rough and weathered. His eyes were those of an artist. “I guess you want to see the bracelet?” I asked.

“Not really, but yes.”

Leon had wrapped the bracelet in cloth and allowed me to return it to my pocket. I retrieved it and handed it to Leon, who unwrapped it. Marty stared at it. Then with gnarly hands he took it from Leon’s hand. He turned for a moment and put it to his mouth. Leon had grabbed some tissues for Marty, just in case.

“I never thought I’d see this again. It was a first anniversary present for Mary. She couldn’t wear rings, so we thought of it as a giant wedding band. She had the most beautiful black hair.” He returned the bracelet to Leon.

“Mr. Cofflin. I know I found the bracelet but it’s yours. Please take it.”

Marty Cofflin stood quiet.

Leon cleared his throat. “Marty. Please forgive me. When I couldn’t reach you I finally called Matt Culver. I had no idea you two had a falling out.

“Does he know about the bracelet?”

“Yes, and said he’s driving down, or over. I don’t know where he lives in Florida. He has to be in Florida if he’s driving.”

Marty thought for a moment. “If he shows up, that might be the best thing. Marty, I’m going to go into your back room and make a call. Mr. Cranshaw, you might want to join me in a minute. If Culver shows up, it’s best Leon be alone.

Cofflin went back. After making his call, he motioned me back. Shortly after, a man burst into the shop. The door to the back room was cracked so we could see him. He was short and portly-- real flashy looking with a deeply tanned face. His grin reached from ear to ear as he grasped Leon’s outstretched hand.

“Leon, old man. You’ve never looked better. Your shop looks exactly as it did, what fifteen years ago when I visited?”

“Something like that.” Leon was obviously uncomfortable as he pulled his hand away from Culver.

The front door to the shop opened again. This time, a policeman entered. “Mr. Culver?”
“Yes, sir. All day long.” Culver had a loud, brash voice that reminded me of a carnival barker. “What’s going on? Did I park in the wrong spot?” He laughed while the policeman and Leon stood in stony silence. His entire disposition hardly sounded like someone who was grieving over a friend’s losses – a bracelet and a spouse.

“Mr. Culver, I need to take you in for questioning.”

“What’s this? Hey Leon, what happened to your courtly manner? I barely get in the door and I’m being thrown out?” Culver retained his smile as if to say that his remarks weren’t to be taken seriously.

Cofflin entered the room and motioned for me to follow. Culver’s tanned face turned ashen and his smile vanished. He started mumbling. “Marty, gosh. You beat me to it. I was going to surprise you. Leon called me about the bracelet. He told me all about it. Some find, huh?”

Leon looked over at Marty, who patted Leon’s shoulder.

“You’re full of surprises, Culver,” Cofflin said.

“Hey, I’m Matt, remember?” Trying to pretend this was all just a mistake, he said, “Now let’s look at our bracelet. I know it’s hard, being Mary’s and all. But we’re all here.”

Cofflin motioned me to pull out the bracelet. While it was still in my hand, he uncovered it.

“Well, look at that,” Culver said. He was clearly resisting the impulse to grab it.

“Officer,” Cofflin said, “please take this man away. I’ll come down to the station momentarily to press charges.”

“Charges? What charges? What gives, Marty? I just came down to get our bracelet and give it to you.”

“Culver, why do you keep seeing “our” bracelet. This was a bracelet I gave to Mary. YOU had nothing to do with it.”

“I think I do. Who was it that looked after Mary so you could work, huh? Who called the ambulance when Mary took a turn for the worse? Mary told me herself that the bracelet was just as much mine as it was hers.”

I remembered Leon’s phone call to Culver. His words were, ‘She was quite ill, I understand.’ If he’d been there at the time of her death and been caring for her, he had to know the extent of her illness not just heard about it.”

The officer pulled out an evidence bag and asked for the bracelet. “It’s evidence and should be impounded.”

“That’s true, officer,” Cofflin said. “But, would it be okay to keep it here in Leon’s shop. It will be perfectly safe. You can put it in that bag and seal it and whatever you do to evidence. I just can’t imagine allowing that bracelet to sit in a police impound room. Call your chief if you need to.”

The policeman called the chief and got the okay.

“That is a relief,” Cofflin said.

The policeman took a confused looking Matthew Culver away.

“Leon and Mr. Cranshaw. I hope you could see that Matt Culver is delusional. He’s always been strange; but somehow got it in his head that we were all a team. This had gone on for some time, but especially when Mary became ill. We all shared the same initials. He took that as some sign. I won’t say any more.”

Leon put both his hands on Cofflin’s shoulders. “Marty, I can’t being to imagine what you’re going through. If you need to stay in town, Delores and I insist you stay with us.”

“That’s very kind, Leon.”

I was mentally taking notes and remembering as many details as I could. Leon wore a vested suit with a watch fob dangling across his stomach and a pair of glasses dangling from his neck. Marty looked like an old hippie or country yokel with unkempt white hair and weathered face. Matthew Culver was the sharpest dresser of the three. I couldn’t help but notice the cuffs of his jacket and long-sleeve shirt were tailored so that a glimpse of his Rolex watch always showed. He wore a toupee and his bright teeth were obviously as false as his hair. He did have the best fake tan I’d ever seen. As my grandmother used to say. “You can’t paint over slime.”

I’d backed away to let the old old friends have some space. Marty -- I now felt I knew him as well as I knew Leon – came over to me. “Mr. Cranshaw. My mind is spinning and my heart is breaking. Thank you for coming into Leon’s shop. I’d like to give you something for all the time you spent here and your willingness to turn the bracelet over.”

“Mr. Cofflin, it’s your bracelet. It’s yours and Mary’s I mean.”

“I’d like to do something.”

“Would you mind if I follow this some? I don’t want to interfere. If this goes to trial, I might be called as a witness.”

“I could see you’ve been listening and observing avidly.”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

“I have no problem, except that I would hope you wouldn’t talk about things with friends too much. Some personal things are probably going to come out.”

“I’ll always ask you first if I think about saying anything too detailed.”

“That would be appreciated.”

I didn’t tell Marty or Leon I was a writer. In time, I would. They needed to know of my plans. My morning stroll on the beach and discovery of the bracelet would allow me to explore the morbid, the mysterious, and the mercenary. However, I knew I owed it to both of these gentleman a respectful story. I am, after all, a reputable writer. It occurred to me that I hadn’t revealed by first name to either of them. It is Mitchell Cranshaw.

.