Jim finished lifting the inside box away from the heavy outside carton. “All set to open the inside box, my love. But it’s heavy, too. Why don’t you read the card while I open?”

She read, “‘A totally unnecessary gift that will last another two hundred years, although nothing will outlast your love. Will.’ Very sweet. Maggie, have I mentioned he’s a keeper?”

Maggie raised her eyebrows in mock admonishment, and made a entry in her notebook as Jim lifted out a beautifully burnished, hand-crafted, brass bedwarmer engraved with hearts.

“Oh, I love it! Very apropos. Bedwarmers—no comments, please, Jim, I mean the non-human kind!—are hard to find nowadays. It’ll look beautiful next to the fireplace in our bedroom.” Gussie reached over and touched it. “Masterful work. Oh, I can’t wait to thank Will in person!”

“It’s very special,” agreed Jim, taking it over and leaning it against the wall next to their living room fireplace.

“This is fun! Next, please!”

Will’s gift had set the tone. Knowing Gussie and Jim loved antiques, most of their friends had found gifts for them that reflected love or marriage.

A sailor’s valentine, a hanging nineteenth-century shadowbox containing a delicate mosaic design made from small shells in Barbados. A “Home Sweet Home” sampler from 1847 in which the motto was surrounded by small hearts. A small wedding quilt from the 1840s. (“Wherever did she find it?” Gussie, marveled. “What wonderful condition!”) Several people had given them nineteenth-century brass or iron trivets decorated with hearts. (“We can hang them all on one of the walls near the kitchen.”) And one of Gussie’s roommates from Wellesley had sent them a Bride’s Basket.

“How perfect!” Maggie said. “I wish I’d thought of that.”

“It’s a beautiful one, too,” said Gussie, admiringly. “So many you see today don’t have both the hand-blown basket and the silver-plated holder. I love the deep pink in the inside with the lighter pink on the outside and the ruffle.”

Jim didn’t look as thrilled at that gift. “That’s for your dressing table,” he said. “It doesn’t exactly go with our stone fireplace.”

“Perhaps not. But brides in the 1890s collected them,” Gussie said. “And I’m happy Rachel thought to find one for me. Our friends have come up with wonderful gifts. I love the antiques theme.”

Not every gift was an antique. An expensive (“Wow! Look at this!” from Jim) bottle of aged cognac was from Police Chief Ike Irons and his wife, Annie, and a hand-woven king-sized blanket came from Jim’s law partner, Andy, and his wife.

“And what on earth is this?” exclaimed Jim.

He was unwrapping a delicate blue and red-swirled blown-glass ball, perhaps ten inches in diameter, with a loop at the top.

“How wonderful!” Gussie said, as Jim read the note.

“‘This is not an antique, but it does come from Salem. May it keep the bad spirits away from your new home and always keep you safe from things that go bump in the night!’” Jim started to laugh. “From your cousin Sheila. Of course.”

“Of course. It would be!” said Gussie. “And exactly what we need for our new home!”

“But what is it?” said Jim, again.

“It’s a witch ball,” Gussie explained. “A modern one. An old one, even if she could have found one, would have been way over Sheila’s budget. You hang it in a window or doorway of your house. Some people fill it with herbs—Sheila always told me dill was best—and it keeps bad spirits from entering.”

“Your cousin Sheila. Isn’t she the one hosting your bachelorette party?” Maggie asked.

“That’s right,” said Gussie. “I haven’t seen her in a while. She’s a bit of a free spirit, but she’s a dear.”

“She’s the one you said lives in Boston’s North End,” said Maggie, trying to keep everyone straight.

“That’s right. But she used to live in Salem. Actually,” Gussie winked at Maggie, “Sheila’s a financial adviser now, but that’s her second career. She used to be a practicing witch.”

Chapter 18

Mazeppa No. 1, Boston, Massachusetts. Built by Hinckley and Drury, the Mazeppa was the first steam fire engine built at the Boston Locomotive Works in 1858. The model was named the New Era; it was designed by J.M. Stone, and featured a tubular thirty-six-inch boiler, and two hundred and forty-one brass smoke tubes. The double-acting pump and the steam cylinder were placed horizontally on a wooden frame designed to be pulled by horses, or in an emergency, by men. It weighed about 10,000 pounds. This engraving is from a book published in 1886 that chronicled the history of fire engines. Why this engine was labeled the Mazeppa No.1 is a mystery. The only town in the United States named Mazeppa is in Minnesota and it didn’t have a fire department until 1886. Perhaps Stone just liked the name. 4.5 x 7 inches. Price: $35.

At first Maggie thought the ringing was in her dream. But when it wouldn’t stop she reached out, finally connecting with her cell phone where she’d left it, on the carton next to her bed. “Hello?”

“Maggie! This is Diana.”

“Diana?”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s early.”

Maggie looked at the time on the phone. Five-ten. “What’s happening?”

“Someone tried to burn our house down.”

“Are you all right?” Maggie sat up straight. “What about Cordelia?”

“We’re both fine. The house is all right.”

“What happened?”

“I was asleep. Luckily, Cordelia doesn’t sleep well. She gets up early and works on her dolls. She went downstairs to make coffee and surprised someone. Whoever it was poured some liquid, maybe gasoline, on the back porch, but when Cordelia turned on the overhead light they got scared and ran.”

“Did you call the police?”

“She has a TDD machine to call for help. She did that and then woke me up. By the time I got downstairs the police and a fire truck were both here.”

“Did she see who the person was?”

“No. They wore dark clothes and a hoodie.” Diana paused. “I’m scared, Maggie. Really scared.”

“What did the police do?”

“They said they’re going to watch the house. But I’m scared anyway. I think Cordelia is, too. We’re both just sitting here.”

“Did you tell her you were calling me?”

“Yes. She nodded. I don’t think she knows what to do. She keeps walking around the house, looking at everything.”

“Try to stay calm. I’ll talk to Gussie and Jim, and then I’ll come over. I promise.”

“All right.”

“Be brave. If anything else happens, call me again. Okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Maggie.”

Maggie got up and threw on her clothes. This was not exactly the way she and Gussie had planned to start the day, but she couldn’t leave two frightened women alone. At least not without making sure everything possible was being done to make sure they were safe.

“Gussie?” she said outside Gussie’s door.

“I’m awake,” Gussie answered. “Come in. I heard the telephone. What’s happening?”

“Someone tried to set fire to Cordelia’s house. She scared them away, but she and Diana are still nervous. The police and fire department have been there, and the police say they’ll be keeping an eye on the place, but from what Diana said it doesn’t sound as though she and Cordelia are handling it well.”

“Why would anyone want to hurt one of them?” said Gussie.

“I don’t know. But we don’t know why anyone wanted to kill ­Diana’s father, either,” said Maggie. “And we don’t know what the police investigation has found, if anything.”

“Let me guess. You told Diana you’d go over there.”

“I can talk to Cordelia. And Diana told me a little. Cordelia didn’t want to talk to Jim the other day.”

“Jim should be involved. He can talk to the police with some authority.”

“I agree. You call Jim, and see if he can stop by. But give me an hour or so to see what I can find out first.”

“Maggie, are you sure you want to get this involved?”