Timeless: The Ohoopee River Anthology

By KM Paradice

An antique German clock is gifted to a World War II soldier Howard by his best friend Blake just before he dies. Blake's last words to his friend were, "If anything happens to me...the clock!"  The clock was later smuggled out of Germany and sent to Blake's mother for safekeeping. Back home in the States, Howard discovers that the clock has mysteriously disappeared from Blake's mother's home. Obsessed with Blake's dying words, Howard spends years searching for the mysterious clock and finally locates it in an antique store in Savannah, Georgia. Now in possession of the clock, Howard is stymied, unable to unravel the mystery of why the clock was important to Blake. As the truth about the clock begins to unfold, Howard is peppered with revelations concerning his best friend that chip away at what he knew until the truth finally emerges—a truth that threatens to destroy everything Howard thought he knew about Blake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: KM Paradice
• Release date: May 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223480938

KM Paradice

A prolific writer, an avid gardener, and a life-long  fan of science fiction, KM uses his life experiences to craft stories where dreams are reality and reality is a dream, and the universe of his creating is filled with amazing what-ifs.

Book preview

Tick Tock

A tarnished, brass number nineteen hung limply at the side of the entrance to the Old Savannah Clocks and Collectibles shop. The sign above the door was as dilapidated as the shop itself. Once bright, it now only boasted a residua of colonial blue paint—a run-down memory of more prosperous days. The sign bore an inscription burned into a well-weathered, wooden oval placard that read:

The thing that hath been is that which shall be; that which is done is that which shall be done. There is no new thing under the sun.

The age-worn store was not completely without life, however. Presently, inside the shop, two men were locked in a heated haggle.

"I agree. It is an interesting piece. Reginald ran his hand over the badly tarnished finish on the old clock. The ancient varnish rolled under his fingertips like dark bits of dried mucous. Its condition is not enviable. If I were a betting man, I’d say you took it off the hands of someone desperate for cash. What’d you give for it, Thomas?"

Now, now, Reginald. You know I never give up my sources. What transpires between me and my elite clientele is privileged information. The old shopkeeper knew the dance and just how far he could push Reginald before the astute collector turned and walked away—sans purchase.

Elite clientele indeed! Reginald chuckled. More likely some down-and-out druggie needing a fix and wanting to score a few bucks before his mother discovers the family heirloom is missing from the living room mantel.

Thomas smiled to himself, thinking that the collector’s observation didn’t miss the mark by far. The yarn spun by the old crone at the flea market, eager to make a sale, was that she scooped it out of a trash can in an alley in Ardsley Park. Thomas thought the tale dubious at best, but the woman swore to its veracity. Story has it that it was smuggled out of Nazi Germany. Something about a young soldier losing his life.

Your point, Thomas? Reginald telegraphed his impatience with a squint and a wrinkle of his brow. You do have a point?

Thomas breathed deeply in an effort to control his rising sense of irritation. It helped. Barely. He smoothed his dusty gray cardigan and adjusted the shawl collar around his neck. Did I tell you there is considerable evidence that this clock once graced the mantelpiece of a Viennese apartment inhabited by one Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart? Thomas spun the fanciful yarn with a flourish, giving himself an inward nod for his artful spontaneity.

Amadeus you say?

"Boy genius and such, I’m sure he appreciated a valuable timepiece. Thomas smiled knowingly. How much, Reginald?"

Magnifying glass in hand, Reginald opened the glass door that housed the pendulum and stared at the manufacturer’s label stamped in the wood. The label is more or less intact. Doesn’t appear to have been altered. In which case, this would place its manufacture somewhere around the turn of the century. Reginald made a point not to divulge which century he was referring to. Reginald had always found it amusing that though Thomas prided himself as the owner of a clock shop, what knowledge the man had of horology he had gleaned from his sparse encounters with Reginald. And, Reginald reminded himself, Thomas was not the sharpest tool in the shed. I’ll give you fifty bucks, and you can forego cleaning it or wrapping it in that brown paper you’re so fond of using.

Thomas made as if to remove the clock from the glass-top case. "I love doing business with you, Reginald. I really do. But today you insult my sensibilities. I had a fellow in here from Augusta just this morning, and he offered me multiples of fifty. I turned him down of course. I knew you’d want a shot at this rare piece. Thomas eyed Reginald through his wire-rimmed spectacles. His bushy, white brows rose menacingly above the metal frame. It’s worth thousands as it stands. But for you, my old friend, I’ll suffer the loss and take a mere eight hundred."

I’ll triple my price. One-fifty.

You test me sorely. Thomas caressed the sides of the clock with his well-callused hands. I’ll tell you what. The Christmas season was not the huge success I had hoped for, and I still have considerable merchandize I need to liquidate. Make it a cool six-fifty.

Reginald opened his hand-tooled leather wallet and pulled out three crisp hundred dollar bills and fanned them out on the counter. Final offer, Thomas. I’ve a busy schedule.

You’re killing me, man! Thomas eyed the money, barely concealing his lust. His fingers hovered hungrily over the bills.

Reginald teased the