She Walked Into a Pawn Shop With Her Grandmother’s Necklace to Cover Her Rent – The Antique Dealer Went Pale and Said He Had Been Waiting Twenty Years for This Moment

“I need three hundred dollars, Arthur,” I said. “If you cannot loan me the money, just give it back. I will try the place on the turnpike.”

I reached out my hand to take the necklace, but Arthur moved faster than I expected. He slid the piece back toward his side of the counter, his palm covering the blue stone.

“Do not go to the turnpike,” he said. His voice was shaking now.

He looked toward the front window of the shop, as if expecting someone to be standing outside on the sidewalk.

“I need to make a call,” he said.

“A call to who?” I asked.

He did not answer. He reached down under the counter, his hand coming back up holding a black telephone, his fingers shaking as he began to dial a number.

Arthur turned his shoulder toward the back corner of the shop, pressing the heavy black plastic receiver tight against his ear.

His voice was nothing but a low, gravelly vibration that barely carried across the glass display counter, his words muffled by his broad hand.