Fine Art | Antiques | Decorative Items | Jewelry | Coins | Vehicles Always Accepting Quality Consignments 51 Atlantic Highway (US Route 1), | Thomaston, Maine • 207.354.8141 ThomastonAuction.com | appraisal@thomastonauction.com • FREE APPRAISAL TUESDAYS 10:00 AM–NOON & 1:30–4:00 PM • SCHEDULED APPOINTMENTS • SEND US A PHOTO Find out what your treasures are worth. “Now that we know what our items are really worth, we can make smart decisions about how to downsize!” Chinese 18th Century enameled porcelain dish sold for $21,850 Maine’s Premier International Auction Company 14 Parker Point Road Blue Hill, ME 04614 207.374.5370 lirosgallery.com liros@lirosgallery.com liros gallery 1966 52nd Year 2018 FINE PAINTINGS RUSSIAN ICONS OLD PRINTS & MAPS APPRAISALS CUSTOM FRAMING RESTORATION _____________________________________________________ Waldo Peirce (1884-1970) “Burgess Meredith’s House,” Oil on Canvas 1942 94 p o r t l a n d monthly magazine Fiction Portland named Steve, whose mother was a friend of the director. “Petey earned that role,” her grandfather said, flicking his hand in the air. “Then this abecedarian Beau Brummell from Portland swoops in with his salmon tights!” When he used words other people prob- ably didn’t know, her grandfather often raised his chin slightly, which he was do- ing right now. Aunt Sandra had once said that he had the kind of face that gave people the finger. “You shouldn’t have promised Petey the role of the Prince,” Grandma said. “I did no such thing,” Grandpa said. “And I told him—what I’ve always said— the Mouse King is the most important character. The catalyst, the prime mover of the whole drama.” T hey arrived late and parked in the lot for the Chocolate Church, a de- commissioned Presbyterian church converted to an arts venue many years be- fore. Grandma told them to sit while she checked on Grandpa. As usual, Grand- ma had found them seats in the middle of the theater six rows back from the stage, close enough to feel the heat from the stage lights. The curtain was open because it was broken, and they could see the set, the same as last year: a fireplace of wood painted to look like bricks, a cardboard grandfather clock, Salvation Army furniture. “It’s Petey, he’s late,” Grandma said when she sat. “But Petey will be here. He wouldn’t do this to your grandfather.” Bridget knew Petey wasn’t going to show his face. Just like that, Petey was finished with all of them. But no one here in the the- ater would believe that. They would keep sit- ting here until they starved to death. Bridg- et’s temples were suddenly pounding with one of the headaches she sometimes had to endure on nights when she couldn’t sleep. She said she had to go to the bathroom and edged her way back to the aisle. She didn’t actually have to go to the bathroom, but she couldn’t sit for another second. To avoid a group of students at the front entrance she shuffled down the side hall and ducked into the changing room. The actors had left their regular clothes strewn over the tables and chairs. All the costumes were gone. All except one. There, in the middle of the table, lay the crumpled grey suit and upside down whis- kered head. The lifeless eyes. She stepped into the legs and pulled on