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Fall 1989
Taking a quick glance at each house as he rushed down the block, Neil Tyler tried to remember what the house he was searching for looked like. It had been three years since he'd visited it, and that had only been for an hour at best. He just remembered that it had been on Franklin Street, just down from the Frosty Dreams Ice Cream Emporium. It wasn't so much the house that was important as the woman who lived there. At least the twenty-one year old hoped she still did.
Neil had just passed the center of the block when he came to a sudden stop, glancing back over his shoulder at the small mailbox that sat at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the porch of the house he'd just passed. The metal was weather-beaten and in need of painting, but he could just make out a large K on the side of it; the rest of the name had been worn away.
'That could be it,' he said to himself, as he stepped back and opened the equally worn wooden gate.
Reaching the mailbox, he opened the door and withdrew one of the letters resting inside, a smile filling his face as he read the name in the address window. This was it.
Stepping up onto the porch, he was about to ring the bell, but paused as he considered what he was going to say. He'd look pretty stupid if the person who lived there turned out not to be the one he was looking for, but then again, he'd feel even worse if it was and someone else had got to her first.
'How many Veronica Kings could there be in McKinley Falls?', he thought to himself as he again reached for the buzzer, especially a Veronica King who looked like his friend had described to him over the phone.
Long moments passed as he waited, enough for him to consider that she might not even be home. He could leave a note, of course, he thought, but found himself at a loss to explain what he was doing here without sounding a bit crazy.
The problem solved itself, however, as the inner door abruptly swung open and through the screen Neil could see a slim woman in her mid-fifties, wearing a black and white checkerboard dress, the sleeves of which reached down to her mid-forearm and the hem just past her knees. A full head shorter than his own five ten, her short brown hair showed considerably more gray since the last time he'd seen her, but other than that, little had changed in her appearance. She even still wore the same gold framed granny glasses still, that had once been her trademark.
"May I help you?" Veronica asked as she eyed the younger man through the screen.
"Mrs. King, I don't know if you remember me," Neil started to say as he put on his best smile, "but my name is Neil Tyler. I used to be one of your students at Jackson High."
At that, Veronica opened the outer door in order to get a better look at her unexpected visitor. He had dark hair, cut short, and wore a loose fitting sports jersey and jeans, hardly an ensemble that would've set him off from the several hundred students she'd taught over just the last decade. Carefully she studied his face, searching her memory as she tried to place the young man.
"Yes, I do remember," she said. It was two, no, three years ago. You were in my senior class and on the baseball team. The year before I retired."
Neil's smile grew even broader. Having her remember him was going to make what he came here for a little easier -- or at least he hoped so.
"Whatever are you doing here?" Veronica inquired.
"Mrs. King, this might sound a bit strange, but please bear with me for a moment," Neil replied. "By any chance, were you at Armstrong Comics this morning?"
The question did indeed seem a strange one, so much so that she took a moment before answering.
"Actually, I did stop by there," she hesitantly confirmed. "Why, is there something wrong?"
"Oh, not at all, Mrs. King," a jubilant Neil said, "not at all."
"Well, maybe you should come inside and tell me what this is all about," Veronica said. "I'm really not in the habit of holding discussions out on my front porch."
With that she stepped aside and let the young man in, closing both doors behind him. The small foyer behind the door was barely large enough for one person to stand in, so Neil immediately found himself in the front parlor. The décor was nearly thirty years out of date, which would correspond with the time when Mrs. King had first moved into the house with her late husband. He, the teenager remembered hearing at school, had died after a sudden illness the year before he'd been in her class.
"Why don't you have a seat?" Veronica said as she waved a hand in the direction of the couch. "I just made some tea. Would you like a cup?"
Neil wasn't much of a tea drinker, but thinking he should be on his best behavior, he said he'd love one.
With the kettle already brewed, it only took a minute for her to get another cup out of the cabinet, then add it to a tray already carrying her cup and a small dish of cookies; all of which she set down on the low table in front of the couch. After which she sat herself down in the recliner on the opposite side. She waited until Neil had tasted the beverage before again inquiring what he was doing there.
"So tell me, Neil," she said after taking a sip from her own cup, "why is my having been in the comic store this morning so important to you?"
Neil took a deep breath, hoping he hadn't come here on a wild goose chase. After all, he was going on information passed along by Billy Tomlinson, who wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, as they say.
"Mrs. King, did you tell the owner of Armstrong's that you had a copy of the first issue of Ultra Woman and Mega Girl that you wanted to sell?" Neil asked.
"My lord, is that what this is about?" Veronica asked.
That was neither a yes or no, but Neil thought it would be rude to repeat the question. Thankfully, once she got over her surprise, she seemed more than happy to answer.
"Actually, what I told him was that I had a number of books that I was looking to sell and wanted to know if he might be interested," she said. "My husband used to be a collector, you see. They've been sitting in one of his closets ever since he, well... Anyway, I finally decided that it was time I cleared things out."
"And was one of them Ultra Woman #1?" Neil finally asked, unable to wait any longer.
"Yes, that was one of the titles I mentioned," she finally confirmed. "I didn't really have any sort of list with me. Stopping by the store was really a sort of spur of the moment idea after coming out of the bank down the street. That and a few others were the only titles I remembered."
"And what did Mr. Armstrong say?" the younger man then asked.
"The other titles didn't seem to interest him, well, at least not as much, but he did seem quite interested in the Ultra Woman book," she went on. "So much so that he made me a cash offer right there and then, sight unseen."
Neil wondered for a second what the other books might've been, but decided it'd be better just to focus on the one that he'd come about.
"Did you take his offer?" Neil asked, concern in his tone.
"No, I told him that I'd have to think about it," Veronica said, much to Neil's relief. "To be honest, he seemed a bit too eager."
"Can I ask how much he offered you?" Neil inquired, trying to sound like the question was just idle curiosity.
"He said that he'd be willing to go as high as twenty-five dollars if the book was in good condition," she answered.
"Twenty-five dollars..." Neil repeated, almost choking on the amount.
"From your reaction, I assume the book is worth more than that?"
"It could be," Neil confirmed cautiously, "depending on its condition and such."
"I got that impression too," Veronica said. "That's why I stopped by Woodland Books after I left Armstrong's and looked it up in a price guide. I saw a copy of one on the counter in the comic store and wondered why Mr. Armstrong hadn't consulted it before making his offer."
"Oh," Neil said as he saw his own chances of making a low-ball offer on the book fading.
"I take it you were also hoping to make a killing, so to speak, by offering me less than it's worth," Veronica stated.
Neil opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not offended," the older woman smiled. "Everyone wants to get something for less than it's worth. And the price listed in that book is only good if you can find someone who is willing to pay that much, isn't that correct?"
"Can I ask how much you are looking to get for it?" Neil said, assuming that her question was rhetorical.
"Well, certainly not what the guide book said," Veronica smiled. "In fact, before stopping in at the comic store, I probably would've just given the whole lot to some of the neighborhood kids. They were important to my late husband, not me. Personally, I thought it was all just so much silliness."
The thought that she almost gave the book to some kid who probably would've trashed it after reading it caused Neil's face to turn pale. While not in the category of Action Comic #1 or even Amazing Fantasy #15, Ultra Woman and Mega Girl #1 was still one of the most sought after comics of the last twenty years. It was the book that transformed Creative Comics from a struggling concern to number three in the industry. With an initial printing less than half a normal run, few copies still existed. Oh, there had been several reprint editions in the years since, but it was the first run that counted -- at least to a collector.
"Are you a comic collector, Neil?" Veronica asked, the question seeming superfluous since he was here asking about a comic.
"Almost since I could read," he replied.
"I have to say, I find that surprising," she added. "I never pictured you as being into comic books."
"Why is that?" Neil asked.
"Because you didn't seem the type," she replied. "As I said before, you were on the school's baseball team, correct?"
"Yeah, I played third base," he confirmed.
"And, as I also recall, you were quite popular with girls," she added. "At least you always seemed to be surrounded by a number of them."
"I guess I was," he smiled. "But what has that to do with liking comics?"
"I just never thought the two went together," Veronica explained. "I'd always thought that most comic readers were awkward kids with little social life, not popular young men like you."
Neil silently shook his head, but not enough to be really noticeable. Too often that was a perception of comic readers to people who never so much as opened the cover of what they derogatorily described as 'funny books.'
"But your husband was into comics," Neil countered, as if that invalidated her theory.
