Chapter 7.

Before I got to know an antiquarian herologist and he committed suicide, I'd never thought of

clocks as anything special.

To me, they were just like appliances that tell time.

And an antique clock, I didn't think of that as any different from, say, an antique

chair.

But then I went to John's friend Bill's house.

He asked that I not use his last name.

Hi, sir.

Nice to see you.

How are you?

Thanks for having us.

Bill's a longtime customer of John's.

His house is just a normal looking suburban house on a cul-de-sac, not far from Bibb County.

Until the moment I step inside, and suddenly I feel like I'm in a museum, there are rare

antique clocks everywhere.

In the dining room, in the living room, in the kitchen, in the bedroom, on the ceiling,

close to 100 or so.

Bill tells me John restored all of them.

He's worked on this one.

That one.

That one.

...