Tamar Myers - Gilt By Association: A Den of Antiquity Mystery

It had been one of the longest days of my 67

I did not sleep like a babymy babies never seemed 77

Call it force of habit. Before I knew it, I 88

My shop? The Den of Iniquity? 96

I should have waited to call Toxie Barras. I had 105

There are certain advantages to being slight of stature. Because 116

I dont know what got into my head, allowing Tweetie 126

Oh my God was all I could think to say, 136

Excuse me? What do you mean Hatties a murderer? 146

After some deliberation I decided to remain closed for the 158

I have a terrible confession to make, but I know 168

It was a full house. If Lottie Bell had been 178

Trust me, if you stand gaping in a snowstorm youre 188

I knew there was someone in the house with me, 198

Despite our little misunderstanding, I fully expected Greg to ask 207

Rob and Bob have a well-appointed guest room, and I 217

The streets were as deserted as church is the Sunday 223

I immediately dialed Greg. After the fourth ring his machine 229

When I woke up, it was in the ICU of 241

Acknowledgments About the Author Other Books by Tamar Myers Cover

T he invoice from the estate auction read as fol lows:

one Louis XV armoireone Louis XV deskone small Louis XV tableone carved and gilded mirror

It said nothing about a body. I read the invoice one more time just to be sure. No body.

I sat down rather heavily on a sturdy Victorian side chair. Finding a corpse in a closet is not a daily occurrence at the Den of Antiquity. One should excuse me then for stopping to catch my breath before I called the Charlotte police. Im sure you will understand as well when I tell you that it took me several minutes to catch that breath.

My name is Abigail Timberlake, and the Den of Antiquity is all that I have. Three years ago I was a happily married woman, mother of two almost grown children, library volunteer, and president of the Episcopal Church Women. I even had a dog, Scruffles, and a cat, Dmitri. But that was then, and this is now, as my children used to say.

Buford Timberlake changed all that. As ex-husbands go, Buford is the sludge at the bottom of the pond. Timberlake the Timber Snake, I call him. Of course some of the credit should go to the blond puffball who used to be

his secretary and now is his wife. Tweetie Byrdher real name, I kid you notinsinuated herself into my husbands lap, and then his life, with the rapidity of a striking snake, so maybe shes part reptile, too. At any rate, Tweetie is now mistress of the manor, and stepmother to my son, Charlie. Thank God, my daughter, Susan, had already flown the nest when The Byrd took over.

That Buford had been awarded custody of everything near and dear to me (with the exception of my shadow) has nothing to do with my competence or moral track record. It is simply because Buford is a lawyer. A damn good lawyer. Maybe the best. Buford is capable of convicting Pollyanna of a bad attitude, and once he decided to go for Tweetie, who was twenty, and cast me aside, it was all over except for the pain.

I am lucky to have escaped with my antique shop. I can only guess that Tweetie presumed the Den of Antiquity was a geriatric sex club, and being so consumed with Buford, hadnt enough energy left over to take that on as well. I would like to think that the shop would have remained mine no matter what, since I stalled it from scratch. Of course I started my children from scratch as well, but that didnt stop Tweetie Byrd from taking over my nest and stealing my remaining fledgling.

None of that has anything to do with the price of antique silk in China, or what Im about to tell you. I just wanted you to know that I didnt have it made in the shadeto quote The Byrdand I still dont. The fact that my dearly departed Aunt Eulonia (herself a murder victim) left me a considerable estate last year, and I finally have some financial stability, is none of Tweeties business. The point Im trying to make is that my shop has come to fill a tremendous void in my life. Outside of my loved ones, it is my life.

So I hope you can understand how it was that finding a corpse in a closet was threatening, to say the least. I

realize now how callous this must sound to you. How shocked you probably are that I didnt immediately respond to the corpse as a person. But I was in shock myself, you see. After all the stress Id been under, something had simply shorted out in my brain. Even now I cringe when I say this, but I was far more concerned about what the body would do to my business than about the body itself. I wish now that I had felt differently.

I also wish that I had called 911. Unfortunately, someone else beat me to the punch.

Well, well, what have we here?

I jumped several inches off the chair. There are eight sleigh bells attached to my front door, but I was so distraught I had not heard anyone enter. In my frame of mind, it could well have been the corpse conversing. I whirled and faced the speaker, a middle-aged police officer in a blue uniform.

He isnt on my invoice, I said stupidly.

Maam? Charlotte police are invariably polite.

He wasnt part of the lot. I only bid on the desk, the table, the mirror, and that! I pointed to the armoire, in which the body sat, slumped in a heap.

Name?

I dont know his name! I wailed.

No maam, your name.

I have a right to remain silent, and refuse to answer questions, I began. I have a right to call an attorney. If I

Im not arresting you, maam, said the man in blue. I just want to ask you a few questions. We can do that here, or down at the station. Take your pick.

That was like asking me to choose between liver and boiled turnips. Following Aunt Eulonias murder, I spent more than my fair share of time hanging around the police station. For the record, allow me to stress that all of my hanging around was in front of the bars, not behind them.

Still, police stations give me the heebie-jeebies. On the other hand, I had been datingon and offa very handsome police detective named Greg Washburn who had recently been promoted (demoted, he claims) to a desk job downtown. Unfortunately our relationship was now in its off stage, and until Greg came up with a satisfactory explanation for why I saw him at Hooters in the company of a redhead with humongous hooters of her own, I didnt want to see him. Reluctantly I chose the boiled turnips.

I stood up. Ive seen newborn foals with sturdier legs. Ill go to the station.

Then excuse me, maam, the officer said, and he began talking into his cellular phone.

There was a lot of static, and he conducted his business several paces away, but I still managed to hear words like victim and perpetrator. My blood ran cold. It was clear to me that there were two victims in the shop right then, and no perpetrator. Unless I could convince him otherwise, I would have to kiss my career as an antique dealer good-bye. After all Id already been through, I didnt think I had it in me to fight my way through the jungle that is our justice system.