Tamar Myers - A Penny Urned: A Den of Antiquity Mystery

Diamond! 159

Oh, Abby, youre awake! 170

C.J.! 184

Ooh, Abby, youve got yourself a black

cousin. 195

I can believe my eyes, all right, I growled.

That 205

Ashley Hawkins descended on us likewell,

like a hawk. She 218

C.J. was mad enough to chew nails and spit rivets. 228

Youre kidding! 238

ul a Mae Wiggins drowned in a bathtub filled with champagne. She was fully clothed. It happened on New Years Eve.

Though someone had sent me a letter, I wasnt informed of her death until a full three months had passed, thanks to my ex-husband, who returns all my mail unopened. Fortunately the delay was no cause for added grief. Lula Mae was my daddys second cousin, or something like that, and had never been a part of my life. Frankly, her name didnt even ring a bell.

It was cheap champagne, Mama said that day we got the fateful call from Savannah. The kind you kind buy from Food Lion for $3.75 a bottle.

How do you know? I asked. We were playing Hearts with Wynnell and C.J., two of my closest friends and coworkers. I had just been passed the queen of spades and was trying to maintain my cool.

Mama grinned. It was she who had passed me the queen.

The coroner said so. He said the taste was sweet enough to set your teeth on edge.

Did he taste it? C.J. asked.

Yuck, Wynnell said. Did he?

I dont rightly know, Mama said, and passed me the ace and king of hearts. I didnt speak to the

coroner himself. I spoke with the executor of Lula Maes will.

Did this executor say how it was this Lula Mae person happened to drown in a bathtub of champagne?

Apparently she had a heart attack while bathing. And get this, Abby. She was dressed to the nines.

She was bathing in her clothes?

Mama nodded. You know, dear, your daddys family has always been a little on the strange side.

C.J., Wynnell, and I all rolled our eyes. For Mama to call anyone strange was like the pot calling the kettle blackin every language on earth. My mama, Mozella Gaye Wiggins, dresses like June Cleaver. Her sister Marilyn not only dresses like Marilyn Monroe, but also claims the blond bombshell stole both her name and her style from my platinumcoiffed relative.

What the heck am I going to do now? I asked. I was referring to my lousy hand, having stupidly forgotten this was still Mamas conversation.

You drive down and get her, thats what, Mama said. Her tone left no room for argument.

Excuseme? I set my cards down, fortunately face up.

Dont show us your cards, Abby! the trio chorused.

It was my turn to grin now that a redeal was in order. Whats this about me driving down to Savannah to bring back a dead aunt?

Cousin, Mama corrected me. And shes been cremated. We could have them ship the ashes, but the executor said hed been instructed to tell the mortician to place the cremains in an urn that was part of her estate. But get this. Mama paused to take a deep breath.The mortician, who claims to be something of an expert on antiques, thinks the urn is worth a pretty penny. Said it might be something called a truck-san. Is that Japanese, dear?

He probably said Etruscan, Mama. That refers to the Tusci people who were contemporaries of the ancient Romans and lived in what is now Tuscany. So, shall we deal again? I mean, it isnt fair now that youve all seen my cards.

Whose fault is that, dear?

Yours. You distracted me with this gruesome story of a dead cousin Ive never even seen.

Actually, dear, you did see her once. I think you were about three years old. Lula Mae came up here to visit. You called her a witch.

I did not!

You most certainly did, and to her face.

Well, if I didlike you said, I was only three.

Still, I cant imagine why shed leave you everything.

Say what?

You heard me right, Abby. Your daddys cousin left you all her worldly possessions. The executora Mr. Kimbrosaid your brother Toy wasnt even mentioned.

Mama, was that call intended for me?

Well, they called here, Mama said, pretending to study her cards, and it is my house.

It did not surprise me that my mother had been able to intercept a call, even one of this nature, intended for someone else. Mama could charm a fly out of its wings, and barring success at that, could lay on such a guilt trip, the poor fly would leave behind his antennae and a leg or two to boot.

I glared at Mama, who of course didnt notice.

Maybe you should go down to Savannah to pick up Lula Maes cremains. After all, you were married to her cousin. And Ill bet you anything you pretended to be me on the phone when Mr. Kimbro called, didnt you?

Silence.

Didnt you?

Mama sighed. I cant believe your attitude, dear. I should think youd jump at the chance to do this. That urn could be worth a lot of money.

The Etruscan urn is most probably a fake, I said, speaking from experience. And besides, what do you propose that I do? Buy a cheap vase at Kmart and dump Lula Maes ashes into that?

Mama squirmed. Well, I dont see that we have a choice, dear. I already told the man youd be there day after tomorrow.

Youwhat?

Mama cringed. Well, it was either that or tell him to mail the urn and sell off your cousins estate. But seeing as how youre an antique dealer, I thought you might like to look over Lula Maes things first. There might be some items youd like to keep and maybe others you could get more for up here in Charlotte than you could get in Savannah.

Or maybe you could have told him the truth, that your name isnt Abigail Timberlake, and maybe you should have given him my phone number and told him to speak to me directly.

Whats done is done, dear. Theres no use in beating a dead horse, is there?

Id wager the old gray mare has enough life left in her to go down to Savannah by herself with a U-Haul and bring back Lula Maes estate, I mumbled half to myself.

Wynnell gasped. Her hedgerow eyebrows had fused into one long, black bush.

Abby, is that any way to talk to your mama? Besides, she couldnt possibly bring back your cousins entire estate.

You stay out of this, I said gently. One of the disadvantages of having a friend twelve years older than I was that she tended to act like she was my mama.

C.J., on the other hand, is young enough to be my daughter, and every bit as impertinent as my real daughter, Susan. C.J. giggled.

Abby, dont be ridiculous. Your mama cant bring a house back in a U-Haul.