Tamar Myers - Baroque and Desperate: A Den of Antiquity Mystery

A D EN OF A NTIQUITY M YSTERY

TAMAR MYER S

I felt faint, just like the night Buford announced

he 98

Wynnells Wooden Wonders, the voice said

cheerily, and then accepted 109

Were sorry, Rhett rasped. 120

Edith answered the door. She made a poor

substitute for 130

Shhh! Youll wake Grandmother Latham. 142

Are you sure? 152

I could tell that the sheriff was a loving family 163

So what? It was clearly a setup. You saw what 173

Youre sure? 185

Hey, good-looking, Tradd said, and I stopped

in midprance. It 194

He just left, the waitress said. She paused. I guess

Yes? 216

There was no one to blame but myself. It was 226

Its the most elaborate Swiss clock Ive ever seen, I 235

And then what happened? Mama asked. 245

About the Author Praise Other Books by Tamar Myers Cover Copyright About the Publisher

I dreamed the plane was hijacked by Yankee terror ists. It was horrible. They held guns to our heads and made us say the pledge of allegiance in under

one minute. They took away our glasses of tea, and forced us to gulp gallons of diet soda. Then, just when I thought it couldnt get any worse, they tried to make us eat corn-bread baked with sugar. Mercifully, I woke up before a crumb could pass my lips.

You had a nightmare, the young man beside me said. I didnt know what to do, so I poked you with my magazine.

I stared at him. He was handsome, too handsome for me to have missed when I boarded the plane. Thats what happens when your cruise ship docks in San Juan on its final night, and you suddenly discover you have a taste for Puerto Rican rum.

My name is Tradd Burton, he said, and gave me an easy, good-old-boy grin. Tradd Maxwell Burton.

Abigail Timberlake, I grunted. I do not dispense my middle name to strangers.

You from Charlotte? he asked.

I nodded, and my seatmate became a blur. There

was no need to ask where he was from. Tradd Maxwell Burton couldnt say the pledge in under a minute, even if he taped it and played it on fast-forward.

You been on a cruise? he asked.

Howd you guess?

I saw the name of your cruise line on your bag when you put it in the overhead.

Youre very observant, I said, and closed my eyes. The young man had a right to be flattered. Usually I re serve sarcasm for close relatives and other people I care about.

Hey, it wasnt one of those singles cruises, was it? I bet it was. A pretty woman like you

I said nothing. My head felt like a nut in a squirrels jaws. I certainly wasnt up to flirting, even with someone as young and attractive as Tradd.

He droned while I drowsed. My best estimate is that I slept about an hour. When I awoke he was poking me again.

You can stop it, I said. Im awake.

Then put your seat forward in its normal, upright position. Were about to land in Charlotte.

I struggled to open my eyes. At some point my eyes had teared, running my mascara, and fusing my lashes together.

Miss, I mean now.

I pried my right eye open with index finger and thumb. For my effort I was rewarded with a close-up of our stewardess, a battle-ax named Brenda.

You owe me six dollars for the drinks, she barked.

I what?

When we hit that turbulence the captain asked us to take our seats, so I told your husband Id collect later.

I glanced over at the seat beside me. It was empty.

I am vertically challengedfour feet nine inches, if you must knowso I didnt see Mama until the next-to-last passenger, a horizontally enhanced man, cleared my line of vision. Thanks to bellicose Brenda, who got another stewardess to swear she was a witness to the husband I never had, I had no choice but to pay for two phantom drinks. At any rate, Mama looked every bit as grim as Brenda.

Oh, Abby, there you are! Mama wailed and flung herself at my laden arms.

I hugged her as best I could. There, there, I was only gone ten days.

Abby, it was just awful.

It couldnt have been that bad, Mama. You had bridge on Monday, church supper on Wednesday, and werent you thinking of taking that karate class on Thursday? You said something about going for your black belt.

Mama struggled free from my embrace, almost knocking a bottle of golden rum from my hand. You seem to be taking this awfully calmly, dear.

I pecked her cheek. There. Is that better?

Is that all you have to say?

I gave her the once-over. She is just four inches taller than I, so it didnt take long. Same full-skirted, fifties-style dress, pouffed up by a crinoline that shes worn for the last forty years. Matching pumps and handbag. Same permed bob, but with a slight blue tint now that shes in her seventies. No, there was nothing new to compliment.

Mama, I really am glad to see you. Look, I brought you a gift.

Mama blinked. A gift?

Well, nothing really expensive. I shoved a shopping bag at her. The shawl is for you, the conch shell is for Charlie, and the I LOVE PUERTO RICO T-shirt is for Susan. But since neither of them is here, you can have first pick.

Mama recoiled in horror. How can you stand there and talk about souvenirs when youve been ruined.

Mama! I thought we agreed not to talk about my sex life. But if you must know, I didnt even meet a man that appealed to me. I certainly didnt sleep with one.

You didnt get my message, did you?

I felt my newly acquired tan drain from my face. Is it the children?

Charlie, nineteen and invincible, is fond of speeding in the Corvette my ex-husband gave him. Susan, twenty, is fond of older men. Twice she has given herself to the only guy Ill ever love. Both my children are just a hormone or two away from disaster.

Charlie and Susan are fine. Its your shop, dear.

My shop? Was there a fire?

The Den of Antiquity is my life, now that Im divorced and the children are grown. Five years ago antiquing was just a hobby. Then one day Buford the Timbersnake Timberlake announced that he was trading in my forty-plus years for the forty-plus bosom of a twit named Tweetie who was all of twenty. Buford is Charlotte, North Carolinas most famous divorce lawyer, and has more connections than a telephone switchboard. There was no way I was going to get alimony, much less custody of my children.

So, I threw myself into my avocation and made it my vocation. Some of it was luck, but frankly, most of it was just plain old hard work. Sweat equity, my friends call it. At any rate, the day I left for my much-needed Caribbean vacation, the Den of Antiquity on Selwyn Avenue was one of Charlottes most prosperous antique stores, and I say that with all modesty.

Mamas fingers dug into my elbow as she steered me to a molded plastic seat. Sit, she ordered.