Tamar Myers - Death of a Rug Lord (Avon Mystery)

TA M A R M Y ERS Death Rug L OF A ord A DEN OF ANTIQUITY MYSTERY To the highly esteemed and prestigious Charleston Authors Society, of which I am proud to be a member. Contents When I looked the gift horse in the mouth, it 1 I couldnt get Greg on the phone, which probably meant It was Big Bob againor whoever the stranger was. It Rob Goldburg, who is the second most handsome man in The burly guard didnt even ask to see my invitation. It took us less than a minute to google the Kitty, dear. Earth to Abby, come in, Abby. Excuse me? Youre got to be mistaken, Mrs.

Washburn, Lloyd said, and Youre serious? Rob said for the bazillionth time. It always pays to be courteouswell, most of the time Its a forgery, I sobbed in a hoarse whisper into Pray tell, what might that be? I asked. You can For your information, Bob, they no longer like being referred I cupped my hands and shouted directly into Big Larrys Abby, do you see what I see? Im afraid there isnt such an offer, Bob said. We I was ashamed to get on the phone when Bob 170 At first the rug I got back looked identical to 182 Northwoods Mall began life as a flat, one-story affair that Of course I want to hear what you found in No, dont look! I saw them for a split second. No more. And 224 Cousin Imogene was delighted to receive us.

She hadnt had I found Mama fast asleep, slumped low in the front Indeed, we did call it that. Oh Miranda Sue, I 257 There were ten switches in all, and at least I Although I do realize that humanity is somehow connected, and And what was in your pill case? Robs mother, Sandra When I looked the gift horse in the mouth, it was clear that shed been drinking. I couldnt help but take a step back. She, alas, took two steps forward. Arent you Abigail Timberlake? she said. Guilty.

You own the Den of Antiquity down on King Street, right? Right as rain in November. Ive been in your shop dozens of times. I smiled quickly over clenched teeth. Im a tiny woman, just four-foot-nine. One good whiff of her breath could send my alcohol level over the moon. So you saw my ad on TV, huh? It was either give up on sobriety or appear to be rude.

Yes, maam, I said, Ive seen your ads, and I couldnt believe my ears. And now I cant believe my eyes. How can yall afford to price these Oriental rugs so low? Gwenthats what was printed on her badge glanced around the crowded room. I believe its something to do with high volume. T a m a r M y e r s Yes, but yall have got to be selling these way below cost. Even if yall sold a million, yall still wont turn a profit.

She shrugged. Yeah, well, go figure. Take this one for example, I said. Its a Persian from Tabriz, right? The traditional mahi , or fish, design. Gwen had to flip three corners over before she found the tag, which was sewn on the back. Mrs. Mrs.

Timberlake. Actually its Washburn. Huh? The Missus part. I keep the Timberlake for business reasons. You related to Justin? Not that we know of. But you see, Timberlake is also a married name Never mind, its a long story.

Now about this price, there has got to be a zero missing, right? No, its correct. But it says 695. Even wholesale, its worth twice that. Maybe. She tossed her head to get some irksome hair out of her face. Her amber mane was thick and waist length, truly worthy of being envied.

But like they say, she continued, dont kiss a gift horse on the mouth. I stifled an impulse to snicker. Still, this has to be a mistake. May I speak to the manager, please? Uh... I am the manager. You are? I mean, of course you are.

Funny, but I was sure the manager of Pashas Palace was a man. Gary something or other. D E AT H O F A R U G L O R D A mind as small as mine is easily read. Gary quit last month. Im Gwendolyn Spears, his replacement. Oh, but then surely you must know that these rugs are underpriced.

Gwens eyes locked on mine. Didnt I read in the paper about your brother getting married recently? Yes. Where could she possibly be going with this? Could she be hoping for a similar discount at my shop? Well, that just wasnt possible; I price my merchandise fairly, but I dont give it away. Then its a wedding present for him and his lucky bride. Excuse me? Here. She expertly rolled the rug and slung it over her shoulder.

Ill walk you to your car. But you cant. My protest was sincere, although a part of me was excited about acquiring such a beautiful work of art. I can, and I will, Gwendolyn Spears said. My full name is Abigail Louise Timberlake Washburn. My first husband, Buford Timberlake, was more of a timber snake, and we divorced after he traded me in for a woman half my age.

My second, and last, husband is Greg Washburn, a retired detective from Charlotte. Greg is now half owner of a shrimp boat in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina. We are S.O.B.s, and proud of it. Our lovely home is south of Broad Street in historic Charleston, South Carolina. My widowed mother, Mozella Wiggins, lives with us, as does Dmitri, an orange tabby that tips the scale at sixteen pounds. I have two grown children, Susan T a m a r M y e r s and Charlie: the former lives in New York, where she works as a legal secretary; the latter in Paris, where he supports himself by cleaning chimneys (Charlies ambition is to be a painter).

Most of us are happyat least some of the time so one might conclude that life at 7 Squiggle Lane proceeds on a fairly even keel. But if that is what one concludes, then one would be wrong. Murder and mayhem follow me around like sin chases after televangelists. On the plus side, I never have time to be bored. But then neither do I have much time in which to relax. One of these rare moments of leisure found me sitting in my favorite chair whilst watching All My Chil- dren and eating lunch.

I will confess right now that during the commercials, I cast admiring glances at that glorious Persian rug from Tabriz. I know, it was supposed to be a wedding present for my brother, Toy, and his wife, C.J. But they lived all the way up in Sewanee, Tennessee, and I wasnt scheduled to see them for a couple of weeks. Besides, the rug was already old and used. If I derived joy from it in the meantime, who could it possibly hurt? Mama is also addicted to AMC, the finest soap opera on network television, and it is she who encourages me to leave my shop, on a daily basis, in the hands of my very capable assistant, and join her for lunch. Since Mama can cook up a storm (all the while looking like Donna Reed, replete with pearls and starchy crinolines), Id say I have it pretty good.

While normally Mama can chatter a magpie into submission, during AMC she insists on total silence. The occasional gasp D E AT H O F A R U G L O R D is permittedas surprises in the story line unfold but words are never allowed. Ever . I was quite enjoying my chicken salad sandwich and fresh fruit plate when I heard the unimaginable. Gracious me, Abby, did you see that? We have to turn off the TV. I nearly choked on my chicken.

Excuse me? Didnt you see that strip along the bottom of the screen? No, I was looking at my plate. What was it? A tornado watch? Houses in Charleston sit only a few feet above sea level, so there are no basements. We dont often get tornado watches, but when we do, Mama insists that we repair to her closet, where there is another television. Someday, perhaps, well be watching Erica Kane fool Jackson Montgomery into marrying her yet again, while we sail off to Oz. Its about some woman Hillary? Mama is a huge fan of Barack Obama and takes it as a personal affront when his rivals are in town. No, Abby.

This woman Dont tell me Chers on yet another farewell tour. Mama patted her pearls indignantly. I wouldnt interrupt my Holy Hourshe actually calls it thatfor Cher. The woman on the news bulletin was found in Charleston Harbor wrapped in a carpet. A gaggle of geese waddled over my grave. Was she dead? Of course, dear.