The Ming and I: A Den of Antiquity Mystery

255 Pages·2009·0.82 MB·English

by  Tamar Myers

The Ming
and I
A DEN OF ANTIQUITY MYSTERY
TAMAR MYERS
For Carrie Feron,
Executive Editor at Avon Books
Contents
1
It took a lot to get my attention that day. 1
2
“Damn good job,” Bob Steuben boomed. He is
a transplanted… 6
3
“What do you mean Greg couldn’t come?” Mama
demanded, wiping… 16
4
Greg didn’t follow me. He took a different route
altogether,… 27
5
Mama picked up on the first ring. “My nose was… 35
6
It had been a long, hard day. I had managed… 43
7
I woke up flat on my back, with Dmitri on… 54
8
I bought a new phone for the shop and three… 63
9
Wynnell hadn’t the foggiest idea how to curtsy,
but she… 74
10
“Mama! That’s ridiculous. You can’t date your
maid, even if… 85
11
It was the Roach, the third board member, which
put… 95
12
It takes a great deal of panache to appear calm… 103
13
“And then what happened?” 116
14
“It’s definitely the same vase,” Rob Goldburg
declared ex cathedra. 125
15
Captain Keffert was a no-show. The least he could
have… 134
16
It was still quite light out, and the red clay… 141
17
“It’s real, all right,” Mama said, picking it up.
“It’s… 151
18
I stepped outside and nearly ran into Greg. He
was… 160
19
I called Rock Hill information and was given
Gloria Roach’s… 168
20
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You and June… 179
21
Calling on Shirley Hall was not just a whim. I’d… 186
22
I fed Dmitri and I fed the fungus. It was… 195
23
I did not go out into that dark night alone. 205
24
There is nothing heroic about struggling to save
one’s own… 214
25
I politely turned off the radio as soon as the… 223
26
It took every one of my feminine wiles to
persuade… 230
27
“So you see,” I said to Wynnell a week and… 238
Acknowledgments
Other Books by Tamar Myers
Cover
Copyright
About the Publisher

1
It took a lot to get my attention that day. The first time
June Troyan came into my shop, I barely noticed her.
Her subsequent visit was a little more dramatic. I no-
ticed her the second she came hurtling through the plate
glass window. My customers noticed her as well. Prior
to that rather dramatic and fatal second entrance, June
was just one of many nondescript shoppers on the busiest
Tuesday on record.
The night before, Channel 9 had done a special on the
thriving antique business in Charlotte, and in a rare stroke
of luck, my shop was singled out. It didn’t hurt that it
was azalea season, and the weather was as perfect as it
gets this side of heaven. People came out in droves. Then
to add to my unbelievably good fortune, a sudden but
brief downpour came out of nowhere, trapping everyone
inside. The gods were finally smiling on me.
My name is Abigail Timberlake, and I am the over-
worked owner and sole employee of the Den of Antiquity.
I’m not complaining, mind you. I didn’t mind having to
wait on five people at once. It’s just that I couldn’t give
every customer my full attention, especially those who
have obviously come into my shop just to sell something.
A mere glance at June and the ugly gray vase she was
holding was all I
1
2 / Tamar Myers
needed to know that she was a seller, not a buyer.
I do my buying at auctions and private estate sales. I
never, ever, buy anything “off the street.” By sticking to
this little rule I have so far managed to avoid buying
stolen and fenced goods, and wasting my time with the
myriad of wishful souls who expect to make a fortune off
their grandmother’s trinkets—never mind that the old
lady herself was as poor as a church mouse on welfare.
Of course I miss out on some exceptional buys. My
friend and fellow shop owner, Wynnell Crawford, once
bought an exquisite set of nineteenth-century Meissen
figures in mint condition from a little old lady wearing
only a babushka and a bathrobe. I would have taken one
look at the vendor and concluded that her wares originally
came from Kmart, having possibly made several detours
through area garage sales.
“What did you notice about the victim when she came
in the first time?” Investigator Greg Washburn asked
when he arrived on the scene.
Greg, incidentally, is my boyfriend. He is tall, dark,
and handsome, with gleaming white teeth and eyes that
are Wedgwood blue. Greg is just an ego away from being
a cliché. Fortunately he has no idea just how handsome
he is. I, on the other hand, am four foot nine, with no
outstanding colors. Enough said.
“I didn’t notice anything,” I wailed.
“Nothing?”
I glanced down at the spot where the very battered and
bloody body had come to a rest. Thankfully the body had
been removed and a police blanket covered most of the
gore. Still, it made me uneasy to speak of the dead so
near her place of demise.
“She was mousy,” I said.
“Mousy?”