Your House or Mine?

by Cynthia Thomason

  “Wow. Who would have thought she had such cutting-edge taste?”

  As soon as Gloria disappeared, Wade raised his eyebrows in amusement. “You and that lady come from the same family?”

  Next to Gloria, Meg felt she might as well be wearing a Woolworths housedress and bandana. “Shocker, isn’t it?”

  “Kinda.”

  “To you and me both.” She grasped Spencer’s shoulders and turned him toward the kitchen. “Come on, you two. I’ve got roast beef and cheese sandwiches made. I suppose I should offer lunch to Gloria, too. I think I have a couple of carrot sticks that will fill her up.”

  Gloria spent the next hour rummaging through every room on the first floor. She told Meg she was getting back in touch with those golden days of their youth. Meg wasn’t fooled. She knew Gloria was examining every little trinket and mentally calculating her eighty percent of the auction profits.

  After securing Wade’s promise to fish later, Spencer finished his sandwich and ran off. Wade lingered in the kitchen.

  “Don’t you have to go back out?” Meg asked when it became obvious that he was in no hurry to leave.

  “Eventually,” he said. “But I remembered that you wanted to ask me about a legal matter. I guess I kind of sidetracked the discussion on Sunday night by telling you about your cousin calling. And then Monday I steered the conversation in another direction again when we met down at the river and we…” He paused, looked down at the table as if he were studying the watermelon design in the old placemats. Was Wade Murdock embarrassed?

  Meg finished the sentence for him as she rinsed the dishes. “We talked about Betty Lamb and the Right to Purchase Agreement instead.”

  He gave her a direct stare. “You talked about the Agreement. I kept trying to kiss you.”

  No, he wasn’t embarrassed. His straightforward reference to the other night unnerved her, but Meg concentrated on her concerns about Colonial Auction. She hadn’t forgotten that storeroom of new merchandise Jerry had showed her. She dried her hands and sat across the table from Wade. “Since we’re not at the river now and not likely to repeat past performances…”

  He slapped his hand over his heart. “You really know how to wound me, Meg.”

  She smiled, warmed by the thought that Wade wanted to pick up where they left off.

  Jenny popped in the back door, preventing Meg from responding. “Hi, Dad. Mrs. Jenkins just dropped me off from the mall. Want to watch me ride?”

  “Give me twenty minutes, Jen.”

  She grabbed a peach from a wicker basket in the center of the table and took a bite. “Who’s that lady with the weird hair on the front porch? She’s looking everything over like she’s checking for cooties.”

  “That’s my cousin,” Meg said. “And I guarantee you she’s not interested in cooties.”

  “Oh.” Jenny left through the back door with a promise to ready her tack.

  After she’d gone, Wade sat back in his chair, crossed his hands over his abdomen and smiled. “Listen to that, Meg. What we have right now is silence. I suggest you take advantage of it.”

  And she did. She told him about Mary Beth and her work with the charity, and Mr. Horton and the recent flow of brand-name merchandise into Colonial Auction. She explained how auctions generally operated but admitted that this good fortune, though plausible, had her concerned.

  She told him about her trip to the auction warehouse on Sunday and how she’d seen the merchandise for herself as well as the obliterated serial numbers. She also repeated Jerry’s explanation, which really could be logical.

  And with each detail she watched Wade’s face, looking for some sign, a twitch of an eye, a subtle downturn of his lips which could be interpreted as bad news. He simply sat quite still and listened to her story. And Meg began to believe that her fears were unfounded.

  “You don’t seem too worried about this,” she said when she’d revealed everything, including Jerry’s infatuation with Mary Beth.

  Wade sat up straight in his chair and threaded his fingers together on the table. “Did you meet this Mary Beth?”

  “No. But I’ve heard enough about her to know that she’s not the type Jerry usually goes for. At first I thought that was a good thing. Most of Jerry’s love interests aren’t exactly the type of women you’d take home to mother. What do you think? Could she be giving him a line?”

  Wade shrugged. “Not necessarily.” He scrubbed his hand over the nape of his neck. “But I am a bit suspicious. Something crossed my desk a few weeks ago…”

  Meg’s nerves prickled with alarm. “What? Something bad?”

  “If I remember it correctly, then, yes, it could be. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time because the notice specifically referred to auction houses, pawnshops, wholesale operations, and we don’t have any businesses like that in Mount Esther.”

  “What did it say?”

  “That there has been a barrage of thefts in the southeast, Florida, Georgia, Alabama, some other states as well. Freight trucks have been hijacked, distribution warehouses targeted, probably with the help of insiders. At any rate, a lot of merchandise has gone missing. The point of the memo was that law enforcement officials should be on the lookout for new goods that could show up at unconventional retail operations.”

  Meg blinked hard. “Like an auction.”

  “Yes, like an auction. In fact, now that I think about it, it’s the perfect scenario. Merchandise comes in during the week, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s all sold in one night, dispersed over a wide segment of the population, and, I would assume, without detailed receipts.”

  “The only receipts demanded of an auction house by the Department of Regulation are little cardboard cutouts, copies of the sale which we give to customers after they pay. The merchandise they bought is written on one line with very little description.”

  The implication of such lenient record-keeping was suddenly appalling to Meg. Now that she thought about it, an auction house could be the perfect route for stolen goods. “Sometimes we don’t write anything on a receipt more detailed than ‘computer keyboard’ or ‘weed eater.’”

  “Do you specify whether merchandise is new or used?” Wade asked.

  “Hardly ever. It’s not important since nothing sold at an auction is guaranteed. You’ve heard the expression, ‘as is, where is’?”

  He nodded.

  “That means everything is sold without guarantee and the buyer is totally responsible for what he’s bidding on. Of course we try to give an accurate description of each item we sell. We point out defects, but it’s still ‘buyer beware.’”

  Wade tapped his index finger on the tabletop. “So merchandise is sold, it’s picked up the same night, it can’t be brought back. Transaction closed.”

  “Pretty much,” Meg said.

  “And anyone who brings merchandise in to be sold gets payment without ever coming face-to-face with a buyer? And the merchandise is virtually untraceable once it goes out the door.”

  “Not exactly. We keep records of who our consignees are as well as bidding numbers and records of who was at the sale…assuming these people give us accurate personal information.”

  “But there are no signatures required, no verification of consignees’ or bidders’ identities?”

  “No.”

  Wade gave her a sympathetic smile. “No offense, Meg, but an auction is a fence’s dream, like pawnshops used to be before new state regulations clamped down on them.”

  She clenched her hands tightly on the tabletop to stop them from trembling. “But problems rarely happen. We’ve never had stolen merchandise at Colonial Auction that I know of. Almost everything we sell is used and comes from someone’s home, just like the auction I’m having for Aunt Amelia’s things. We never have to worry about verifying ownership.”

  He cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows at her. “Till now maybe.”

  “Right. Till now.” She gav
e him a pleading look. “What am I going to do? If these things are stolen, my brother could end up in jail.”

  Wade smiled, a comforting but most inappropriate gesture to Meg’s sudden panic. Her business was at stake. Her brother could be a criminal.

  “Let me track down that memo first. If I have my facts straight then we’ll follow up on this.” He reached across the table and patted her hand. “Your brother doesn’t have a record, does he?”

  “Not unless you count parking tickets from leaving our truck in front of condo walkways.”

  “That doesn’t count. He’s never associated with known criminals? Never been caught stealing?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then stop worrying. He’s only sold this stuff at two auctions, right?” He stood up. “I’ll spend a few minutes with Jenny and then go back to the office. I’ll look up the report and call you.”

  Meg rose just after he did and came around the table. Telling Wade had been the right thing to do. Once again he had come through for her. “Thanks, Wade. I don’t know what I’d do…”

  She paused, aware that what she was about to say reflected a truth she wasn’t ready to accept, or admit.

  He stared at her, waiting. “Do you want to finish that thought, Meg?”

  “Maybe some other time.”

  The kitchen door swung open and Gloria sailed in. She headed for the refrigerator, stopping long enough to give Wade a seductive little grin. “Well, howdy, Sheriff. Is everybody abiding by the law today in Mount Esther?”

  “It’s Deputy,” he reminded her again. “And yes, so far.”

  She took a bottle of water and unscrewed the cap. “Maybe I’m just the girl to change that.” With her gaze firmly fixed on Wade, she took a long swallow of water. “What do people do around here after the sun goes down?” she asked.

  “I don’t know about everybody else,” he said, “but I paint, plaster, and put wood filler in mouse holes.”

  She shook her head, her spiky blond hair refusing to move. “Nope, not my thing. But when I was driving into town today, I did see this place on the outskirts. They advertise live music. Have you been to McGruder’s Tavern?”

  “Once or twice,” he admitted.

  “Good. What do you say we go there tonight and kick back?”

  Wade looked at Meg as if the decision were hers. “If you want to go, then fine,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I guess there’s no harm. Bert’s doing downtown duty tonight, and Pop will be here to maintain peace between the kids. What time you girls want to go?”

  “Oh, I won’t be going,” Meg said. “I have too much to do, and I was planning on going back to Shady Grove to be with Aunt Amelia.” She gave Gloria a pointed look. “Don’t you want to go with me?”

  “I really should….” Gloria said. “But, heck, tomorrow’s soon enough.” She passed a glance Meg’s way, and added, “Don’t tell her I got in town today, Meggie, okay?”

  “Fine.” At least she wouldn’t really have to tell that lie. Amelia wasn’t exactly watching a calendar these days.

  Wade looked as if he’d been sucker-punched. “You’re not going?” he said to Meg.

  “No.”

  “I’ll be ready at seven,” Gloria said as she left the kitchen. “See you then.”

  Wade looked at Meg a few more seconds as if expecting her to explain herself. When she didn’t, he set his hat on his head, crushed the brim down low on his forehead and strode from the room.

  Later that night, after Meg returned from Shady Grove and Wade and Gloria had left for McGruder’s, Meg spread auction supplies on the cleared kitchen table in front of Jenny and Spencer. She handed Jenny a black marker and a stack of blank index cards. “Go ahead and number the cards from 1 to 100. These will be our bidders’ cards, so write nice and big so I can read the numbers from several yards away.”

  She gave Spence blank sheets of paper, a pen and a ruler, and told him to draw straight lines across each page and write the words, Name, Address and Phone Number on the top. Without the forms she’d saved on her computer at Colonial Auction, she’d have to use these handwritten sign-in sheets to record bidders’ information.

  Jenny numbered a few cards and then set down the marker and scowled at Meg. “You should have had Dad and Gloria do this,” she said.

  Surprised at the girl’s sudden outburst, Meg said, “Why? Is this such a hard job?”

  “No, but it would have kept them from going out on a date together.”

  Spencer dropped his pen. He didn’t seem to notice when it rolled to the floor. “It’s not a date, is it Mom? They didn’t go on a date.”

  “I don’t know what else you’d call it,” Jenny answered with the authority of a woman who knew all about dating. “They got dressed up, they left together. I’ll bet he pays her way in.”

  “I don’t think they charge to get into McGruder’s,” Meg said, knowing it was a lame way to avoid the real issue. Maybe the trip to McGruder’s hadn’t started out as a date, but it could quickly become one if Gloria had her way.

  “See, they don’t charge, so it’s not a date,” Spencer said to Jenny. “Wade wouldn’t go on a date with her.”

  “You better hope that’s right,” Jenny warned. “Gloria is the last person I’d want to see with my dad.” She focused a defiant glare at Meg. “I’d rather pick you over her, so you’d better do something to keep them apart.”

  “Wow,” Meg said. “Thanks for that ringing vote of confidence. Now start writing numbers.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THURSDAY STARTED OUT miserably. By eight o’clock Meg had gotten a disheartening medical report about Amelia. And she faced the rest of the day with a million details on her mind, all of which needed to be addressed before Saturday’s auction. To make matters worse, she’d lain awake until well past midnight when she’d finally heard the front door open and close and Gloria giggling all the way up the stairs.

  Then, she missed seeing Wade this morning, which meant she wouldn’t get any insight on “the date” from him, not that she’d have the nerve to ask him about it. And there was no guessing when Gloria might stumble downstairs to gloat over the evening.

  Deciding the best thing to do was to immerse herself in auction preparations, Meg began polishing Amelia’s furniture to a glossy shine. But even that chore didn’t stop her from imagining what Wade and Gloria had done the night before or from analyzing her past relationship with her cousin. While Gloria slept off the effects of her night at McGruder’s, Meg looked back on her childhood at Ashford House with a new and profound understanding of those carefree days. The truth was, they had not been nearly as carefree as her faulty memory had led her to believe.

  Adjusting to the clear, levelheaded view from adulthood, Meg now remembered that those times when she and Gloria were together, quarrels and petty jealousies had often sent the two strong-willed girls to separate bedrooms for the night without speaking. It had been Amelia’s diplomatic skills that had mediated the problems the next morning and brought harmony to the house again.

  “Well, Amelia’s not here now,” Meg said as she applied polish to an old cup ring on the top of an end table and wiped furiously. “And even if she were, no amount of sweet talk could negotiate a peace this time.”

  Meg truly tried to make Gloria the target for her anger. She told herself that Gloria could have asked if Meg minded if she went out with Wade. She could have asked if Meg had an interest in him.

  “Did Gloria care enough to even ask how I felt?” Meg said aloud. “Did she think beyond her own selfish interests for once? No. In typical Gloria fashion, just like always, she saw what she wanted and went after it.”

  Unfortunately Meg’s attempts to make Gloria the bad guy made no sense. Not this time. She plopped down in an old chintz chair and dropped her polishing materials to the floor. Reason had suddenly prevailed, and Meg shook her head and turned her frustration where it rightfully belonged—on herself.

  “Snap o
ut of it, Meggie,” she said. “You’ve got no claim on Wade. You could have gone out with them last night, but you didn’t, so why blame Gloria for taking advantage of the situation?” She sat forward, dangling her hands between her knees. “Still she could have asked if I minded.”

  “Who didn’t ask?”

  The question from the staircase was delivered in Gloria’s sleep-husky voice. “And didn’t ask what?”

  Meg jumped up from the chair. “Oh, you’re up.”

  Gloria stepped lightly off the bottom step. “Don’t remind me. Your son’s video game in the next room sounds like the real Indy 500.” Her fingers pressed to her temples, she said, “Where’s the aspirin?”

  Meg followed her into the kitchen. She couldn’t help pointing out the obvious. “It’s nearly 10:30.”

  Gloria made a beeline for the cupboards. “And that’s important because…?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have stayed out so late.”

  Gloria slammed a succession of cupboard doors after finding each one empty. “The aspirin, Meg. Or have you catalogued it to be sold in the auction?”

  Meg retrieved the bottle from the pantry, took out two capsules and deposited them on the table.

  Gloria sat in a chair, swallowed the pills without water and lay her head on her crossed arms. After a moment she looked up at Meg with red-rimmed eyes. “Correct me if I’m misreading you, but is something wrong?”

  Meg slammed a glass of water on the table even though she knew Gloria didn’t require it. Liquid sloshed over the side and soaked the sleeve of Gloria’s bathrobe. “Why would something be wrong?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Because you’re you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Meg asked the question even though she knew the answer. She had always been the righteously indignant one. Gloria had always been the free spirit who didn’t give a damn.

  Gloria released a long, dramatic sigh, raised her head with a wince of her colorless lips, and said, “Okay, let’s have it. What did I do this time?”

  Meg leaned against the counter and clamped her arms over her chest. She simply couldn’t ignore all the old resentment that welled up inside her. “You like playing the martyr, don’t you?”