Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 05 - Tight as a Tick

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  She picked up a stack of saucers, shuffled through them to check the markings on the bottom, and put half of them in the cart and the other half back on the shelf. “One day a man came by, and I could tell he was just looking around while his wife shopped, but when he saw that vase, his eyes got as big around as this plate here.” She held up a plate, put it back on the shelf, then reconsidered and put it in the cart. “He picked it up to look at it, and put it down real careful. Then he asked me if the price marked was right. I said it was, and he got out a twenty-dollar bill and a five-dollar bill. That’s twenty-five cents,’ I told him, which may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. He looked at me like I was crazy, but he gave me a quarter and picked up the vase. Then he asked if I knew what I’d just sold. He said that thing was American Indian pottery, good enough for the Smithsonian. I asked him how much it was worth, and he said it was priceless. Here I’d just sold it for a quarter.”

  As we started down the last row of glassware, Aunt Maggie said, “It’s impossible to know about everything you find, because you never know what you’re going to run into.”

  The front door opened, and in walked Mavis and Mary Maude.

  Aunt Maggie frowned. “See what I mean? You never know what kind of junk you’re going to run into.”

  I hid a grin as the two of them made a beeline for us.

  Aunt Maggie said, “Don’t take your eyes off that cart for a second. They’re going to look to see what’s in it, and if you’re not careful, they’ll ‘accidentally’ pick up something and put it in their own cart.”

  I got a firm grip on the handle. Meanwhile, Aunt Maggie nearly ran down the last aisle, picking up pieces without even looking at them. She reached for a pair of blue candlesticks, but Mary Maude grabbed them first.

  “Don’t often find pieces like this, do you, Miz Burnette?”

  Mary Maude said with a triumphant grin. “How much do you suppose these are worth?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Aunt Maggie said, and turned around to make another pass through the shelves.

  Mary Maude turned the candlesticks over to look at the bottom, but from her expression, I knew she didn’t have any idea of what it was she was holding. I didn’t either, but I hadn’t practically stolen them from Aunt Maggie.

  I stopped watching Mary Maude just in time to see Mavis peering into our shopping cart with one hand out. “Excuse me,” I said, and pushed the cart out of her reach, just barely missing her toes.

  “By the way, Miz Burnette,” Mavis said, sounding miffed, “we went to that mini warehouse auction you told us about, but it turned out it was cancelled.”

  “I told you to call ahead,” Aunt Maggie said.

  “Do you know about any other auctions this week?” Mary Maude demanded.

  “Not off hand,” Aunt Maggie said.

  “Why don’t you check that date book of yours?” Mary Maude said, poking at Aunt Maggie’s pocketbook.

  “I can’t,” she said, sounding pleased. “I left it out at the flea market. One of my suppliers brought me a big load of stuff yesterday, and I was so busy packing the boxes into my car that I forgot to pick it up.”

  That’s why she’d sounded so pleased. She’d been hoping for an excuse to mention the new merchandise Luther had brought her. From the look on Mary Maude’s face, the gloat hit home.

  It may have backfired, because Aunt Maggie spent the next few minutes sandwiched between Mary Maude and Mavis. Mary Maude was in front so she could get to everything ahead of her, and Mavis was behind her, watching everything she picked up. I don’t know how Aunt Maggie stood it. I was expecting her to either explode or give up when she grabbed a glass bud vase.

  “Is this what I think it is?” she said. She held it up to the light, checked the bottom, then showed it to Mavis. “You know what this is, don’t you, Miz Dermott?”

  Mavis said, “Lord, I don’t remember the last time I saw one of those. It’s in good condition, too.”

  “I’ve got a collector who comes by every week, and I know she’ll pay a hundred dollars for it.”

  “Really?” I said, looking at it in amazement.

  Aunt Maggie said, “You know how collectors are. This lady isn’t satisfied with just one of anything—she wants as many as she can get. If I could find a dozen like this one, she’d buy them all. She used to try to fool me into thinking she was broke, but I know better now. She’s got plenty of money, even if she does dress like country come to town—always wearing that bright pink coat and carrying the tackiest black-and-white checked pocketbook.” Aunt Maggie admired the vase a minute more, then gently placed it in the cart. “You be careful, Laurie Anne. I don’t want that getting chipped.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, but I was getting suspicious.

  “I think I’ve found everything I’m going to. Let’s go see what Richard’s got,” she said.

  As soon as we were out of earshot, I said, “What are you up to?”

  She tried to look innocent, but spoiled it with a devilish grin. “Just getting those two out of my hair for a while.”

  “That vase isn’t really worth a hundred dollars, is it?”

  “I’d be lucky to get a quarter for it.”

  Right about then, I heard Mary Maude and Mavis chattering about something. Mary Maude was holding a cardboard box, and Mavis was so excited she was nearly jumping up and down. They just about ran for the cash register.

  “What do you suppose they found?” I asked.

  “Problably the box that vase came out of,” Aunt Maggie said. “I saw it when we went by the first time. The box originally held a dozen, but there were only eleven in the box.”

  “So they think they’ve got eleven hundred dollars worth of bud vases. Aunt Maggie, like they say in Boston, you are wicked smart.”

  “Thank you, Laurie Anne.”

  “What about the lady in the pink coat? Did you make her up?”

  “Nope, she comes by every couple of weeks. I don’t know if she’s got any money or not, but I know she’ll bargain for an hour just to get a nickel off the price.”

  “Wicked smart,” I said again.

  “Maybe that’ll teach them not to grab things out of my hand.”

  When we got to Richard, I saw that he’d found an empty box and had nearly filled it with books.

  “What did you find?” Aunt Maggie asked.

  “Some amazing stuff.” He held up a large paperback. “This one is a classic.”

  “The Norton Anthology of Poetry?” Aunt Maggie read out.

  “And a complete set of Shakespeare’s tragedies in paperback.”

  “Richard—”

  “You were right to get us up early—I’m surprised this stuff is still here.”

  “Richard, did you see any books like this out at Tight as a Tick?”

  “No—you should corner the market. The flea market that is.”

  “The reason you didn’t see any books like this,” she said patiently, “is because books like this don’t sell at the flea market. My customers want Stephen King, not Shakespeare.”

  “But these are good books.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They won’t sell.” She picked up a fat historical romance. “Now, I’ll sell this the first day I put it out.” She grabbed a couple more romances and a John Grisham book. “These, too. But what you’ve got—”

  “What I’ve got won’t sell,” he said sadly.

  “We’ll buy them for ourselves if you want them,” I said, though I didn’t know where we’d put them.

  That cheered him up, and after Aunt Maggie went through the rest of the books, we headed for the register. Aunt Maggie stopped to put the glass bud vase back on the shelf and came away with a big grin. In their rush, Mary Maude and Mavis had left the blue candlesticks.

  “These are Fenton,” she said. “I can get thirty-five, forty dollars for them.”

  Once we got the car loaded, I said, “What next?”

  “There’s still the Goodwill store, and I t
hought we might go by a place in Hickory if you two don’t mind.”

  “Lead on, MacDuff,” I said cheerfully, and Richard groaned from the back seat. He couldn’t even correct me while the bet was going on.

  We didn’t have much luck at the next two stores. Mary Maude and Mavis beat us to both of them, and bought anything worth buying before we got there. After that, we were ready for lunch, so we stopped at Hardee’s.

  “Now what?” Richard asked when we finished eating.

  “Nothing else today,” Aunt Maggie said, “but I think there’s a sale tomorrow.” She fumbled in her pocketbook. “Shoot, I forgot I left my book at the flea market.”

  I said, “I thought you just said that to bug Mary Maude and Mavis.”

  “No, I really did leave it. Do you two mind if we ride out there and get it? I can’t remember who’s having the sale.”

  Since Richard and I didn’t have any other plans, other than a persistent longing for sleep, we said we didn’t mind a bit.

  Chapter 31

  The flea market lot was as empty as it had been on Sunday afternoon, but not nearly as creepy with company.

  “We better go by Bender’s trailer to let him know we’re here,” Aunt Maggie said.

  “Why don’t you drop me off and let me tell him?” I said. “I haven’t really had a chance to talk to him, and according to Tattoo Bob, Bender ought to be our prime suspect.”

  “Bob is talking through his hat,” Aunt Maggie said with a snort. “Bender doesn’t stay sober long enough to plan out something like Carney’s murder.”

  “Still, he might know something useful.”

  “Shall I come with you?” Richard asked.

  I knew he wasn’t crazy about leaving me alone after what had happened with J.B., but I didn’t think Aunt Maggie should be by herself, either. “No, you go on with Aunt Maggie. I’ll get Bender to walk me to the building.” That should keep us all reasonably secure.

  Aunt Maggie had told us that Bender lived on the flea market grounds rent-free, but from the way the outside of that trailer looked, he wasn’t getting much of a bargain. I’d have been ashamed to use that rusty, dented thing for storage, let alone as a place to sleep.

  Before I could knock, I heard a muted woof from inside, and Bender opened the door, dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing over the weekend.

  “Hey, Miz Fleming.”

  “How are you today, Mr. Cawthorne?”

  “I’m doing all right, but I want you to call me Bender. Everybody calls me Bender. Isn’t that right, Rusty?” He patted the dog. “What can I do you for?”

  “Just wanted to let you know that Aunt Maggie, my husband, and I are out here. After all the troubles you’ve had, I didn’t want y’all getting worried.”

  “I appreciate that, but you could have saved yourself the trouble. Rusty had already let me know that somebody was here, but since it was somebody he knows, he didn’t put up a fuss. If a stranger comes around, he gets all riled up.”

  “Since I’ve already got you away from what you were doing, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure thing. Come on inside.”

  I peered through the door he was holding open. It was dark and smelly inside, and I swear I saw a pile of old clothes move. “Why don’t we talk out here? It’s an awfully nice day.”

  “That’s fine, too.” He and Rusty came outside, and I noticed Bender didn’t bother to lock the door behind him. Maybe that pile would keep watch. “Let’s us go sit out back.”

  There were a couple of mismatched lawn chairs on the other side of the trailer. They were ancient, and though I didn’t think they’d collapse under us, I sat down carefully, just in case.

  “This is nice,” Bender said. “I ought to get outside more, but I get busy and lose track of time.” Since he smelled like a brewery, I thought I knew what he’d been busy doing. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “I was just wondering if you’d heard anything else about the murder.” I didn’t think he had, since I’d been at the police station the night before, but I had to start the conversation somewhere.

  “Not a word. I still feel bad about that happening on my watch. Poor old Carney.”

  That was as much sympathy as I’d heard anyone express for Carney. “Did you know him well?”

  “I can’t say as I did. He wasn’t much of a mixer, and I never saw him out anywhere.”

  “Aunt Maggie and I were talking,” I said, trying to sound casual, “and she says she doesn’t believe there’s a gang running around here. She thinks that whoever killed Carney must have had something against him personally. Did you ever know him to have problems with anybody?” Considering the number of people I knew of who’d had run-ins with him, I expected Bender to start listing them off.

  Instead, he said, “Nope, he seemed to get along with everybody out here.”

  Even Rusty gave him a disbelieving look. Maybe when you’re focused so much on a bottle, you’re oblivious to everything else.

  We sat a little longer while I tried to think of something to ask. Bender seemed perfectly happy to sit in the sun. Finally I said, “This is nice, but I better go catch up with Aunt Maggie and Richard. Do you mind walking me over there?”

  “Now, why would I mind escorting a pretty lady?” he said gallantly. He was a nice man, but it was a shame he didn’t keep himself cleaner. False teeth would have helped, too.

  Rusty ran in front of us as we walked, sniffing at everything and marking his territory. “Did you know Rusty used to be a hunting dog, back when I used to hunt?” Bender said with pride.

  “Is that right?” I said, trying to suppress a shudder at the idea of Bender with a gun.

  Could Bob have been right about Bender? Could he have gotten drunk and killed Carney, and then forgotten about it? The more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed. I’d seen Bender drunk—in fact, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him completely sober. Bender was a gregarious drunk, not a mean one.

  When we got to Building One, I started to circle around to the door where Aunt Maggie usually parked.

  “You don’t have to go all the way back there,” Bender said. “I’ll let you in the front.” He pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked the small door to the side of the main entrance, then opened it and reached in to flip on a light switch.

  I started in, but we heard a car driving away quickly, wheels squealing.

  Rusty ran toward the noise, and Bender said, “I better go check that out. You go on inside.” He trotted after his dog.

  I thought about going with them, but I wanted to make sure Richard and Aunt Maggie were okay. I called out their names, but there was no answer. Figuring that they must have already found the date book and gone outside to wait for me, I started for the door near Aunt Maggie’s booth. As I reached for the doorknob, I saw her lying behind the table facedown on the concrete floor.

  I must have screamed for Richard, because he told me later that he heard me from outside, but I didn’t know I’d done it. I knelt down beside her, not wanting to touch her because I was afraid of finding out that she wasn’t breathing. There was blood seeping from that ridiculous jet black hair, and a thin trail of it ran onto the concrete. I made myself put my hand on her back, and thought I’d cry when I felt her breathing.

  Then Richard was there. “What happened?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I just found her.”

  “How badly is she hurt?”

  “She’s breathing, but I can’t tell anything else. We’ve got to get an ambulance out here.”

  “I’ll use the phone at the snack bar,” he said, and was gone again.

  “Who is it?” a voice asked.

  “It’s Aunt—” I stopped, and turned around. Aunt Maggie was standing behind me. “I thought it was you!”

  “In that shirt? I wouldn’t be caught dead in that shirt. She’s not dead, is she?”

  I shook my head, and looked at the woman on the floor again. Now that I
had proof standing beside me, it was obvious that it wasn’t my great-aunt. Like Aunt Maggie said, she’d never have worn a black and white mock turtle-neck, but I thought I’d seen somebody in a shirt like that earlier. “I think it’s Mavis.”

  Aunt Maggie leaned over, trying to see her face. “Looks like Mary Maude to me. Let’s roll her over so we can get a better look.”

  “Is it all right to move her?”

  “I think so,” she said. “It’s only folks with back and neck injuries you’re not supposed to move. I’d say somebody knocked her upside the head.”

  Gingerly we rolled her over so that she was lying on her back, with her head in my lap. It was Mary Maude, all right. Her face looked pasty white, but it was hard to tell if that was from her injury or just her usual heavy hand with powder.

  I said, “Aren’t you supposed to keep people warm to prevent shock? This floor is awfully cold.”

  “I’ll get something to put on her.”

  I have to give Aunt Maggie credit. She could have made do with one of the sheets she uses to cover her tables, but she found the handmade quilt that she’d tried to auction off and wrapped it around the injured woman.

  “Maybe you should go look for Mavis,” I said. “She might be hurt, too.”

  “She’s all right. At least she was. Their car was out back, and as soon as we drove up, she came over and started talking a mile a minute. I don’t know why she didn’t come in with us, but I’m not leaving you here by your lonesome when there’s some nut on the loose. There’s no way this could have happened by accident.”

  Her saying that started me thinking. “I thought she was you when I first found her.”

  “So you said, but I can’t see why.”

  “Y’all are about the same height,” I said defensively. “Your hair and hers are about the same length, and the same color.”