“Oh, I know what you mean!” Jaymie said. She had read Stephanie Barron’s series of mysteries with Jane Austen as a protagonist, and in Jane and the Wandering Eye there was an eye portrait pendant. She explained why she suddenly understood.
“That is exactly what we mean, dear,” Mrs. Bellwood said, kindly, as if addressing a precocious child.
“My aunt, Hazel Grinley Frump, claimed that Mrs. Dumpe gave one to her as a sign of their friendship,” Mrs. Frump said. “She called it the Sultan’s Eye, because it was supposed to be some kind of oriental object. But no one ever saw it, and no one knows where it went, to this day. Maybe the assailant was looking for it.”
Jaymie sternly refrained from rolling her eyes—she was going to get eyestrain if she kept it up—and carefully said, “I think whoever hit me was probably just some poor soul looking for a warm place to spend the night. This house was abandoned for so long, and we know from the condition we bought it in that folks were squatting here. The guy just didn’t know it was no longer abandoned.”
“Guy . . . so you know it was a man?” Mrs. Bellwood asked, staring at Jaymie through squinted eyes.
“Very interesting,” Mrs. Frump said.
The two women looked at each other and nodded. Jaymie had a feeling she had two Snoop Sisters on her hands. “I don’t know that it was a man,” she hastily amended. “It was just a turn of phrase.”
“Interesting. We’ll look into it,” Mrs. Bellwood said in her best Queen Victoria voice. They turned, as one, and sailed away.
Jaymie said good-bye to her friends, talked to Bill Waterman for a minute about the kitchen renovations then headed home to work on her week’s column for the Wolverhampton Howler. After that it was bedtime and a novel. She had scored a box of old Regency romances when she was vintage shopping, and they made quick and tasty bites if they were good, boring and frivolous ones if they were bad. She could read one in a few hours. This time it was a very old book, Winter Wonderland by Elizabeth Mansfield, one of her all-time favorites. She read it from cover to cover, cried in all the right spots and slept magnificently, dreaming of snow and Christmas and mistletoe.
Becca returned to London on Monday morning, and the rest of Jaymie’s week was busy, with work at the Emporium, a few picnic baskets to plan for her vintage picnic rental business, the column due and several consultations with Bill Waterman over the color for the kitchen, which he planned to paint over the weekend. She was grateful for his workaholic attitude about the project, because though he was getting paid, it was considerably less than he normally would make for work of that nature. It was a labor of love, he said.
Friday night finally came and Jaymie was going to attend an out-of-town auction. Becca had already done some reconnaissance for her, having attended the preview held on the weekend. There was a green and white Hoosier cabinet that she had photographed, and Jaymie was intent on getting it. The quest brought back vivid memories of buying her own Hoosier in the spring, and the mayhem that had followed, but this time it would be going directly to Dumpe Manor, and not home with her.
She met Heidi, Bernie and Valetta in a dark parking lot on the outskirts of Wolverhampton, and they all went together into the auction house’s barnlike warehouse. It was cavernous and cold, with a draft that whistled through from the open garage-type doors at one end.
“I hate November,” Heidi said with feeling. “It’s so c-cold!” She shrugged deeper into her expensive designer ski jacket.
“It’s Michigan, and it’s going to get a lot colder. You really need to dress in layers,” Valetta said, happily snuggling in her old quilted cotton coat, which she wore over a sweater embroidered with a kitty, which was over a blouse, which was over a long-sleeved mock turtleneck cotton jersey shirt.
Heidi looked shocked, her pale brows arched over big blue eyes. “Layers? But I might look fat!”
Valetta put a hand to her forehead in mockery, while Bernie snorted in laughter. Jaymie shared a look with the police officer. Bernie’s dark eyes were alight with humor, and she threaded her arm through her friend’s, saying, “Heidi, you could not look fat if you dressed like the Michelin Man.”
For her part Bernie was sensibly dressed in a gold ski jacket over a maroon wool turtleneck and wore a toque over her short-cropped curly black hair. Bernice Jenkins was the only African American on the Queensville police force, and she was intent on becoming its first African American to become a detective. Zack Christian’s defection had meant a position was opening up; one of the sergeants had been promoted to detective, and Bernie was one of two qualified officers who wanted the sergeant’s open position, the next step on the ladder to detective. But she had a BA in criminal justice, from Michigan State, and had been with the Queensville force longer than the other candidate. She was going to be taking the promotion exam in just a few weeks.
As she strolled the aisles of tables, her notebook out, Jaymie reflected on her reaction when she heard that Zack had left Queensville for Detroit. She didn’t want to admit it, but if forced to, she would have to say that what she felt had been relief. Why relief? Zack Christian was attractive, smart and a nice man. He appeared to like her company, and she liked his.
But . . . would there ever have been more? Romance was just complicating her life at the moment, when she had all she could handle. Romance made her goofy and distracted, and put her under pressure. Maybe she was not in the right frame of mind for a serious relationship.
How did anyone ever know?
“You seem distracted, Jaymie,” Bernie said, following her down the line of tables. Valetta and Heidi were off examining a boxed lot of sixties kitsch and squabbling over a couple of items they both wanted. “What’s up?”
Jaymie shared her thoughts about Daniel and Zack, and Bernie grimaced. “I know what you mean. Romance is a huge emotion drain. I just broke up with my boyfriend, and I’m feeling blue.”
“Aw, I’m sorry, Bernie!” Jaymie put her arm over her shoulder and squeezed. Bernie had been surreptitiously dating a fellow cop, Officer Ng, and had been just getting comfortable in the relationship. “Seems we’re all feeling the lovelorn blues.”
“Except for me,” Valetta said, coming up behind them. “I’m smart enough to stay away from such nonsense. Single and happy.”
“I shouldn’t be so relieved Daniel is back in Phoenix, should I?” Jaymie asked, as Heidi joined them by one of the box lots that covered a series of folding tables. Jaymie fished around in a box of utensils, being careful to watch out for knives. She had been cut before and wouldn’t take that chance again. “If I love him, shouldn’t I miss him and want him around?”
“I don’t know about that,” Heidi said glumly. “Sometimes I think Joel is more trouble than he’s worth. He makes such a mess around the house. And his idea of clean is definitely not my idea of clean! He always says he’s cleaned up after his shower, but there’s a puddle on the floor and his wet towel is in the hamper, and I hate wet towels in the hamper! I mean, who does that? They need to be dry before they go in, or they smell musty!”
It could so easily devolve into a gripe session about men, so to turn the topic, Jaymie said, “Okay, so who is here looking for what? Maybe we can help each other find what we want.”
Heidi was just along for the ride despite squabbling with Valetta over a box of junk, and Valetta was vague, looking for “anything cute.” Since her idea of cute ran to kitschy kitten figurines and other midcentury oddities, it was hard to shop for her. Bernie, though, was looking for anything with an amoeba or boomerang print on it. She was especially looking for barware in turquoise and pink to go on her new bar, similar to the one she had found Heidi in the summer. But she was open to other furnishings.
“And what are you looking for?” Valetta asked Jaymie.
“A lot, but my list is almost entirely for the Queensville Historic Manor.”
“So you’re shopping with herita
ge society money!” Valetta rubbed her hands together. “Other people’s money is always the best.”
“However, I’m not going to go crazy. I’m looking for green and cream kitchen utensils, also any Jade-ite, and I’ll be bidding on the Hoosier cabinet over . . .” She turned, scanning the bigger furniture at the end of the line of box lots. “There, that’s it. I have got to go look at it!”
“And she’s gone,” Valetta said dryly. “Now she’ll be mooning over that big hunk of oak for the rest of the evening.”
It was gorgeous, big and green and cream and complete! The finish wasn’t perfect; in fact, it was alligatored in places, the crackling and bubbling of a very old finish. That was not an issue for Jaymie, and she hoped it wouldn’t be to the society. She did not want to strip the gorgeous creamy color, edged in green, from the piece just to make it superficially perfect. It was like an old woman, every line and wrinkle making it the gem it was, and there should be no cosmetic surgery on the piece.
She opened doors and explored, noting the original milk paint on the shelves. Milk paint, a nontoxic and water-based coating, was used on the interior of Hoosier cabinets because it was food safe. Valetta stood by her elbow.
“Wow! It has the tip-out flour dispenser!” Jaymie said, her voice echoing oddly in the cabinet interior.
“You had better simmer down some,” her friend whispered, nudging her with her bony elbow. “Folks are noticing you getting all antsy over this, and the bidding could go high if you look too enthusiastic.”
It was good advice and Jaymie heeded it . . . right after she satisfied her curiosity and noted the almost complete set of Depression glass canisters with green-painted tin lids that went with it. A little farther down the line of tables, there was a boxed lot of kitchen utensils that had a bunch of green-and-cream-handled ones, as well as a white enamel colander with feet; she also saw some enamelware that would look pretty in the laundry room, which was a project they were going to tackle the next spring. It was a haul, to be sure, and she just hoped she got it all, because if so, she would have almost everything she needed to make the kitchen perfect . . . for the time being.
The auction was about to start when Jaymie noticed that Cynthia and Jewel were also in attendance. They waved to each other, and Jewel lifted her eyebrows and pointed surreptitiously over at Theo Carson and Isolde Rasmussen. The pair stood off to the side, near the auctioneer’s podium, talking intently and looking around.
Since Isolde was the docent at the Wolverhampton museum, and Carson was clearly interested in history, this would make an ideal date night for them! Their mutual love of old stuff was what had drawn Becca and Kevin together. Jaymie didn’t need that in a boyfriend, but it sure would have been nice. While Daniel seemed to appreciate Stowe House, he was just as comfortable in the modern home he had built in Phoenix, the one he kept complaining she had never yet visited.
She focused on the action near the podium, but her eye was drawn back to the pair. Theo had grabbed Isolde’s arm and was talking at her in a way Jaymie didn’t like. No one else appeared to notice, but at that very moment Isolde whacked Carson and stalked away, while the writer rubbed his arm and looked worried. So Isolde could look after herself. That was good.
The auction started. Jaymie was successful in winning the box of utensils she needed to outfit the manor kitchen. Bernie won a midcentury modern teak boomerang coffee table she wanted, and Valetta—regrettably—won a huge box full of tchotchkes . . . junk of the tasteless variety, especially a set of cat figurines in frilly sherbet-colored tutus. Jaymie saw some “gifts” of china cats in her own future. Valetta, always well-intentioned, felt that everyone ought to appreciate the frilly and silly knickknacks of the middle of the last century, and so she gave them as gifts.
The very last item up for bids was the green and cream Hoosier cabinet. There were a couple of other interested parties, and though the price started low it rapidly escalated, the bidding fierce and competitive. Jaymie had a tense twenty minutes of bidding and ended up paying more than she anticipated, though the price was still within the boundaries she had set with the society leadership committee.
After they had all paid for their items, they toted them to their vehicles. Jaymie had some help to put the Hoosier in her van, but then she wondered where she was going to put it. “I don’t have a clue what to do,” she said to her friends.
“Tell you what,” Bernie said, shoving her hands in her ski jacket pockets and hopping from foot to foot in the frigid air. “The easiest thing is to take all your Dumpe Manor stuff directly there. Heidi and I’ll follow, and you and I can woman-handle the cabinet into the kitchen. Do you have your key with you?”
“I do,” Jaymie said, surprised. “Are you sure about this, Bernie? I can’t ask you to do that.”
Heidi hopped up and down. “I want to show Bernie the house anyway. Let’s all do it. It’ll be an adventure!”
Jaymie exchanged a look with Bernie and they both grinned. They knew that by “Let’s all do it” Heidi meant that Jaymie and Bernie would carry the heavy stuff and Heidi would flit through the house excitedly.
“I’d better go along, too, then,” Valetta said. “Just so you don’t all end up on the floor hit by mallets.”
“I think I’ll be safe with a police officer,” Jaymie said.
Jaymie led the way in her rattletrap white van. She pulled into the drive—another car was already pulled in, but Jaymie didn’t recognize it—and stopped by the front steps. Heidi and Bernie got out of her car and made their way through the posttwilight gloom. “Why not pull around to the back?” Bernie asked. “There’s a door there, right? All these old houses have a back door off the kitchen.”
“Sure, but this one is nailed shut and blocked off. Bill is going to unblock it, but he has a million other things to do. Until then, we use the front door to bring stuff in.”
Valetta snickered, approaching them. “You are no doubt rethinking your offer to help Jaymie with the Hoosier, right, Bernie?”
Bernie’s eyes widened. “You mean we have to carry it up the stairs, into the house and all the way through to the back?”
Jaymie sighed. “I’ll completely understand if you renege,” she said.
The officer stiffened her back and said, “No, I offered, and I’ll do it. We’re strong women, right? We can do this!”
Valetta carried the box of kitchen utensils in and propped open the door for them as Heidi raced back and forth like an excited Pomeranian. Luckily the Hoosier cabinet came in three pieces, the upper and lower cabinet and the tabletop. They hoisted the awkward upper cabinet between them and, with much grunting and talking, got it up the four steps and into the house. They needed a break and set it down on the wide-board hardwood floor in the hallway.
Bernie wiped her forehead, which had beaded with sweat despite the chill in the air, and looked around. “You told me a lot about this place,” she said to Heidi. “But you didn’t do justice to how big it is!”
And indeed the front hall was wide and high ceilinged, twelve foot or more, as were all the main-floor rooms. The front hall was almost finished. Bill and the committee had decided on a rich cranberry for the walls, to go with the golden oak flooring. “It gets even better,” Jaymie said, racing to the light switch on the wall and pushing the button to click on the pendant lights.
“Wow! Not my style, but . . . wow!” Bernie said.
Heidi and Valetta had both seen the fixture alight before and were not so easily impressed.
“Are we going to get moving?” Valetta asked. “Come on, you two. I’ll bring in the tabletop if you pick up the pace.”
Just then they heard loud voices in the hall near the kitchen.
“What was that?” someone said, his stentorian voice echoing through the house. “Thought I heard something.”
Jaymie stopped and listened, putting one finger up to her mouth to hush the
others. It was Theo Carson’s voice.
“It’s nothing! Stop changing the subject and answer my question.”
And that was Isolde. Jaymie frowned and tiptoed toward the kitchen. She paused before making her presence known, but almost jumped and shrieked when Bernie came up stealthily behind her.
“What’s up?” she whispered.
“Shh,” Jaymie hushed her.
“What was the subject? In fact, what was the question? You know I never actually listen to you,” Carson replied, his insulting tone indicating how exasperated he was. There was a bang in the kitchen, something falling over.
“I wanted to know, what are you looking for?”
“Look, Izzie, you can’t think that stupid girl getting attacked here was some coincidence, can you? She thinks it was just a squatter or tramp, but I don’t think so. You aren’t as dumb as she is, are you?”
“You mean Jaymie?”
“Of course I mean Jaymie, unless you know of some other stupid girl who got clobbered here recently.”
Jaymie rolled her eyes as Bernie giggled at her side, stifling it with her hand.
“So you think there’s something here someone wants,” Isolde said, her voice stiff with anger.
“I do.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Maybe, but why would I tell you that?”
“So maybe I can help you find it?” Isolde said. “You must have wanted me to come here for some reason. How can I help if I don’t know what I’m looking for?”
“Just go back to looking pretty while I make with the serious stuff.”
“Come on, Theo . . . have you come across something in your research?”
“Can you shut up so I can—”
Valetta dropped the Hoosier tabletop that moment in the front hall, and the loud bang echoed throughout the house. The conversation in the kitchen ceased and as Jaymie scrambled with Bernie to pick up the upper section of the Hoosier, preparing to carry it to the kitchen, Theo Carson and Isolde Rasmussen emerged from that room.
No Mallets Intended Page 7
