“Thank you.” She was nice to a fault.
“Don’t be sarcastic, missy. Remember who’s boss here.”
Jasper started to protest, but Jimmy cut her off. “We’re on our way to a look-see,” he said.
“Is that like a looky-looky?” Jasper asked, trying for a light-hearted note.
“Why don’t you just be quiet and learn something?”
“Yessir.”
Jimmy cut her a look. Even in three-quarter profile, Jimmy’s glares had always cut her down to size. He had aged since she had last seen him. But even with liver spots and thicker glasses over his rheumy blue eyes, Jimmy was still the Man in Charge. He ruled his auction kingdom the way any despot does. Absolutely, with few kind words meted out to anyone in close association – family, employees, auction-goers.
He explained to Jasper that a look-see was an informal survey of stuff that a potential client wanted to sell on auction.
“An appraisal?”
“What?”
Jasper reached for the radio knob to turn down the volume. Jimmy pushed her hand away. Jasper raised her voice. “A look-see? It’s an appraisal.”
“No. We’re just gonna look at their stuff and see if there’s anything we want for the auction.”
“Oh, a pre-auction estimate.” Jasper had heard that term on her CD from the auctioneering college.
“No.”
“An evaluation?”
“Look-see. What’s our address?”
Jasper studied the handwriting on the pad. “I can’t make it out.”
Jimmy jerked it out of her hands. “311 Emerson Court. Or 811.” He called the auction house on his phone and soon they pulled up in front of a bungalow at 819 Emerson. “Come on,” he said. He was already out the door.
“But what do I do? Do I bring the notepad?” Jasper asked. She wiped her palms down her dark slacks.
“Yeah, bring the pad. Do what I tell you to do. Don’t say anything.”
Jasper scuffed along the cracked sidewalk toward the squat frame house. She felt about five years old. Was this what having a job felt like? Or was it just working for her stepfather? When she had worked alongside her soon-to-be-ex, she felt old beyond her years. Would she ever feel simply like herself?
The seven steps leading up to the front door were pink concrete, to Jasper’s delight. The doormat warned about a dog whom she supposed was long departed if there ever had been a pet with vicious tendencies here. She loved visiting other people’s homes. Jimmy took no notice. He raised his hand to knock on the wrought iron and glass door but the interior oak door swung open. A woman with ferocious black hair stuck her head out and barked, “Can I help you?”
Chapter 6
“We’re here to help you,” Jimmy said, turning on the charm. “You look familiar. Have you been to the auction?”
Jasper plastered a friendly smile on her face.
“Oh, you know me all right,” the inky-haired woman said. “You both from Biggs Auction?”
Jimmy pulled out a business card from his bright red “Bid and Buy at Biggs” windbreaker.
“I know you are,” the woman said. She woman disappeared into the interior and Jimmy followed her inside. The doors closed in Jasper’s face. Feeling foolish, she knocked tentatively. She spent a moment sizing up her options and decided that no action was the best response. The doors opened and Jimmy yanked her inside.
“Stay right behind me,” he hissed.
“There you are! We thought we’d lost you!” The woman smoothed her blunt cut hair into place. She radiated the strong scent of flowers; Jasper couldn’t tell what kind. She stood several inches taller than Jimmy. She held her hand out to Jasper. It was a meaty hand. “Mary Clippert. This is my father’s house.”
Jasper shook hands. Mary Clippert delivered a real bone crusher. “Jasper Biggs. This is my stepfather.”
“We go way back,” Mary Clippert said.
“Really?” Jasper asked politely. Jimmy stepped on her foot. “Ow!”
The air reeked of garbage and dirty old clothes. A faint undercurrent of mildew lurked. Boxes and plastic bags, several microwaves of different vintages, random cabinets and chairs. Stacks and stacks of magazines and newspapers. It looked like a house of moldy old cards had collapsed. Jasper looked all around. The three of them seemed to be standing in the only level space available. “You have my sympathy. So has your father been gone awhile?” Jasper asked.
“Gone where?” Mary Clippert stood stiffly with her arms at her side as if she didn’t want to come in contact with any of the dirty clutter that filled the room.
“I mean – ow!”
Jimmy had planted another shut up hint on the top of her foot. Jasper regretted not taking her neighbor’s advice and wearing sturdier shoes. Jimmy was in brawny L.L. Beans and they were heavy. He said, “This is the living estate of Ray Clippert.”
“I’ve just moved Father to assisted living.”
“Well, I’m sure he needed the help. There sure is a lot of junk. Stuff. I mean, estate items.” Her voice trailed off.
Jimmy turned his back on Jasper. Since Mary Clippert was so tall, close to six feet, Jasper could still see her face looming over the back of Jimmy’s head. She had the kind of vivid coloring, or makeup at least, that would have made for a lively look. Lips painted cherry red. Big brown eyes lined with black and sculpted eyebrows tweezed to high arches, the left one a little higher than the right. Her mouth was slightly downturned at both corners, indicating a life of habitual disappointment, Jasper thought.
“ – living room,” Mary Clippert was saying when Jasper woke from her momentary reverie.
“Let’s start in the basement and we’ll work our way back,” Jimmy said.
“Are you sure?” Mary Clippert asked. “Do we all have to go down there? I mean, she doesn’t need to traipse all the way down there, does she?” She gave Jasper’s length the evil eye.
“I can handle it.” Jasper squared her shoulders. “It’s part of my job.”
“She’s right. It’s her job,” Jimmy said.
“It may be your job but it’s my father’s life. He’s lived here 50 years.” Her lower lip quivered. The quiver looked like something she had practiced in her bathroom mirror. “He’s accumulated a lot of things.”
“Why? Why do you think he had to gather up so much?” Jasper stopped to rub her shin where Jimmy had just landed a backwards kick. She had forgotten until now how she went through much of her adolescence in long sleeves and slacks to cover up the many small bruises.
“This is 50 years of accumulation,” Mary said. Her voice was steady.
“Was he like this when you were young?”
“Frankly, I can’t remember.”
“Well if people didn’t accumulate, we’d be out of business,” Jimmy said. He and Mary laughed.
Jasper just nodded. Don’t explore the psychology of the client. Noted.
Mary marshaled them down a narrow trail winding its way from the front room into the next room with a centrally hung chandelier. Jimmy fingered it on the way past. Jasper sneezed. Jimmy said, “Craftsman. Swirl glass. Cherry wood. Original?”
“It’s always been here,” Mary said.
“It might bring a bit on auction.”
“I want it to stay with the house. It goes with the woodwork.”
“What are you going to do with the house?” Jimmy asked.
“Sell it, I hope.”
“No chance your dad will want to move back?” Jasper asked. She stepped away from Jimmy to avoid another foot stomp.
“No. He’s grown a bit confused and has started to wander off on his own.”
“We have a good track record with house sales,” Jimmy said.
Mary Clippert sniffed. “Sure you do. I don’t want it to go for peanuts.”
Jimmy brought out his ever-present handkerchief and polished one of the glass shades. “We sell all kinds of houses and we always get fair market value.”
Jasper was b
ursting with curiosity about the world of auctions. “What does that mean – fair market value?” She took a quick step back away from Jimmy. “Sorry. I’m just learning,” she told Mary.
“I think that’s a very good question,” Mary said. Her red mouth quirked sideways the other direction. She probably did quirk practice on alternate sides. “What is fair market value?”
Jasper could feel Jimmy’s anger washing back toward her. Wow, just like the olden days. She knew her stepfather would not show his irritation in front of a potential client. With Jimmy, money had always been his master.
He said, “It means the price you achieve on any given day when you have two or more interested parties bidding against each other.”
“Hmm. I bet you can teach me a thing or two.” Mary got the parade started up again. They entered the kitchen, recognizable by the sink which held a gold plastic bucket and the dishes caked with dried on food piled on counters plus an old chrome-legged table.
Jasper was surprised it didn’t stink as much as she would have expected. People could adjust pretty quickly, and diminished smell in the face of major odor must be a built-in survival mechanism. How else could people live like this? She had smelled many a dairy farmer sitting in a pew on Sunday mornings. The dairy farmers had grown accustomed to the smell of manure. They had become one with their cows. She supposed a hoarder like Ray Clippert, for whatever reasons he had to pile up all this junk over the years, had become one with his possessions. Most days, he probably didn’t notice how he was living. Jasper wondered if Ray Clippert had been lonely.
“So your Dad’s ready to part with, with all of it?” Jasper asked.
“He’s in assisted living now. Well, here’s the way to the basement.” Mary flicked the light switch on the wall just inside the door which was propped open with a cast iron kettle filled with a jumble of old knives. “Dammit. This house eats light bulbs.”
Jasper wondered what else the house had eaten in its lifetime.
“Go out to the car and grab the flashlight from the back,” Jimmy ordered Jasper. He whispered, “And shut the fuck up.”
Jasper wasn’t so sure she could run the gauntlet of junk again on her own. “There’s a candle over there. At least I think it’s a candle. See?”
“We’re not lighting any damn candle in here. Get the flashlight.”
Jasper scuffled her way back to the front door and out to Jimmy’s SUV. She tried the back door. Locked. She returned to the house. The outer door was open, but the interior oak door would not open. Jasper raised the round copper knocker and banged it down three times. She was feeling the chill of the March morning by the time Jimmy peered out. Something was on his cheek, cherry red lip imprints. Jasper scratched her own cheek. Jimmy pulled out his handkerchief and scrubbed at his face. “Where’s the flashlight?”
“I need your key.”
“Of all the – “Jimmy reached into his pocket and pressed the remote to unlock the SUV doors. “Hurry up.” He disappeared back inside.
Chapter 7
Jasper had just retrieved the rubberized flashlight and slammed the car door shut when she saw an older man making his way carefully around the side of the house. He headed for the front steps. He wore a green and gold Green Bay Packers jacket that was much too big for his skinny frame. He hoisted himself up the pink steps one at a time, using the iron railing in a grab-pull motion. Jasper hurried over.
She tucked her arms around his right one and said, “Let me help you.”
“Get your dad-gum pesky hands off me!” He shook her off and wobbled in place, clutching the rail to steady himself.
“Relax!”
“Relax yourself, you young bitch. Who the hell are you?”
“I’m with the auction company.” Up close the man smelled like the house’s interior.
“Are you Mr. Clippert?”
“What’s it to you?”
“No reason. Where did you come from?”
“This is my house!”
“Yes, it is your house. But I understood you had, uh, moved away kind of recently.”
“You been talking to my daughter?” He shook an angry finger in Jasper’s direction.
She took an instinctive step away. So far, her new job was proving a bit of a challenge.
“Uh-huh.”
“This goddamn nursing home crap. Man, oh, man, life goes on too long.”
“I know what you mean.”
“How the hell do you know anything about it?” He continued hoisting himself up the steps. He paused at the top. “Auction, huh? Is that what she has planned for me?”
“Well, it’s just one option.”
Jasper followed him inside, the old man grumbling as he trailed down the narrow pathway.
“Where the hell are you?” Jimmy yelled. He came charging into the dining room and stopped face to face with the older man. “Jimmy Biggs.” He held his hand out.
The old man spit toward some overflowing bushel baskets on the side.
“Ray Clippert, I presume.” Jimmy said. He reached past him and Jasper handed him the flashlight. “I’m just talking to your daughter about how to get you the most money for your houseful.” His voice was extra loud.
“I ain’t deaf. You the auctioneer?”
“That’s right. I run Biggs Auction House. Here.” He handed over a bright red key fob with Biggs Auction House emblazoned on it.
“Crap. Heard of it. Nothing good.”
“Everybody’s entitled to their opinion.”
Jasper hated scenes. Especially those that might escalate into violence. It looked as if the 80-something-year-old was getting ready to punch the 65-year-old.
Suddenly Mary Clippert entered the scene.
“You!” Ray Clippert tried to move past Jimmy in the narrow pathway. Jimmy steadied him like they were Robin Hood and one of his not so merry men trying to settle the rights to cross a swinging bridge.
“I told you to wait in the car,” Mary said to her father.
“So you could sell my belongings out from under me,” Ray said.
“I’m sure we can work out everything,” Jimmy said. “Jasper, come here.”
Jasper crawled across a pile of magazines and continued on the side trail to Jimmy. He joined her on the side path and left Mary and Ray to settle their differences. “We’ll just go take a look in that basement!” Jimmy called back as he and Jasper hurried for the cellar.
An angry slap sounded from the dining room, followed by the sounds of falling objects. Something heavy thudded to the ground above them.
“Aren’t you worried?” Jasper asked as she followed Jimmy down the uneven wooden steps.
“She can take care of herself.”
“But what about him?”
The basement looked like the aftermath of an earthquake in a dollar store. Or an explosion in the cereal aisle of a grocery store. At first Jasper could discern only colors: cherry red, orange orange, lemon yellow. Old dried out chocolate brown, poison mushroom gray, bile green. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Don’t be such a priss. I’ve seen worse. The trick is to focus. Look for anything other than the crap that’s on the top.”
“I’ll try.”
“Atta girl.” Jimmy’s moods had always been unpredictable. Grumpy, angry, belittling, then suddenly a small word of praise.
Jasper lifted away a foot-deep stack of old National Geographics. Even with their exotic locales and beautiful photos, they never brought much on auction. Her stepfather had been complaining about them for years. Underneath staring up at her sideways was a bathing beauty who had lost her bra. Jasper couldn’t make out the date in the semi-dark but she could see that the picture on the cover of a PhotoPlay magazine was from the pre-implant era. Underneath was another. As she dug down through the stack, Jasper felt like an archaeologist unearthing layers of someone else’s life. The further down she went, the more revealing the covers became.
“I think there’s something here you should s
ee” she called over to Jimmy.
“What?”
“Magazines.”
“NGOs? I’ve told you a million times.”
“Nope. Not unless NGO stands for No Gowns On or Nude Girls Only.”
“Hm. If they’re in good condition, get me a count. Mark the spot. Then get moving. We’ve gotta find some big ticket items in here if we’re gonna make anything happen.”
Jasper counted up to 103 until she got to the damp bottom layer. She wondered if Mary Clippert knew about her father’s collection. She hoisted the short stack of National Geographics back on top. Five feet out from the stairs, left side, angle of approximately 45 degrees.
She worked her way around the basement. Several feet away from the paper goods she came across a piece of furniture. Its dark wood poked out of a pile of petrified sponges, ragged towels and an assortment of coffee makers missing their glass pots.
Jasper didn’t know a Victorian breakfront from a 20th Century sweet gum piece but she did recognize quality. She pushed some of the junk to the side. This piece reminded her of one of the pulpits in an old church where she and Rev. Tim had ministered. This was real wood, not a cheaply veneered copy. More magazines and books waited behind the glass-fronted doors. “Jimmy, you’ve got to see this.”
Jimmy grumbled his way over to her. “Give me some room.”
He and Jasper did an imbalanced do-si-do and she retreated to the steps where she took a seat. She was almost 30 years younger than her stepfather but she was going to have to start some serious exercising if she was going to keep up with the dogged auctioneer.
More knocks and bangs sounded from upstairs. Jasper glanced toward the doorway at the top of the stairs.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You were thinking about it. Take it from me – don’t mess with other people’s stuff.”
Jasper glanced around the basement full of other people’s stuff that they were pawing through.
The Case of the Angry Auctioneer (Auction House Mystery Series Book 1) Page 5
