“Get outa here,” Ted said.
“Are you letting me go?” Jasper’s legs trembled with the aftermath of adrenalin.
“I wish,” Kelly said, brushing past Jasper. “Forgot my smokes.”
“Go,” Grace said.
"See you tomorrow,” Ted said.
***
As she fiddled with the front door lock at the house on Hickory Lane, Jasper could already smell cigarette smoke. She wondered how long it would take her hair and her clothes to absorb the odor full-time. And what if she ever wanted to have company upstairs? A date, heaven forbid, or maybe just a pet. Her nice neighbor next-door had given her the toy stuffed cat. But she longed for more. Maybe a goldfish. Maybe fish were sensitive to tar and nicotine. Smoked fish. Yeck. It wasn’t the right time to think about bringing a new loved one, even a very small one-to-love, into her life. A pet would have to wait. Friends? Real life human visitors. Men? Jasper shuddered at the thought. Not ready, not ready, not ready.
She stepped inside. Her entrance had been noisier than she wanted. And sure enough, the Smoky O’Neils’ door opened.
“Hi there!” Margie O’Neil stepped into the foyer. She fanned her hands in front of her face. “So did you bring the air freshener? I left you a note.”
“Oh." That explained the note on the windshield that had blown away. "I think I forgot.”
“It’s your turn. After all, I spent my good money on the last two cans.”
Jasper nodded. She knew how to be patient with unreasonable people. Usually. She tried to sidestep the bigger woman so she could head upstairs to the privacy of her own apartment, but Mrs. O’Neil blocked her way.
“Listen, can you take just a moment for an old woman who needs to talk to someone. I mean anyone. I know you’re mourning and all. But I mean, I’m desperate.”
“I’ll try to help.” Jasper sat down on a step. People used to say she was good at helping. Maybe she could turn this day around by being useful. The smoke was thicker the lower you went. She choked back a cough.
Mrs. O’Neil squeezed in next to her.
Up close the smell of unwashed clothes was stronger than that of cigarettes. Jasper breathed into her hands.
“See it’s like this. I don’t know how long he – “She tilted her head toward her own apartment door. “How long he will go on like this.”
Maybe Jasper could help. Except for her own situation, she had always been pretty good with death and dying. One thing about helping other people, Jasper had learned long ago, it took your mind off your own troubles. “You’re worried about Mr. O’Neil?” Jasper used her active listening skills. She had taken a day-long class in it once at a women’s circle in one of the churches, a class in which she discovered that she was already a very active listener.
“He’s never been this bad before. Day and night. Night and day.”
“That’s tough. It takes a toll on you.”
“You betcha.”
“What do the doctors say?”
“The doctor? He’s the one who started this in the first place.”
“Pardon me?” Jasper removed her hands from her mouth. Mrs. O’Neil’s smell had grown benign. At least it had blended into the background. “You blame the doctor?”
“And Jimmy.”
“My Jimmy?”
“Well, he wasn’t mine, was he?”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Ha! The doctor’s the main one. He wrote the prescription, right? You can’t waltz into any old drugstore and buy these, these, elevator drugs unless you got a note from the doctor.”
“Elevator drugs?”
“Sure. You got a soft little diddler that’s stuck in the basement? All you need is a note from the doctor and, zoom, it’s up to the penthouse with your wing-wang and your wife’s never gonna get any usmore rest! I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Jasper wriggled to her feet. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. “Can’t you just hide his pills?” she finally asked.
Margie O’Neil lumbered up. “Tried it. He’s tricky, that one. Finds ‘em every time. That’s why I was wondering - ” She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a prescription bottle. She held it out to Jasper. “Come on. If it hadn’t been for your father – “
“Stepfather.”
“Whatever. I watched him week after week up there auctioneering, chanting. He would look right at me. My, oh, my, I get flushed just thinking about him.”
Jasper’s stomach flip-flopped.
“Whenever my own husband would approach me, you know, my thoughts ran back to the auction. After I said ‘No’ a few too many times, Mr. O’Neil sort of lost his spunk.”
Oh, Lord, Jasper prayed silently. What did I ever do to you? She hoped she could make it up to her bathroom. She accepted the bottle of pills and ran for her own door.
“Don’t worry. He never climbs steps,” Mrs. O’Neil called after her.
Chapter 16
Friday morning was business as usual inside Biggs Auction House. Never mind spring threatening to erupt at any moment. Outdoors robins, wrens and cardinals competed for mates, seeds, and nesting space. Not to mention the squirrels. It was a regular Disney movie of love and war. Jasper felt weary of family life. Philandering husband left behind not so very long ago. A week-and-a-half to be exact. Dead stepfather. Two days ago. Food. She was forgetting to eat more and more often. Her easy-fit jeans were fitting easier by the day. Soon they would look sloppy. No matter. One of these days, she would probably turn to chocolate, her favorite comfort food. Then watch out, world! Her waistline would soon expand to normal and beyond. And home. Her own new nest remained less than the retreat she had hoped it would be. Better, Jasper thought, to be indoors in the season-less place of the auction house. Better she should just continue on as auctioneer in training.
The morning zoomed by in a rush of sorting – bells, whistles, rusted old wrenches, setting aside the saleable, and tossing out the just plain junk, with customers dropping in to pick up, pay and haul away. Just the assorted busyness of an established auction house nearing the end of an unusual week. No Jimmy meant less yelling than usual. Although Ted broke out now and then in a fit of swearing. He seemed determined to fill the shoes of the angry, dead auctioneer.
Once an hour Ted pronounced, “It’s what Jimmy would have wanted.”
Jasper wanted to smack him but she had started avoiding violent confrontations much too long ago to change now.
She felt so embarrassed about her outburst the day before with Kelly that she avoided her all morning. Kelly seemed happy to do the same. What a shame, Jasper thought. It had looked like they might have become friends, but resentments kept bubbling up between them.
Tomorrow would be Jimmy’s memorial service. But in the meantime Biggs Auction House carried on with business as usual.
At noon, Jasper had a couple pizzas delivered for everyone. She paid for them out of the till. “It’s what Jimmy would have wanted,” she told an annoyed Ted.
“Yeah, sure he would. Just don’t get carried away,” he said. “I’ll be back in half an hour. Then we’re going on a call.”
“We’re calling on someone?” Jasper asked.
Esteban and Tony exchanged a look of interest as they brought folding chairs over to the table for this impromptu pizza picnic. Kelly smirked. Grace studied the paper plates.
Ted remained standing. He told Jasper, “You and me. We’re going to take a drive in the country.” He quirked up half a smile.
Esteban said, “It’s that artist guy. He’s been to a couple auctions. He’s got a studio east of town.”
Jasper helped herself to a slice of pizza from the veggie side. She ate meat, just not on pizza. Maybe she was hungry after all. “Appraisal or look-at?” she called to Ted’s back as he strode toward the front of the auction house.
“What’s the difference?”
“So I know what to bring,” Jasper called after him.
Ted shrugged and hea
ded for the front. His truck started up and he roared out of the parking lot.
“Like father, like son,” Esteban said. “Oh, sorry, Jasper.”
Jasper plucked a piece of something resembling cabbage off her pizza and studied it. “You mean the ‘Ready Teddy’ bit?”
Kelly gagged on pizza.
Tony spurted Mountain Dew out his nose. “Man, that hurts!”
Kelly said something incoherent; only pepperoni emerged from her mouth. Esteban handed her a paper napkin.
He asked, “Where’d you hear that?”
“I met his ex,” Jasper said.
“Is it true she’s got a bun in the oven?” Kelly asked.
“That’s not any of our business,” Jasper said.
Grace patted her hand. “Everything is everybody’s business around here. You might as well get used to it. And yes – “She addressed everyone at the table. “Molly’s pregnant.”
“When’s she gonna pop?” Kelly asked.
Esteban shook his head at his red-headed wife.
“I don’t know her that well,” Jasper said, doing her best to emerge from the conversation with her fundamental niceness in place – without coming across in front of the roughhouse auction crew like a totally self-righteous prig.
“I heard it might not be Ted’s.”
“K-e-l-l-y,” Grace murmured.
“Well, who is the father then?” Jasper asked.
“She sure was spending a lot of time here about seven, eight months ago,” Kelly said.
“But you said – “Jasper stopped herself.
“Just like my dear, darling husband art-ick-u-la-ted, ‘Like father, like son.’”
“Kelly! I have something I want to show you in the office,” Grace said.
After she and Kelly had left the table, Jasper turned to Esteban. “Could it be true what she’s implying?”
Esteban shrugged. “Who knows? No offense, but the old man liked the ladies. Whatever you do – don’t say anything about this to Ted. He’s got an ego 20 times larger than his dick. He wouldn’t want to hear that somebody else knocked up his girlfriend.”
“Molly’s no longer his girlfriend. She told me so herself. Besides, Jimmy’s not around anymore.”
“Uh-huh.” Estie pushed the pizza box toward her. “You want the rest of this?” he asked.
“Naw. I’m not so hungry anymore.”
***
An hour later, Jasper and Ted turned off the blacktopped country road. Jasper patted the hair around her face back into place. Although Ted didn’t insist on driving with the radio blaring the way Jimmy had, he absolutely had to have the windows opened wide. At least the wind blasting through the pickup made conversation impossible. Jasper snuck a quick glance at the man behind the wheel. The set of his jaw didn’t give anything away. Maybe Ted was as happy about the no-talking as she was.
There was no house visible. A long Tootsie Roll of land paralleled the road. Scruffy looking plants trying to decide whether to go out with the winter or join the new season of growth covered the berm. Attached to a rural mailbox was a large circle of wood painted black. No number or name announced the location.
“How do you know this place?” Jasper asked.
“He used to give big parties,” Ted said.
“How come ‘used to?’” she asked.
“There are a lot of stories.”
“Hmm.”
“People have their secrets. I don’t pry and I don’t lie. That’s my policy.”
“You don’t say?” Jasper said.
A white stucco farmhouse appeared on their left. The glossy white pebbledash reminded Jasper of divinity candy at Christmas. Just past the house, the gravel expanded into a big parking area bordered on the west by a white barn. Like the house it looked old and young at the same time. Old-fashioned and cared for.
Ted parked right in the middle.
The artist sat outside at a metal table with a book in hand. He tucked a piece of paper in the book and got to his feet.
“Welcome to New Light Studios,” he said.
“How are you, Solberg?” Ted stuck his hand out and slapped the artist’s into a manly slapshake.
“Phillips.”
Ted withdrew his hand. He winced.
“You can call me Sean.” The artist extended his hand to Jasper.
“Nice to meet you, Sean. Studios plural?” She hesitated, then let him take her hand.
His large hand encased her much smaller one, and he gently raised and lowered it up and down one-two-three times. “Three times, then release,” he said. “Like this.”
Jasper giggled as he shook her hand again. “By Jove, I think I’ve got it,” she said.
“And yes, it is studios with an “s.” The friend who set up my website couldn’t get the rights to ‘studio.’ I don’t know. I don’t get things like that. But he told me and I believed him.”
Jasper smiled. This man was refreshingly off-beat. “I’ve seen you before. You were looking at pictures at the auction. And then, down at the Forester.”
“That’s my work. Hangs in New York and little old Forest Grove. Who says important art doesn’t come out of the Midwest? ”
“Grant Wood was from Iowa, wasn’t he?” Jasper asked. She could easily see Wood’s famous painting, “American Gothic,” in her mind’s eye. “That was really supposed to be a farmer and his daughter, not a husband and wife, I think.”
“That’s right, momma.”
“We – we better look around now,” Jasper said. She had pretty much used up her entire knowledge of 20th Century American art.
Sean Solberg was good for looking at. His gemstone eyes shone like moonstones. He was handsome to boot with his light brown hair, tousled by the wind, and his cleft chin. He wasn’t as tall as Ted Phillips but six-feet-something was not an attractiveness requirement in a man, Jasper felt. Reverend Ted was tall and that had done nothing for his personality. Or his soul. Jasper liked Mr. Sean Solberg of New Light Studios plural. And dammit, or rather darn it, the warm flame of lust had invaded her body again.
“What do you think of my art?” he asked.
Ted said, “I’m not an artiste like you. I wouldn’t know a Picasso if it bit me in the ass.”
“From what I’ve seen of it, it’s pretty interesting,” Jasper said.
“Interesting! What else?” Sean asked.
“Dynamic.”
“OK. And?”
“Colorful? Inventive?” Jasper felt as if she was failing this test.At least his persnicketiness dampened her fire down below to a very low smolder.
Sean laughed. “It’s all right. I have my artistic license. It lets me be a little pushy sometimes. Come on. I’ll show you around.”
He led the way across the graveled farmyard.
Ted picked up a homemade iron tool lying near a fire pit. “You make this too?” he asked.
“Creativity knows no bounds,” Sean said. “I’ve got a collection of handmade tools made by me and other folks around this area. Want to take a look?”
“Oh, yes,” Jasper said.
“Only if you want to sell them on auction,” Ted said. “I don’t want to be the bad guy here, Solberg, but we’ve got a couple other places to visit this afternoon.”
“We do?” Jasper filled her lungs with the fresh country air. Okay, the ripe smell of early spring field fertilizing floated on the breeze, but anyway, it was outside and away from the tensions of the auction house – and the rest of her life. She was learning to grab her moments of relative freedom wherever she found them.
“Bet your bottom dollar,” Ted said.
“Another time, I hope,” Sean said to Jasper.
Jasper smiled and let her eyes linger on his for a moment.
“This way!” Sean led the way to the barn. “Painted it all myself,” he said.
“Knew you were a painter, but I didn’t know you specialized in barns,” Ted said.
“I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, Phillips.” He
turned to Jasper. “Here. Hold yours up next to mine.”
Jasper glanced at Ted who seemed to be studying the sky for hidden rain clouds. She held her small hand next to Sean’s paw. The contrast was mighty. “I bet you have a hard time doing embroidery,” she said.
“I’m no good at typing either.” Sean unhooked the white planked door and took them inside.
“I’ve never seen a barn like this.” Under Jasper’s feet stretched a polished wood floor, and on the north and south sides, rows of picture windows. Oak posts and beams added to the interior’s golden glow. A basketball hoop hung high on the back wall. A big metal sign showed a woman in an up-do sipping a cocktail. Next to it hung an unplugged neon sign that said, “Dance!”
Jasper said, “This must be where you used to hold your parties.”
“X marks the spot,” Sean said. He drew a big X in the dust on a black tarp draped over a table with thick wooden legs.
“You don’t like parties anymore?”
“It was a phase,” Sean said.
He sounds sad. “I bet you got really busy with your art,” Jasper said, trying to salvage the moment.
“Oh, yeah. Art is forever. M’lady. Sir. Come this way.” Sean led Jasper and Ted across the floor, past a weight bench, and onto a graveled area where blue plastic topped a small mountain range of hidden objects.
Jasper followed the men. She had to admit that the view from the rear was not half bad. She liked one of their personalities more than the other but in the scenery department, they measured up nicely one against the other. Oh, God, my stepfather’s funeral is tomorrow and I’m thinking about men’s tushes? Jasper reddened with guilt. And with that emotion, came a wash of sadness. She wiped her eyes and joined the artist and the auctioneer.
They stood admiring a heap of assorted metal. Junk, Jasper thought at first glance. But the careful way Ted was picking through the pile told her there were auctionable items present. She let her eyes focus on individual items. She could make out a huge bell like the kind hung in a church belfry. She noticed an old Singer sewing machine, the kind with the foot treadle. And there were several old bicycles that looked like they had been ridden by boys and girls in flat caps and bloomers. Maybe they had been. “You guys need some help?” she asked.
The Case of the Angry Auctioneer (Auction House Mystery Series Book 1) Page 12
