Pickin' Murder: An Antique Hunters Mystery Page 2

Anne agreed with her friend but wasn’t sure what the next steps would be.

  CC put the photos back in her backpack and stood up. “I’m going to make breakfast for us. You can map out our route for today.”

  While CC cut up onions and mushrooms and sautéed them in a pan, Anne sat at the kitchen table with a notebook and pen. She had a large Rand McNally atlas spread out on the table. “You know I have a GPS, right?” CC said over her shoulder.

  “I hate that whiny voice. They’re always yelling at me,” Anne replied, using a compass to determine areas within a 50-mile radius of CC’s home.

  CC beat the eggs, added some cream and then the vegetables. She stirred them all together and put them in a cast iron skillet. When Anne wasn’t looking, she added a dash of her ghost pepper mixture into the batter. CC’s crop of hot peppers found its way into most of her meals. Even when dining out, she carried a small vial in her purse. As she was known to say, “It makes everything better.” She put the frittata in the oven and then plopped some whole-wheat toast in the toaster.

  When it was ready, she prepared some plates, adding strawberries with mint leaves and brought them over to the table. She poured them both a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee made from her authentic French press.

  While they ate, Anne kept her eyes on her notebook and phone. She had several items she was watching on eBay. It was her primary leisure activity. She did very little buying online but considered it research.

  When they were finished with their breakfast, they enjoyed their coffee in CC’s 1960s era Frankoma coffee mugs. Anne, unable to contain herself any longer, burst out, “Can we go now? We have to be at the first sale before the doors open.”

  CC smiled. “What are we looking for today?”

  “I combed through the list of requests you printed out for me and I cross referenced it with all the estate, garage, yard, rummage sales in the area this weekend, and I think our best bet is the Lake Forest Presbyterian Church rummage sale.”

  CC sighed. “Anne, you have to be kidding. Do you remember last year? Thousands of people, no parking and the lines. Oh, and what about the port-a- potty? What kind of church doesn’t let you use their washroom? I don’t remember reading anything in the Bible about port-a-potties.”

  “Just go before we get there,” Anne said. “I know for sure at least ten items we’re looking for will be there. The treasure room alone should have several sets of china including Rosenthal, Wedgwood or possibly Tiffany. And, there’s a rumor that there’s a Flora Danica china set. If I can find that at a good price, that alone is worth the trip. I’d sell Sassy for a Flora Danica salad bowl.”

  This was serious indeed, CC thought. If Anne was willing to part with her beloved white Persian over this china set, then it must truly be special.

  As they reached downtown Lake Forest, the first signs for shuttle bus pick-up appeared. Parking was at a premium and Anne could already see people walking toward the church. She bit her nails, a childhood habit that had returned to her after the stress of the past year. “Anne, this is crazy. It’s way too crowded,” CC complained as they drove around looking for a parking space.

  “Why don’t we at least drive by the church and see how bad the lines are?” Anne said.

  CC reluctantly agreed. They turned down the tree-lined street. The large parking lot across from the church was filled. The Lake Forest police officers were waving cars past. “Oh, dear,” Anne said. That’s when she caught a glimpse of periwinkle blue. “Stop! Stop the car, CC. Stop right now!” she yelled. She tried to jump out of the car but was restrained by the seatbelt. She stuck her head out the window and looked over the roof of the VW. Her worst fear was realized. In the small VIP parking lot behind the church, sat a periwinkle blue Aston Martin with the vanity plate, Bets’ Aston. “Buttersworth!” she screamed, causing the birds in the trees to fly away and several passerby to turn their heads.

  “Sit down,” CC said as people honked behind them. “I have to move the car.”

  Anne managed to unbuckle her seatbelt and kick the door open with her foot. She exited the car while it was still in motion. “Just leave me here!” she shouted over her shoulder as she darted across the street, running towards the entrance. Her large orange Prada bag flew behind her trying to catch up. Cars squealed and swerved around her, the drivers yelling language not fit for church.

  Pushing through the crowds, Anne ran up the staircase and down the narrow hallway. A sign in front of a classroom read Treasure Room. There were already nine people in line waiting for the door to open. Anne nervously poked her head left and right around the heads in front of her like a pigeon. As the door opened, she saw the back of a head with a perfect $300 coiffure rush in. Buttersworth, she thought.

  When Anne finally entered the room, her gaze was immediately drawn to a low table. There it sat in all its glory, rim trimmed in pure gold, a five-piece place setting of Flora Danica. It would be hers. After her heart started beating again, she caught her breath and made her way to the setting. Laser focused, she did not see the manicured hand with a five-carat pink diamond engagement ring reaching for it.

  The room stilled as Betsy Buttersworth turned with a smile holding the dinner plate in one hand and her vintage Hermes Birkin bag in the other. “Buttersworth!” Anne screamed. The stained glass church window might have rattled a bit.

  “Hillstrom,” was the reply from Anne’s antique hunting nemesis, Betsy Buttersworth, no relation to the syrup but as always a very sticky problem for Anne. “It’s been a while, Hillstrom.”

  Anne counted to ten in her head without realizing she was still moving her lips. When her blood pressure reached a manageable level, she said, “I came here today specifically for the Flora Danica set. It’s number one on my request list for the Spoon Sisters blog.”

  Betsy listened respectfully trying not to smirk. She thought for a moment and handed it to Anne. “Well, then you must have it, mustn’t you?”

  Anne dropped the plate, thankfully recovering it when it was just an inch from the floor. She froze, holding it for a second and then rose slowly. “Buttersworth, why?”

  “Anne, we’re friends, aren’t we? And friends help each other, don’t they, Anne?”

  “Yes, Betsy. Yes, they do,” Anne’s voice quivered, her pupils dilated.

  “I want you to have this because it means so much to you and because it’s so important to you. I, as your friend, want you to have this beautiful set of china.”

  “Here you are!” CC called out as she entered the room. “How could you have taken off like that?”

  Betsy smiled at CC before walking away. Anne watched her, her mouth wide open, the china plate cradled in her arms.

  “What was that all about?” CC asked Anne.

  “Hell froze over,” Anne replied.

  “In church, Anne? Really?” CC looked at her. “Do you need more china?”

  “It’s number one on our list. It’s the Flora Danica set I was telling you about. This could be worth $8,000, and they have priced it at $200.”

  “Are you sure it’s not imitation? That’s really a discounted price.”

  “It’s not an imitation. That’s real gold trim. Betsy let me have it.”

  “What do you mean Betsy let you have it?”

  “She was holding it first and I told her how much it meant to me and she let me have it.” Anne stared after Betsy who was holding up a silver vase. She could tell from here that it wasn’t real silver-plate. Maybe she should warn her but, unnh she thought, shrugging her shoulders.

  “Betsy? Betsy Buttersworth?”

  “Yes.” Anne pulled her Coach wallet out of her large orange Prada bag. It wasn’t a Hermes but still a luxury item. Maybe a poor man’s luxury item but luxury nonetheless. She gathered the twenties, singles and fives along with her baggie of change. She paid for the place setting and asked them to hold it for her while she walked around.

  After an hour of wandering, she found CC in the designer clothing
room in the basement trying on a pair of wide-wale corduroy pants. “No, those aren’t for you,” Anne said.

  “You’re going to talk about pants, are you?” CC gave a pointed look at Anne’s flowered capris.

  Anne plowed through the basket of scarves looking for a vintage Chanel or Vuitton, something worth her time, not these cheap polyester knockoffs. Down at the very bottom, she found a Burberry silk scarf in an original Nova Check pattern––navy, white and red checkers on a tan background. She held it up and slid it through her fingers. This scarf found me, she thought, we are meant to be. She wrapped it around her neck, unafraid that it would clash with her flowered pants.

  She meandered into the game room where she found a vintage MET mahjong set, all original Bakelite and in its alligator briefcase. She estimated it to be a circa-1940 set. At $50, it was a steal. She could resell it for $250 or maybe $300 and there was a collector on her list looking for one. Over the past year, CC and Anne had scratched out a small profit by locating items for their fans. Anne struggled with the concept of only charging a finder’s fee but CC made sure the small profit they made was fair to both them and the fans. As the list grew, so did the profits. Anne was hoping she could make the Spoon Sisters, Antique Hunters, her full-time career.

  As she found and checked off more items, that possibility was becoming a reality. This room contained many items on the list. Arms overflowing, she went outside to the garden tent. It was crowded inside with people holding silk flowers, baskets, ceramic arts and yard art. She was drawn to a Japanese cricket house. This would be perfect for CC’s koi pond. She grabbed it before another woman could snatch it up. Then she picked up a brass planter, looked it over, and set it down. It was a bullet atomic planter, solid brass with a turquoise interior. Mid-century modern, Anne thought, not her style. Then she thought about it again but the cricket woman was now holding it. “Excuse me, I was looking at that first,” Anne said.

  “I didn’t see you holding it,” The cricket woman said, turning to talk to her friend so her back was facing Anne.

  “Hmmph,” Anne said, thinking about it for a moment. “That’s okay; you can have it. By the way, it’s overpriced.” Anne walked away, feeling good about herself.

  She carried the rest of her items to the long wooden counter where the cash registers were and paid for her purchases. She waited by the front doors for CC who came out bearing two large shopping bags. “What’d you find?”

  “I got an early F-body Nikon and some lens filters. Look at these cigar boxes,” CC said. “They are from 1950’s Cuba. I am going to make everyone boxes for Christmas this year.”

  Anne thought about CC’s boxes. They were decoupage, glued with images from vintage catalogs, magazines and yearbooks. More of a hodgepodge than art. Another project from her craft room but she didn’t want to discourage her friend. “Anything else?” Anne asked, struggling under the weight of her bags.

  “I bought the pants. I think I look good in them. I bought something for Tony.” She reached into one of the bags and pulled out a white captain’s cap.

  “That’s nice. Have you spoken to him lately?”

  “We talked on the phone a couple nights ago. He’s been busy getting ready for Italy.”

  They boarded the shuttle bus, balancing their bags on their laps. The bus was crowded and jostled along the road. Anne cradled the china like a newborn. When they reached the parking lot, they found CC’s 1968 VW bus blocked in behind a Mercedes and Lexus. “We’ll have to wait,” CC said.

  “I’m not waiting.” Anne got out of the car and walked over to the police officer who was directing traffic. Minutes later, cars were being moved. “I showed them the picture of Nigel in his dress uniform. I might have said, my husband, Detective Nigel.”

  “Anne, you’re really bad,” CC said. “Are you hungry? Do you want to stop for lunch?”

  Lunch, Anne thought, would be nice but she still had a long list of places to stop before heading home. “We don’t have time for lunch. I’ve brought some turkey sandwiches.” She reached into her large orange Prada bag and pulled out two foil wrapped packages. She handed one to CC.

  By the end of the day, Anne was exhausted and broke. When they reached CC’s house, she barely had enough energy to carry her bags to her car. It took a while for her to fit everything into the already overcrowded Mercury Mystique.

  CC, seeing Anne shuffling to her car, asked, “Do you want to come in for dinner? I can whip something up.”

  At the click of the key, Bandit ran to greet them at the door. Anne barely acknowledged Bandit and plopped down on the sofa. She kicked off her sensible penny loafers and rubbed her aching arches. “CC,” she yelled over her shoulder as CC went into the kitchen. “I was thinking about the Flora Danica. What are the chances I’m ever going to find a set like that for a price like that?”

  CC grabbed some fresh shrimp from her fridge, cleaned them and put them in a saucepan with lemon juice, garlic and olive oil. “Anne, you’re not thinking about keeping them, are you?” she asked while chopping lettuce.

  “I’m just saying, would it be the worst thing in the world if just this one time I kept something on the list for myself. Let’s face it, we’re never going to find everything on the list. I’m willing to try, of course, and I enjoy helping people out. I enjoy hunting for treasures but don’t you feel like we deserve a little happiness, too.” Anne studied the plate. “This plate makes me happy.”

  CC half listened as the oil started sizzling. She placed two halves of Romaine lettuce brushed with olive oil, Parmesan cheese, salt and pepper on a stovetop grill. She was helping Anne keep to her low carb diet. She turned down the pan with the shrimp and added a splash of vermouth. As the liquor cooked off, she went down to her cellar and selected a bottle of her homemade cherry wine that she had put up earlier in the season.

  She brought Anne a glass. “Why don’t we eat and then we’ll talk about it?”

  Anne sipped tentatively. “This is really good. Where’d you get this?”

  “The backyard,” CC replied. “My cherry trees. It’s an old family recipe. Actually very simple. You mash up the cherries, add sugar and water, some yeast and then let it ferment. The trick is to pick the cherries at just the right time when they’re at their sweetest. I had a really good crop of cherries this year.”

  Between being tired and thinking about the china, Anne blocked CC out. She often had selective hearing when it came to her friend. CC was a wealth of knowledge when a penny’s worth would do.

  CC placed the romaine on the plate and put the shrimp on top of it. She sprinkled feta on it, garnished it with fresh herbs and her homemade blueberry vinaigrette. She poured more wine and sat at the table.

  Anne sat across from her, with her phone near her side. The prices on her eBay watch list items were climbing and probably out of her price range but it was still fun to look. “What’s going on with you and Nigel?” CC asked.

  “He asked me to go to Galena for the weekend. You know I love Galena. It’s just blocks and blocks of antique shops, cute cafes and bed and breakfasts.” Anne pictured the quaint town in her mind’s eye.

  “Anne, I don’t think he wants to go for the antiquing. I think he wants to spend quality time alone with you,” CC reprimanded her.

  “I know that. It’s just I’m uncomfortable with being with him in that way.”

  “What do you mean that way?” CC asked.

  “In a romantic way, you know,” Anne speared a shrimp with her fork and took a big gulp of her wine.

  “Anne, you’ve been dating him for a year now.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it dating.” Anne paused. “I like him but I don’t know if I like him that way.”

  “Anne, he‘s not asking you to get married. He’s asking you to go to Galena for a weekend.”

  “I’m afraid if I say yes he’s going to get the wrong idea. Don’t get me wrong. I think he’s attractive, sweet, funny, but I don’t have those feelings for him. I wan
ted to but it isn’t happening.”

  “I think if that’s the way you feel, you should let him know. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  “CC, I’m afraid if I tell him, I’m going to lose him. He means a lot to me. I want him to be my friend. I enjoy his company but I don’t feel that spark that knocks me off my heels.” Anne looked at her plate and moved her food around.

  CC knew what Anne was talking about because she felt that spark with Tony. After dinner, CC brought up her computer and went to her blog site. “Anne, you never wrote your post for this week.”

  “I’m too tired to think about that now. I’ll do it tomorrow when I’m fresh.”

  “Dear Friends,” CC typed, “Anne and I are back from the Lake Forest Presbyterian Church rummage sale. It was crowded as always.”

  Anne put her fingers up to her mouth and said, “Shhh. Don’t tell them about the plates. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “You know they can’t hear us, right?” CC returned to typing and jumped at the buzzing coming from her computer. “Anne, I have a Face-time coming in. It’s Tony.”

  “Do you want me to leave?” Anne asked.

  “Don’t be silly.” CC straightened her hair, put on lipstick and checked herself in the mirror. She sat back down. A handsome man with salt and pepper hair and a weatherworn face appeared on her iMac. “CC, are you there?” Tony asked.

  “Hi, Tony, can you see me now?” She waved at him.

  “Yes.”

  “You look great.”

  CC blushed.

  “I’m here, too.” Anne waved from behind CC.

  “I finished the ship. If I want to sail it back to Italy this year, I have to leave soon. Look, I’ll show you.” Holding his iPhone, he gave her a panoramic view from the dock.

  “She’s beautiful, Tony.” CC hesitated a minute before asking, “Couldn’t you have someone else sail it back?”

  “The agreement I made with the buyer included delivery and stated that I would hand deliver it. I’ve spent the past 18 months working on her,” he paused. “I want to take her out on the open sea. Let’s meet for dinner tomorrow and we can talk.”