Fatal Deduction (11 page)

I walked around the many items on display and was amazed at the quality of some things sitting on tables cheek by jowl with the cheapest and shoddiest I’d seen in a long time. All around me were other buyers and dealers also looking for bargains, flea-market aficionados open to whatever caught their eye, and Amishmen who sought good deals on the farm equipment scattered for inspection across what had probably been a horse paddock. The sale was an intriguing mix of a tag sale with lots of smaller items marked with price stickers, especially boxes of miscellany, and an auction for larger pieces and the farm equipment. In our area, sales are usually one or the other.

I found a box of doll furniture tucked in a corner of the dining room beside the beautiful curly maple sideboard. The sideboard didn’t interest me because Madge and I dealt in what are called smalls. We stuck with them with rare exceptions because they were easy to handle and easy to package if we sold them online.

The doll furniture was in great condition, and I turned it over to check for a mark. Strombecker. Yes! Strombecker used to make furniture for the Ginny doll as well as boy toys like airplane and train kits made of wood. I rooted through the box and found a crib, an armoire, a rocking chair, a cradle, a bureau, and an end table. I opened the door of the armoire and found it stuffed with doll clothes. I pulled them out and found the Vogue label sewn in the pieces. I used to think that meant
Vogue
magazine or maybe Vogue patterns, but it meant an early twentieth-century doll shop in Massachusetts called Ye Olde Vogue Doll Shoppe. The shop owner created the Ginny doll, still made today, and Strombecker made furniture to
fit the eight-inch doll. I took the box to checkout and put it in the van. I went back and bought some cut glass and a set of Fostoria goblets that we should be able to move either in the shop or online. I also found two watercolors that I loved and might actually keep for myself, and a mantel clock that was a steal at fifty dollars.

I had been milling around the tables out in the yard when I stepped into the cool of the emptied barn to escape the heat and brilliance of the sun. I leaned against a support and took a drink from the water bottle I carried in my fanny pack. As my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I saw the corner of a box jutting out of a manger, a white angle rising unnaturally from a light cover of hay, a straight line where none should be. I went to investigate and discovered a shoebox, women’s size eight.

Curious, I pulled the box out and lifted the lid. A cache of vintage jewelry winked up at me.

Yowzah!

I slammed the lid back in place, looking around to see if anyone was watching. I wondered briefly how it had gotten into the manger instead of on the tables either in the yard or in the house, but only for a minute. In the chaos of getting things placed for sale, someone had obviously set this box down and forgotten it.

Hugging the box, I hurried back to the checkout lady and paid the princely sum of twenty-five dollars, the price she decided would be right for an untagged box.

“Your lucky day, ducks.” She waved me on to get to the next person eager to pay for their treasure, never taking time to check the contents.

I could feel the return on this investment feeding us for the next month.

“I got some wonderful jewelry,” I told Madge, cell pressed to my ear as I sat in the parking lot at a Dunkin’ Donuts, drinking a Coke and eating a chocolate glazed doughnut. I had my seat pushed back, the bag with the second and third doughnuts on the passenger seat, the Coke in the cup holder, and the shoebox in my lap. As I pawed through the contents, I told her about discovering it in the barn. I hadn’t taken the time for any serious study at the sale, just grabbed the box and run, knowing vintage jewelry was always a good risk.

“Here’s a wonderful iridescent rhinestone pin with matching clip earrings. Very fifties. All the stones are intact. And a pretty gold circle pin, same era, with a ribbon of faux pearls tied on it. Oh, what a lovely little cameo on a gold chain. I’d say it was considerably older than the other two. Maybe the twenties or thirties. Might have some real value. Oh, and there’s a lovely opal brooch with one large opal in the center and”—I counted quickly—“two circles totaling twenty smaller opals circling it, all set in gold.”

I flipped the brooch and found a stamp for fourteen-karat gold. “Madge, I don’t think this is some cheap piece. We’ll need Sam Pierce to give us an appraisal before we market it.” Sam appraised all our jewelry at his store in the mall at Haydn because he was always honest with us. “Oh my! You should see this funny little dog pin with big blue glass eyes and a long slender tail set with glass chips. Very fifties.”

I laughed as I put it back and pulled out another brooch similar in design to the opal, only instead of opals encircling a central gem, the seventeen stones were cubic zirconium. I held the pin toward the window and watched the sun touch the stones and paint rainbows in them.

I sat up straight. “Madge.” My voice was barely a whisper.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I think it’s a matter of what’s right.” I could barely talk. I looked around the parking lot, but no other folks were foolish enough to be sitting in the sun with their cars running so they had some air conditioning while they ate their food. They were munching as they drove off the lot to wherever. Still, I lowered the pin lest any unseen lurkers see it. “I think I’ve got a diamond pin here. Real diamonds, seventeen of them.” I flipped it and found the stamp. “Fourteen-karat gold.”

I heard a little choking sound in my ear. “Oh, Libby, you can’t be serious.”

I nodded, as if she could see me. “I know the eye can’t tell the difference between diamonds and CZ, but my gut tells me we may have something way more valuable than vintage here. I’m probably wrong and will be terribly disappointed, but I’m coming home and taking them to Sam.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“I’ll call him and tell him you’re coming. And I’ll meet you there.” Madge hung up.

I put the pin carefully in the box and put the car in drive. An hour later I met Madge outside Sam Pierce’s jewelry store.

“Did you forget that today is the Fourth?” Madge asked. “The store was closed.”

“What?” I’d driven all this way for nothing?

“But I got Sam’s curiosity piqued, and he agreed to come in for a brief consultation.”

Sam, jeweler’s loupe at the ready, was waiting for us at the back door.

“You just got me. Marly and I leave this afternoon for a month down the shore.” He took the shoebox and disappeared into the back of his store. Madge and I waited in agony while he gave the pieces a quick once-over. To help pass the time, I told her about Aunt Stella’s house and the rare books and the Hepplewhite.

“Interesting, but we can talk about them later. I want to hear about the body on the doorstep.”

I told her what little I knew and described the puzzles, reciting all the words with potential criminal meanings. She had just started to lecture me again about going to Detective Holloran when Sam Pierce came out of his back room and gestured to us.

We followed him into his office, where he offered us seats across from his desk. “Where did you get these pieces?” He gestured to the jewelry sitting on a piece of black velvet he’d laid across the desk. The stones winked at us in the overhead light.

“An estate sale near Kennett Square, Pennsylvania.”

“Well.” He stared at the pieces, frowning, and I knew I’d gotten us excited over nothing and pulled him needlessly away from his family. The pieces were the usual collection of good costume jewelry and would bring us a nice profit, but nothing like I’d started to dream.

Then he smiled broadly. “You have lucked out, ladies. There are some very, very fine pieces in this mix as well as some dime-store stuff.”

“Like the little dog.” I reached out and picked up the little pin. “But you gotta love the big blue eyes.”

“That you do,” Sam said. “They’re marquise-cut sapphires.”

I stared at the little pin.

“And the chips are diamonds. It should sell for $2,700 to $3,000.”

My mouth fell open, as did Madge’s. The dog was cute, but I’d
never pay $3,000 for him. But someone out there would, and that was what mattered. “And this one?” With a shaking hand I held up what I thought was a diamond brooch.

“I found a similar one for $3,250 at a very reputable online site.” Sam sat back and folded his hands over his stomach. “How much did you pay for it?”

“The entire shoebox cost me $25.” I laughed and Madge laughed along.

“Twenty-five dollars.” Sam grinned. “Someone, as they say, was robbed, and it wasn’t you. I’d suggest you leave them in the safe here until you decide how you want to dispose of them, but I set the timer yesterday when I left, and it won’t open again until next week when the store opens. I’ve got a young woman who works here who could probably override the commands, but I have no idea if she’s even home today. You’ll have to keep them with you.” He looked apologetic.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, though I did wish for the security of his safe. “We just appreciate that you were willing to come in.”

“I’ll come back from the shore one day next week and give them the time I need for a thorough evaluation,” he assured us. “I’ll let you know which day. You can leave them in the safe then if you want.”

We wrapped everything carefully, placing each piece in its own little cotton-lined white box. Madge and I were putting the boxes carefully in the shoebox when Sam’s cell rang. He answered, then rolled his eyes.

“Coming home right now, Marly!” He was on his feet before he hung up. “I’m late. I’ve got to go.”

He was herding us out the door when Madge’s cell rang.

“That was Bill,” she explained after her brief conversation. “I’m
late for a cookout and swim party at the Winstons’ place. We leave from there for a week in Massachusetts at my in-laws’ summer place. I’ve got to run!” She gave me a quick hug and left, Sam on her heels.

By default, I ended up driving back to Aunt Stella’s with a small fortune in jewels in the van with me. I almost raced from my parking spot to the house. If the local thieves only knew what I had!

I unlocked the front door as quickly as I could, my eyes darting up and down the lane for thieves lurking behind window boxes. I slammed the door behind me and twisted all the locks. I know. Paranoid.

As I turned from the door, my nose wrinkled, not at my personality foibles but at the smell.

“What’s going on in here? It smells like a beauty parlor!”

“Mom!” Chloe called from the kitchen. “I’m getting highlighted!”

I gulped. The only person I could think of that Chloe knew here was Jenna, and the thought of the girls coloring each other’s hair was unnerving. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if Chloe’s hair turned bright orange or green or something, but it would be the end of Chloe’s world. The weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth would continue for weeks until it grew out.

I set my shoebox on the dining room table and peeked hesitantly into the kitchen. Chloe sat at the table wearing enough foil to transmit to Mars, and Tori sat on the counter watching a stranger brush smelly, foamy stuff on a strip of Jenna’s beautiful dark hair, then wrap it carefully in more foil.

“Tori! What’s going on? And tell me you checked with Jenna’s dad.”
Please
.

“Hey, Libby.” Tori waved negligently, ignoring the Jenna’s dad issue. My heart sank. “This is Mindy. She’s a friend of a friend.”

“Hi.” Mindy glanced at me. “I went to beauty school with Tori’s friend Val.”

“Val does my hair,” Tori explained.

I had to admit that Mindy knew what she was doing—which didn’t make doing Chloe’s and Jenna’s hair without checking okay.

Mindy nodded. “Val called me this morning because she knew I lived here in Philly. She told me I had a gig making three ladies beautiful.” She grinned at me. “I guess you’re lady number three.”

T
HE LANE’S
F
OURTH OF
J
ULY
block party was well under way when, newly highlighted and coiffed, I took my baked beans out to set on the tables James had lined up along the walk in front of his house and Mark and Tim’s.

James eyed my dish as I set it on the red, white, and blue covering. “They don’t look like Stella’s beans.”

“That’s because they’re Libby’s,” I said. “Not the brand, but mine. I’ve got to say, James,” I added hurriedly to distract him from the fact that being Libby’s meant, at least in this case, that they came out of a can, “this is a very impressive spread.”

And it was, a curious melding of traditional area dishes and ethnic contributions. Garden salad, caesar salad, potato and macaroni salads, three-bean salad, pickled eggs and deviled eggs, cole slaw, creamed cabbage, falafel balls, couscous, a platter filled with hoagie makings, and a squeeze bottle filled with oil to moisten the Italian
rolls, sliced and waiting. On the other side of the rolls was a hot dish holding razor-thin slices of roast beef in gravy and beyond it another hot dish filled with sausage and green peppers. Then began the table filled with homemade desserts—pies, cakes, cookies—and finished off with two boxes of Tastykakes, one Butterscotch Krimpets, the other chocolate cupcakes. They were Tori’s contribution, which she rushed out to buy when she realized I wasn’t making a second dish for her. Chloe brought a giant bag of potato chips and a dish of brownies. She brought the chips because she and Jenna had eaten half the brownies as they beautified themselves earlier in the day.