Victoria Hamilton - Vintage Kitchen 04 - No Mallets Intended (7 page)

“What was taken?” Mrs. Bellwood asked.

“Yes, what was taken?” Mrs. Frump echoed.

“Nothing, as far as we know.”

“So why were you bopped?” Mrs. Frump asked.

“Yes, why?” Mrs. Bellwood repeated.

She looked from one lined and querying face to the other. “I… I don’t know. We think that because the back door is still blocked, the person had no way out but the front door. He… or she… got scared and hit me on the head with one of the mallets from the kitchen.”

The two women looked at each other and nodded. It was weird, considering that until that night they had been enemies, but their speech and mannerisms had synced, and now they appeared to think and talk as one.

“We wonder if there is something in the house they were looking for,” Mrs. Bellwood said.

“Yes. When we were little girls…”

Jaymie temporarily lost track of the conversation as she tried to imagine the octogenarians in front of her as little girls in ringlets and frilly dresses. “I beg your pardon?” she asked.

“Aren’t you listening, Jaymie? Lucille would be most disappointed at your dullness tonight,” Mrs. Bellwood said sharply, referring to Jaymie’s grandma Leighton. “She always said you were the brightest of her granddaughters but…” The woman shook her head in disappointment.

“Listen, child,” Mrs. Frump said. “There was a rumor that before my aunt Hazel died she said she had a special something that she was going to give the historical society, but then she passed on and there was nothing left in her will. We think she may have hid it in the house somewhere, and someone was looking for it.
That’s
why you were hit over the head.”

“Yes, hit over the head,” Mrs. Bellwood said. She leaned forward, her gimlet stare focused on Jaymie. “Struck down for the Sultan’s Eye.”

Six

“T
HE
S
ULTAN’S
E
YE?
What on earth is that?” Jaymie asked.

“Girls today,” Mrs. Frump said, shaking her head.

“No knowledge of the finer things in life,” Mrs. Bellwood said,
also
shaking her head. “You would think at least Jaymie would know, with a background in antiques.”

“Well, not antiques,” Mrs. Frump demurred. “Just junk.”

Fascinated by the transformation in the two archenemies since they had so swiftly made up in front of the whole heritage society, Jaymie stared at them, still mystified. “But what
is
it?”

Mrs. Bellwood said, “The Sultan’s Eye is a brooch, a fine small painting of an eye—”

“Surrounded by pearls or gemstones,” Mrs. Frump continued. “Many, many years ago it was the fashion to have a portrait done of your lover’s eye, or a famous eye, and made into jewelry.”

“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 heritage 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.