lovely
rosewood pipe as he told her stories of undersea kingdoms and magical forests
filled with tamed dragons or vindictive fairies. There was something nostalgic
and romantic about the scent of a burning pipe.
On the other hand, cigarette smoke reminded her more of the
packed rooms of country auctions, where stale air and a floor littered with
spent butts, which occasionally floated in the spittle that was the result of a
discarded hunk of chewing tobacco, made a five-hour auction a trying affair.
Molly had often imagined that she was turning a shade of
unattractive yellow as her contacts protested and burned and she squinted
uncomfortably at the item being sold through a circulating fog of cigarette
smoke. Taking notes for an article during one such auction, Molly decided that
she was simply not paid enough to endanger her health every week, but then a miniature
fire pole whose tapestry had been woven by a seven-year-old girl in 1862 came
up for sale and Molly forgot all about her tobacco smoke-induced complaints.
Back inside the smoke-free museum, Molly spent a pleasant
morning interviewing Alicia and photographing a fabulous folk art portrait of a
young girl holding a gray kitten. Next, she spent some time with Lindsey, whom
she photographed with a Baltimore quilt done in reds, greens, and golds on an
ivory background. Hoping to catch Jessica and Borris for lunch, Molly headed in
their direction.
On her way to their stalls, she dropped off her heavy bag
filled with her camera and her interview notebook and mini recorder in the
staff room. Everyone else had left purses and briefcases in there, so she figured
her equipment was perfectly safe.
Borris spotted her approaching their exhibit area and
swiftly headed her off. "Come on, lunch is being served in the cafeteria.
Jess is already down there. It's just sandwiches, but rumor has it there's
homemade chicken salad."
"Yum." Molly's stomach rumbled agreeably. She
joined the other appraisers at a long cafeteria table and helped herself to a
chicken salad sandwich, a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips, and two
chocolate chip cookies. Feeling guilty, she replaced her soda with bottled
water. Molly was chagrined to see that Alexandra was eating only the turkey,
lettuce, and tomato from her sandwich and had neither chips nor cookies by her
plate.
"How was your visit to Strawberry Street Manor, proud
neighbor to Oodles of Noodles?" Alexandra teased Garrett as he slid into
the empty chair next to her. Since Frank and Victoria had yet to join the group
for lunch, Molly felt free to embellish on the neglected state of the house,
especially in regards to Mrs. Sterling's upstairs bathroom. She thought her
lively descriptions would draw Garrett's attention away from Alexandra.
"There was that much mold?" asked Lindsey,
crinkling her nose. "I'm amazed Frank is still among the living."
"I got a brief glimpse," Alicia added with a
grimace. "Right before Frank threw us all out. It was like the bathtub had
been painted black. I’m amazed that Frank didn’t drive himself straight to the
emergency room."
At that moment Victoria arrived and joined in the complaints
about the state of the bathroom. Molly noticed that at the next table over,
Randy had stopped eating and had fastened his beady eyes on Victoria's face
with a look of intense longing. Suddenly, he stood and flung his uneaten food
in the trash and without a backward glace, stomped out of the room.
After a few lighthearted digs at Frank's expense, the group
grew bored with his allergies and returned to swapping stories about the
spectacular antiques scheduled to be filmed over the course of the day. Even
Alexandra looked animated as she boasted about a collection of carriage clocks
she was putting in the spotlight.
"The largest is almost... oh, let me convert this to
your silly American measurements ... thirteen inches tall and the smallest is
about five inches. All are signed on the dial and in perfect working
Bruce Alexander
Barbara Monajem
Chris Grabenstein
Brooksley Borne
Erika Wilde
S. K. Ervin
Adele Clee
Stuart M. Kaminsky
Gerald A Browne
Writing