Read Online Do You Promise Not to Tell? by Mary Jane Clark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
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can’t tell me because the seller wishes to remain anonymous.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“He did give me the name of the seller’s agent. It turns out she has some sort of antique shop in Westwood.I would like you to go over to see her and find out who she sold the pin for.”
Nadine could tell her son did not care for his assignment. Victor didn’t like to be put out, even for her. She halfheartedly told herself it wasn’t because he was lazy, but because he lacked self-confidence. It was safer for him not to try to accomplish anything. But how hard could this be? A shopkeeper in Westwood shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Even for Victor.
“What’s her name?” he asked, sighing heavily.
“Patricia Devereaux, and I would appreciate it if you would go over and speak to her
today
.”
Chapter 31
Farrell entered the vestibule of the Consignment Depot and took in the shop, pleased at how welcoming it was. Pat had a real flair for displaying the objects for sale to their best advantage. Anyone walking in could not help but be drawn to the wonderful treasures that awaited.
She spotted Pat at the back of the store, talking with a customer. Pat saw Farrell at the same time, and waved. “Farrell! I’m so glad you’re here. I’ll be right with you.”
Farrell unbuttoned her navy wool pea coat and hung it on an oak wall rack conveniently placed at the front of the shop. Adjusting her green tunic sweater down over her tan corduroys, she began slowly poking around the gleaming mahogany tables covered with artfully arranged shining sterling, sparkling cut glass, and fine crystal. Hand-stitched pillows perched on a velvet-tufted Victorian settee, delicate lacework draped a cherry card table with ball-and-claw feet. A gold-leafed, pagoda-crowned Chinese Chippendale mirror hung over the old fireplace mantel, lighted candles reflecting in its glass.
Farrell thought of her own apartment and how she had neglected it. She still had most of her books in cardboard boxes stacked against a living-room wall because she used her bookcase as a catchall for junk.Her sofa was a hand-me-down from her parents’ house-cleaning when they had made their move to Florida. She’d never really liked it, but she hadn’t managed to do anything about it. The same was true for the table and chairs in her dining area. She’d barely bothered to hang anything on the walls, and what was there, was haphazardly arranged. A bulletin board, tacked with souvenirs, press releases, and newspaper clippings about favorite stories she’d worked on, belonged more in her office at KEY or in a college student’s dorm than in the living room of a Manhattan apartment of a woman who—ugh, she hated to admit it—was pushing forty.
Pat had finished her conversation with the customer, and came toward Farrell with open arms. “It’s so good to see you!” she said warmly, embracing Farrell in a big hug.
“What a terrific place!” Farrell gestured sweepingly. “I am so impressed. Do you make house calls?”
Pat laughed. “I’m so glad you like it. I have to admit, I’ve been a little nervous about your coming and what you would think about my little shop. It must seem so small-time to you.”
“Honey, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
Chapter 32
Peter watched as Charlie made three thick turkey sandwiches. “Heavy on the mayo on mine, Charlie.”
“Why three sandwiches today, Peter?” asked Charlie, as he sliced a pale-looking tomato.
“Mom has an old friend visiting.”
“Oh yeah? Who?”
“Someone she went to school with a million years ago. She seems pretty cool. She’s a producer for KEY News.”
Charlie nodded as he cut the sandwiches and wrapped them in white paper. “Chips?”
“Mmm. Barbecue. And a Coke and two coffees.”
The deli owner packed a brown sack with the Consignment Depot lunch order. “You know, Peter, you’re a good kid. Coming up here every Saturday to help your mom. Most kids wouldn’t be
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“He did give me the name of the seller’s agent. It turns out she has some sort of antique shop in Westwood.I would like you to go over to see her and find out who she sold the pin for.”
Nadine could tell her son did not care for his assignment. Victor didn’t like to be put out, even for her. She halfheartedly told herself it wasn’t because he was lazy, but because he lacked self-confidence. It was safer for him not to try to accomplish anything. But how hard could this be? A shopkeeper in Westwood shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Even for Victor.
“What’s her name?” he asked, sighing heavily.
“Patricia Devereaux, and I would appreciate it if you would go over and speak to her
today
.”
Chapter 31
Farrell entered the vestibule of the Consignment Depot and took in the shop, pleased at how welcoming it was. Pat had a real flair for displaying the objects for sale to their best advantage. Anyone walking in could not help but be drawn to the wonderful treasures that awaited.
She spotted Pat at the back of the store, talking with a customer. Pat saw Farrell at the same time, and waved. “Farrell! I’m so glad you’re here. I’ll be right with you.”
Farrell unbuttoned her navy wool pea coat and hung it on an oak wall rack conveniently placed at the front of the shop. Adjusting her green tunic sweater down over her tan corduroys, she began slowly poking around the gleaming mahogany tables covered with artfully arranged shining sterling, sparkling cut glass, and fine crystal. Hand-stitched pillows perched on a velvet-tufted Victorian settee, delicate lacework draped a cherry card table with ball-and-claw feet. A gold-leafed, pagoda-crowned Chinese Chippendale mirror hung over the old fireplace mantel, lighted candles reflecting in its glass.
Farrell thought of her own apartment and how she had neglected it. She still had most of her books in cardboard boxes stacked against a living-room wall because she used her bookcase as a catchall for junk.Her sofa was a hand-me-down from her parents’ house-cleaning when they had made their move to Florida. She’d never really liked it, but she hadn’t managed to do anything about it. The same was true for the table and chairs in her dining area. She’d barely bothered to hang anything on the walls, and what was there, was haphazardly arranged. A bulletin board, tacked with souvenirs, press releases, and newspaper clippings about favorite stories she’d worked on, belonged more in her office at KEY or in a college student’s dorm than in the living room of a Manhattan apartment of a woman who—ugh, she hated to admit it—was pushing forty.
Pat had finished her conversation with the customer, and came toward Farrell with open arms. “It’s so good to see you!” she said warmly, embracing Farrell in a big hug.
“What a terrific place!” Farrell gestured sweepingly. “I am so impressed. Do you make house calls?”
Pat laughed. “I’m so glad you like it. I have to admit, I’ve been a little nervous about your coming and what you would think about my little shop. It must seem so small-time to you.”
“Honey, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
Chapter 32
Peter watched as Charlie made three thick turkey sandwiches. “Heavy on the mayo on mine, Charlie.”
“Why three sandwiches today, Peter?” asked Charlie, as he sliced a pale-looking tomato.
“Mom has an old friend visiting.”
“Oh yeah? Who?”
“Someone she went to school with a million years ago. She seems pretty cool. She’s a producer for KEY News.”
Charlie nodded as he cut the sandwiches and wrapped them in white paper. “Chips?”
“Mmm. Barbecue. And a Coke and two coffees.”
The deli owner packed a brown sack with the Consignment Depot lunch order. “You know, Peter, you’re a good kid. Coming up here every Saturday to help your mom. Most kids wouldn’t be
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