Read Online Pickin' Murder: An Antique Hunters Mystery by Vicki Vass - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vicki Vass
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calculated the dimensions to see if it would fit in the VW and her already cluttered living room.
“Honey, you’re in the south; there’s only one war,” Randall said.
Then she eyed the 16-inch tall table globe that was encased in rosewood. Its fittings were brass. She walked over to it and spun it around. “Is this from the war?”
“It was at my family’s tobacco plantation. My ancestor brought it over from England. It’s a rare globe. The capitals are real rubies.”
“It’s beautiful.” Anne ran her hand over it. “Would you be willing to sell it?” Anne thought about Mr. Gunter, the business executive and philanthropist, who was always looking for unique pieces for his collection. He displayed these pieces at his museum located inside the turn-of-the-century house he had restored in downtown Chicago. This would be perfect for the smoking room. Then she laughed out loud and thought, Smoking ! How appropriate.
“I’m not ready to part with it yet.” Randall shook his head. “I only sold the tobacco cards because I needed money for George.”
“George?” CC asked.
Randall did a 180 in the chair and waved for the girls to follow him. He went into the kitchen where a big orange tabby lay on the checkerboard linoleum under the hickory table. “This is George. He hasn’t been feeling too well.”
Anne bent down to pet the tabby. His eyes opened a bit and then closed. Cats normally purred when Anne was around; this was unusual. “Poor dear. You’re not feeling so well, are you?” Anne noticed his whiskers were crusty as though he had been throwing up. “Has George gotten into something outside in the back yard? Some plants?”
“George never goes out. He’s strictly a house cat. I’ve been feeding him the same food for ten years. He’s been real tired and threw up a couple times.”
Spotting more cigarette cards on the table, CC said, “Do you mind if I look at those?” At his nod, she sat down and leafed through them.
Anne walked around the kitchen. “Has George been to the vet?”
“When he first started throwing up, I brought him to the clinic. They did some tests. They didn’t find anything wrong. They said to make sure he drank water and watch him.”
Anne walked over to the kitchen back door, which opened to the large backyard. The old wooden door had a beautiful leaded-glass window that encompassed more than half of it. “This door is beautiful.”
“I brought that from the plantation, too. That’s got to be early 1800s. It took a lot of work to fit it.”
Anne stared out through the glass. The afternoon sun was breaching the roof of the house, the shadows in the yard were running away as the first ray of light struck the cut glass. She had to cover her eyes from the glare. “It’s like a magnifying glass. That’s really bright.”
Behind her was a walk-in pantry which was completely dark except for the beam of light coming through the door. It was like a beacon, Anne thought, so she followed it. At the back of the dark pantry, behind boxes of oatmeal and grits, was a wooden bin. That’s when Anne figured out what George’s problem was. Above the potato bin, the bags of brown sugar were trickling down onto the potatoes. The light from the afternoon sun focused on the potatoes and had turned them green from the chlorophyll.
Anne walked out of the pantry, holding a green potato that had been nibbled at. “Randall, I think I found what’s been bothering George. That little beam coming through the kitchen door turns the potatoes green. That green on the potato is caused by chlorophyll which is not toxic, but the light exposure also increased the production of an alkaloid called solanine.” She paused and put the potato down on the table. “The more intense the light, the more solanine is produced. That door window acts like a magnifying glass and strengthens the beam. Consuming solanine can make you pretty sick. The highest concentration is in the skin of the
“Honey, you’re in the south; there’s only one war,” Randall said.
Then she eyed the 16-inch tall table globe that was encased in rosewood. Its fittings were brass. She walked over to it and spun it around. “Is this from the war?”
“It was at my family’s tobacco plantation. My ancestor brought it over from England. It’s a rare globe. The capitals are real rubies.”
“It’s beautiful.” Anne ran her hand over it. “Would you be willing to sell it?” Anne thought about Mr. Gunter, the business executive and philanthropist, who was always looking for unique pieces for his collection. He displayed these pieces at his museum located inside the turn-of-the-century house he had restored in downtown Chicago. This would be perfect for the smoking room. Then she laughed out loud and thought, Smoking ! How appropriate.
“I’m not ready to part with it yet.” Randall shook his head. “I only sold the tobacco cards because I needed money for George.”
“George?” CC asked.
Randall did a 180 in the chair and waved for the girls to follow him. He went into the kitchen where a big orange tabby lay on the checkerboard linoleum under the hickory table. “This is George. He hasn’t been feeling too well.”
Anne bent down to pet the tabby. His eyes opened a bit and then closed. Cats normally purred when Anne was around; this was unusual. “Poor dear. You’re not feeling so well, are you?” Anne noticed his whiskers were crusty as though he had been throwing up. “Has George gotten into something outside in the back yard? Some plants?”
“George never goes out. He’s strictly a house cat. I’ve been feeding him the same food for ten years. He’s been real tired and threw up a couple times.”
Spotting more cigarette cards on the table, CC said, “Do you mind if I look at those?” At his nod, she sat down and leafed through them.
Anne walked around the kitchen. “Has George been to the vet?”
“When he first started throwing up, I brought him to the clinic. They did some tests. They didn’t find anything wrong. They said to make sure he drank water and watch him.”
Anne walked over to the kitchen back door, which opened to the large backyard. The old wooden door had a beautiful leaded-glass window that encompassed more than half of it. “This door is beautiful.”
“I brought that from the plantation, too. That’s got to be early 1800s. It took a lot of work to fit it.”
Anne stared out through the glass. The afternoon sun was breaching the roof of the house, the shadows in the yard were running away as the first ray of light struck the cut glass. She had to cover her eyes from the glare. “It’s like a magnifying glass. That’s really bright.”
Behind her was a walk-in pantry which was completely dark except for the beam of light coming through the door. It was like a beacon, Anne thought, so she followed it. At the back of the dark pantry, behind boxes of oatmeal and grits, was a wooden bin. That’s when Anne figured out what George’s problem was. Above the potato bin, the bags of brown sugar were trickling down onto the potatoes. The light from the afternoon sun focused on the potatoes and had turned them green from the chlorophyll.
Anne walked out of the pantry, holding a green potato that had been nibbled at. “Randall, I think I found what’s been bothering George. That little beam coming through the kitchen door turns the potatoes green. That green on the potato is caused by chlorophyll which is not toxic, but the light exposure also increased the production of an alkaloid called solanine.” She paused and put the potato down on the table. “The more intense the light, the more solanine is produced. That door window acts like a magnifying glass and strengthens the beam. Consuming solanine can make you pretty sick. The highest concentration is in the skin of the
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