A Killing in Antiques by Mary Moody Page A

herself busy since she retired.”
    I stifled a question about who else she’d seen on that early run this morning. I figured that if I irritated her further she’d shut me out, so I changed the subject.
    “Did you find the chandelier you were looking for?” I asked.
    “Yes, I did,” she said. “I knew exactly where to find it. I’d made arrangements days ago. It’s just as wonderful as I was led to believe, and I bought it. It’s a good one, small but elegant.”
    “So you got off to a good start,” I said.
    “It was a good start, but the rest of the day was hard work,” she said. “There’s plenty of glass here, but cut glass is scarce. Have you seen any today?” she asked.
    “No, but I haven’t looked for it. I don’t collect glass except for Sandwich.”
    “You like Sandwich glass?” she asked.
    “I do, but there’s so much reproduction Sandwich around that I don’t spend a lot of time sifting through it,” I said.
    “I ran into the real thing this morning, where I picked up the chandelier.”
    “Oh, rats,” I said. “I imagine it’s all gone by now. They’ve had a whole day of selling. I can move all of the Sandwich glass that I can get my hands on at the Cape. Do you think any of it could be left?”
    “They can’t have sold everything, because they’re not opening until Thursday. They’re here early because they want to get in some buying. I imagine they’re doing some selling, too. I’m probably not the only buyer they had lined up.”
    It was surely an outside chance, but I had nothing to lose. And since I had nothing to lose, after getting directions and gathering my things, I asked the question that had been teasing me: “Who else did you see when you were out looking for that chandelier?”
    Rather than having a hissy fit, she thought a moment and said, “I don’t recall seeing anyone else. There were people around, but it was dark. I may not have even noticed Monty if I hadn’t heard his voice.” She gazed around the room, her eyes stopped, and she pointed. “I think I saw that fellow.”
    I turned toward where she pointed. It was Mr. Hogarth, who had approached someone at the counter. He was standing over the guy, speaking intensely. His expression was severe, and I wondered if he was still carrying on about Monty.
    Mildred was having second thoughts. “I’m not really sure,” she said. “Maybe it was later in the day when I saw him. I can’t remember.”
    I’m sure that Mr. Hogarth was at Brimfield as early as I, but I wasn’t about to get into another discussion with him about Monty. Mr. Hogarth shifted his weight, and I saw that he was speaking to John Wilson. Mr. Hogarth’s complaints about Monty likely fell on fertile ground, but Wilson appeared to be shrinking away from Mr. Hogarth.
    Good. There was no way I was going to go over and smooth-talk Mr. Hogarth. Let Wilson sweat out the old man’s ire. He deserved it after spreading his “disgruntled employee” theory this morning. What on earth was Wilson doing here anyway? Had Captain Kirk’s started serving creamed foie gras on toast? Truffle burgers?
    I said good-bye to Mildred and Muriel and left without any further visiting. I was off to see her hot prospect, and I didn’t want to miss another opportunity. I drove back toward Brimfield, following Mildred’s directions. After a while I sensed that I had missed a turn. The drive was beginning to feel too long for someone who had been riding a tricycle. When I ended up at the wildlife sanctuary, I turned around and headed back to Brimfield.
    I was sure that Mildred told me to turn left at the east end of the marketplace. It turns out that she meant the other left, the one that curves toward the right if you are coming from the Captain’s. When I finally took a chance on the correct turn, I came almost immediately to a small cluster of campers parked in a flat spot on the hill. There I found the dealer without any trouble.
    “Where have you been?”