Cradle Of Secrets by Lisa Mondello Page B

furniture roped down—everything from dressing tables to armoires. The grounds ran along Main Street, from the old white church on the hill and the stone-faced library, farther than Tammie could see. The streets were crowded with vendors hauling their wares off their trucks to display under tents.
    With all the people milling about, and all the white tents popping up in fields that had been empty the day before, the scene reminded Tammie of a refugee camp. But no one was there to live. The auctioneers would only stay for the week and then pack their crates back onto their trucks and head to their next auctions.
    â€œThere have to be a few hundred dealers here,” Dylan said, looking around.
    â€œThe motel clerk said they get somewhere in the neighborhood of seventeen-hundred dealers.”
    â€œBy the looks of it, I’d say he’s right.”
    Tammie blew out a quick breath, puffing her cheeks. “I don’t know where to start. We can’t talk to all of them.”
    â€œNo, but we won’t have to. Just concentrate on who’s been around the longest. I’d say that’s our best bet. Otherwise, we’ll just be spinning our wheels.”
    Tammie pulled a small notebook out of her purse.
    â€œWhat’s that for?” Dylan asked.
    â€œTo take notes. You know, names, phone numbers…?”
    He raised an eyebrow. “If anyone tells you anything important, you can get their card. If you walk around with a notebook, someone will think you’re a reporter.”
    She hadn’t thought of that. “Do you want to split up?”
    â€œIt makes sense. We’ll cover more ground that way. Although it might be impossible to find each other after, since cell phone service is spotty in the center of town.”
    They walked a few minutes, looking at the workers breaking open crates and lifting furniture onto the ground under the tents.
    Tammie smiled, but didn’t say much. Instead, she looked at their faces. Most of the men hauling boxes were young, maybe even still in high school. Some looked younger than the students in her class. Others didn’t look much older than Dylan. She doubted any of them would have information to help her.
    They found a tent where an older gentleman was setting up antique toys. On the table was a sign that read Fragile. In front of the sign was a red velvet cloth. On top of it was a fixed toy train with a metal frame.
    â€œI think I had one of these when I was a kid,” Dylan said, smiling. That got the owner’s attention and he turned around and came over to them.
    He was cordial when he spoke. “The fairgrounds don’t open to the public until Tuesday. We get a hefty fine if we start dealing before then.” He pulled a business card off the stack on the table and handed it to Dylan. “I’ll be happy to help you if you want to come back then.”
    â€œWe’re not here to shop just yet,” Dylan said, glancing at the business card before pocketing it. He glanced at Tammie and gave her an I-told-you-so smile. Tammie dropped her notebook back in her purse.
    â€œAh, it’s a smart thing to scope out the goods ahead of time,” he said, giving a wink to Tammie. “It’s hard to move along these walkways when the crowds get here.
    â€œThat toy is twice is old as you are,” the man said to Tammie. “I don’t mind if you want to handle it. I don’t let the kids. They all love to play with it, but it’s too delicate a piece for little hands.”
    â€œIt’s beautiful,” Tammie said, picking it up and turning it in her hand. She wasn’t really interested in the toy train, but she had a feeling the dealer was flattered by the attention. “You must have people clamoring to get these pieces every year.”
    â€œI send out a mailing to the regulars. I don’t have a Web site like some of the other dealers. Never did learn to use the Internet. I prefer