Death Among the Doilies by Mollie Cox Bryan

else that she couldn’t quite place. Something floral and a bit spicy. Incense-like.
    Sarah’s things were scattered on tables throughout the house. Even though Cora didn’t know her, an overwhelming sense of sadness overcame her.
    â€œAre you okay?” the man asked.
    â€œOh yes, yes,” she said. “I just, you know, feel so terrible about Sarah.”
    â€œBloody awful business,” he said. He had apparently been in the middle of organizing a group of items down at the end of a long card table.
    Cora briefly glanced at the items in front of her. Tupperware containers, a few plates, and a big box full of doilies and handkerchiefs. Five dollars for the whole box. It was the kind of thing she liked to find at sales; she was certain she could make use of the items. She picked the box up and carried it along with her, until she reached the end of the table, near where the man was organizing old vinyl record albums.
    There, at the end of the table, was part of Sarah’s collection of opium antiques, which shone and glittered like jewels.
    â€œThese didn’t sell?” Cora said to the man with surprise.
    â€œNot these pieces. I’m afraid not,” he said. “It takes a collector, I think, to appreciate their value.”
    â€œThey are just beautiful.”
    â€œYes, I was with her when she purchased the first one. We were on our honeymoon in Turkey,” he said.
    â€œYou’re—”
    â€œI’m Josh Waters, the ex-husband,” he said and coughed a bit.
    What was he doing here? They’d been divorced for years.
    â€œShe left it all to me,” he said, with an odd, beleaguered grin.
    Cora took an eyeful of Josh Waters. He was now standing in much better light. His demeanor was off—almost as if he were stoned.
    â€œDid she think she was doing me a favor? Pfft,” he said. “Like I don’t have anything better to do than get rid of all this junk.”
    Cora sat the box down, fighting the sudden urge to leave this place and this man. “Turkey,” she said, changing the subject. “That must have been wonderful.” It was the best she could do.
    She ran her fingers along the cool surface of the opium kit. She opened the lid—that same sweet, floral scent that had greeted her when she first walked in came pouring out. Was the smell opium? Had Josh been smoking opium before she had come inside? Or could the smell be the lingering scent from the paraphernalia? There was more here than what was pictured on the Web site. There was quite a collection of pipes, which were also stunning, with jewel-tone colors and delicate accents.
    â€œYou wanting to buy?”
    â€œExcuse me?” she said, turning back toward him.
    He coughed a little, again. His eyes were red and watery. He was definitely stoned. Or drunk? Something was off.
    â€œDid you want to buy some of that stuff ?” he said.
    â€œNo, what would I do with it?” She tried to laugh. But as she examined the dangle tools used for opium cutting and so on, she could imagine a lovely mobile. It would be quite the conversation piece. “I’ll tell you what.” She reached into her bag and handed him a card. “If you don’t sell this stuff, give me a call. I might be interested.”
    â€œReally? You don’t look the type.”
    â€œWhat type? A collector or an opium smoker?” she joked.
    â€œNeither,” he said.
    â€œWell, I’m not. But I like to repurpose things. I’m into crafts. I will take this box of doilies.”
    Josh rubbed his nose and he sniffed. He took the card and her money. “My allergies are so bad when I come back here,” he grumbled.
    Allergies, my ass, Cora thought.
    â€œI better go,” she said. “It’s getting late. You have my card.”
    She carried her box to the front door and opened it to find a frantic woman rushing up the path.
    â€œWhat you doing?” she screamed