Death of a Rug Lord by Tamar Myers

mental slap. I was there on an unofficial investigation, not to do a make-over. Still, it was nice to see that when he picked up a carpet, it was with fingers that sported clean, well-trimmed nails.
    â€œYou’ve got good taste, ma’am. These here are the top of the line. They are one hundred percent wool, with more stitches per inch than any of the others. Feel how thick the pile is.”
    â€œIt does feel very good, but with such thick pile, how can the weaver cram in more stitches? They are handmade, aren’t they?”
    â€œOh, no ma’am. Like I said, these are all top of the line. You don’t want them handmade rugs. The stitches in those things tend to be crooked and the colors are uneven.” He lowered his voice. “Besides, those carpets are made by pheasants in bare feet and some of them smell.”
    â€œWhat smells? The barefoot pheasants , their feet, or the carpets?”
    â€œThe carpets—although maybe some of them pheasants smell too; they don’t have a lot of water in the desert.” He chuckled, no doubt proud of his worldly knowledge. “I reckon that’s why they call it that.”
    â€œI bet you’re right. I hadn’t really thought of that. Anyway, doesn’t Pasha’s Palace sell any handmade carpets?”
    â€œNo, ma’am. Not as long as I’ve been here.”
    â€œAnd how long is that?”
    â€œTwo weeks, ma’am.”
    â€œDo you sell any silk carpets?”
    â€œWe had one; somebody bought it yesterday. Most of what we have are the synthetics. They’re cheaper than the wool, and most folks think they wear better, but that’s because they’ve listened to the wrong salesman’s hype. Now me, I actually took a course on Oriental carpets. I’m not saying I’m an expert or anything, but I do know me a thing or two.”
    â€œA course? At the College of Charleston?”
    Paul—at least according to his name badge—reddened slightly. “I watched a DVD in the break room. But it’s like three hours long. If you make it all the way through, they start you on the fast track to management.”
    â€œWell, good for you. That’s what we need in this country: more motivated young people like you.” I shut my mouth quickly before any of the sarcasm could drip out and possibly ruin a decent wool rug.
    Although poor Paul, bless his heart, did his darnedest to sell me a mass produced rug, and even excused himself twice to speak to the manager (whereupon the prices plummeted to an embarrassingly low level), I just wasn’t in the market. But he showed me a broad selection, and what I learned from the experience was that Pasha’s Palace was not only seriously undercutting the home improvement stores, but making a killing while they were at it. It’s not every customer who will ask for a discount, or for that matter who will stick around long enough to be offered one.
    Â 
    When I finally arrived at the Den of Antiquity, I found Wynnell and Cheng at each other’s throats. Literally.
    â€œWhat on earth are you doing?” I demanded. I was not in a mood to play arbitress to two alpha women, both half again as large as me.
    â€œC.J. was trying on this Victorian garnet necklace from the jewelry case, but it got caught in her hair.”
    â€œMy name is Cheng .”
    â€œThat explains why Wynnell’s hands are around your throat, Cheng. Why do you appear to be strangling her?”
    â€œBecause Wynnell was trying on this gold locket and the chain got caught in her unibrow. When I finally got that loose and tried to undo the clasp, my ring got caught in her hair.”
    â€œIt’s not a unibrow,” Wynnell growled.
    â€œLadies, this is not a jewelry emporium. And where are the customers?”
    â€œWe don’t have any, Abby. C.J.—I mean, Cheng—hung the closed sign on the door so she could talk to your brother.”
    â€œYou what