The Cane Mutiny by Tamar Myers Page A

handle is vegetable ivory, which really isn’t ivory, but made from palm nuts. This cane comes from the Philippines and was commissioned by aveterinarian. Inside the shaft is a long, sharp piece of metal, like a large needle. He used it to poke the stomachs of domestic water buffalo to relieve them of excess gas.”
    â€œYou don’t say.” I found it both gross and engrossing.
    â€œIt’s both gross and engrossing.”
    I clapped a hand to the back of my head. I still had hair, but it wasn’t doing a very good job of covering my mind. Maybe I should consider converting to the Amish way of life. My soul could use a dollop of gentleness, and the bonnet might help protect my meager mind from rearguard readers.
    â€œIs everything all right, Ms. Timberlake?”
    â€œEverything’s peachy.” I concentrated on a new cane. It had a straight silver handle that was entwined by silver vines that terminated in fleur-delis, which were surmounted by a vermeil lioness’s head. The lioness’s tongue was hanging out, and her eyes were closed. The tongue appeared to be carved from a pink sapphire of exceptional clarity. Good pink sapphire can demand a hefty price, but even so, the price was a staggering twenty big ones.
    â€œI know that twenty thousand might seem like a lot to pay for a cane, but this one has a fascinating provenance. The story is that this walkingstick belonged to the executioner who cut the head off Marie Antoinette. The lioness represents Marie, and the closed eyes and protruding tongue portray death. The sapphire used for the tongue was supposedly plucked from Her Majesty’s crown. The small amount of gold to gilt the silver came from one of the dead queen’s teeth. I am still working on gathering the physical evidence to support this claim, but the word of mouth comes from a very dependable mouth.” Crystal bells tinkled as she laughed.
    â€œWow, you really have some interesting things.”
    â€œMs. Timberlake—do you mind if I call you Abby?” For the first time I detected a slight British accent.
    â€œI insist.”
    â€œWell then, Abby, is there one cane in particular I can show you?”
    I steeled myself for the moment of truth. “Ms. Wou-ki, I’m not here to buy anything—not today, at least. You see, I own the Den of Antiquity, just down the street.”
    Her eyes brightened. “Lovely! I’ve been in your shop several times.”
    â€œYou have?” I’m not claiming to remember every face that walks through my door, but encountering a woman as classy and beautiful as Hermione is not an everyday occurrence.
    â€œYour assistant, C.J., and I have become quite good friends. Did you know she speaks perfect Mandarin?”
    â€œActually, I did know that. She speaks seventeen languages, in fact. Do you speak Mandarin as well?”
    â€œAbby, do you have time for a cup of tea?”
    Did I ever! Skipping out on my lunch entrée had been a bad idea. If possible, I’d load that tea up with milk and sugar.
    â€œWith biscuits, of course. Cookies to you, I guess.”
    â€œCall them anything you want,” I said gaily. “They all go down the same.”
    â€œIndeed. Please, this way.”
    She ushered over me to a pair of heavy red velvet drapes trimmed with gold tassels. Pushing them aside, she opened a door and stepped through into the most unusual storeroom I’d ever seen. While the back half appeared to be fairly typical of an inventory storage area, the front half had been roped off and, with the use of lacquered Chinese screens, in simple black and red geometric designs, turned into a cozy, albeit exotic room. Deeply carved rosewood divans upholstered in yellow silk damask were arranged around a mother-of-pearl inlay coffee table that was centered on a Kazakh rug that was predominatelybottle green. The somewhat odd juxtaposition of cultures and colors worked beautifully. I actually