A Killer Collection by J. B. Stanley Read Free Book Online

burn
their wares. They often cut pine slabs from their own yards to feed the kiln's flames.
    The potteries Clara drove by grew
more and more spread out as they left the heart of Seagrove behind them. Some,
like Jugtown Pottery, were down small lanes slightly off the beaten path, but
these remote locations never hindered their success. For decades, hundreds of
buyers and apprentices alike had traveled to seek the wares and knowledge of
the family of potters who’d been in the same spot for generations.
    Thin forests slowly gave way to
pastures. Cows mingled lazily beneath the shade of ancient oak trees or slumped
near the banks of small streams, searching for any available refuge from the
heat. Both women were quiet in the car, conscious of the fact that they had
both seen George-Bradley alive and well a few hours ago and now, in the space
of a few heartbeats, he was dead.
    "I feel sorry for him,"
Molly said, breaking the silence.
    "Why?"
    "Well, it seems to me that he
was, you know, probably pretty lonely. And yes, one might say he deserved it
for being a first-class jerk to most people, but is anyone going to miss him
now that he's gone?"
    Her mother shook her head. "I
don't think so. That rude behavior at the kiln opening was so typical of George
Bradley. He was ungentlemanly and condescending to anyone he thought was a
class below him. He even patronized the potters. Despite his behavior, he felt
that his money and his incredible collection earned him a place of honor in
everyone's eyes. Maybe he has family who will grieve, but I don’t know a single
person who will."
    "Yet everyone knows his name.
All of Randolph County knew who he was and everyone in the pottery circle did
too. But no one will care. See, it's kind of sad."
    "They'll care about his
pottery, that's for sure. All the sharks will be circling around poor Bunny.
People would kill to get their hands on George-Bradley's collection."
    "And she hated it all, right?
So won't she want to sell it?"
    "You never know. She might
want to hang onto the most valuable pieces for a while until the demand makes
them worth even more money. She might want to give the whole collection to a
museum. Then again, she might want to throw every piece against the wall. I
don't know Bunny well. Like I said, she went her way and George-Bradley went
his. Where that pottery is going to end up is a riddle I would love to be able
to answer."
    "Listen, Ma. I feel like
there's something not quite right about his death. I didn't think to tell you
this before, but he was acting really weird toward the end of the...the
grabbing session." Molly described what she had witnessed behind the barn.
    "Rubbing his stomach?"
Clara was clearly perplexed. "I've heard of clutching your left arm during
a heart attack, but this is a new one."
    "Why would he go behind the
barn to unbutton his shirt in the middle of a kiln opening? And why was he so
out of it? It was like ... I don't know, like he was drugged." The vision
of George-Bradley's confused face nagged at her.
    Clara pursed her lips. "Well,
there certainly were plenty of people there who'd like to see him dead. Anyone
who collects has to fight him off at every sale, but if it wasn't an accident,
the police will know soon enough," she declared with finality.
    "Maybe," Molly replied.
Then because she didn't think her mother was taking her at all seriously, she
added, "Or maybe I will. Knowing the complete truth is necessary if I want
to write a killer article. George-Bradley is about to become more famous than
he was before."
     
    ~~~~~
     
    Molly drove up to her little house feeling completely
spent. Her cool, cozy rooms had never seemed so inviting. She sank down on her
couch with a Diet Coke and some catalogues from her mail pile. Within seconds,
a tan tabby hopped on her lap and began ‘making biscuits’ as Molly like to call
it by kneading her stomach with the claws of his front paws.
    "Ow! Griffin! Here, have a
nice pile of junk mail to sit on