Antiques Disposal by Barbara Allan Read Free Book Online

unit, where soon we were all standing while Mother fished around in a jacket pocket for the padlock key.
    Peggy Sue, having second thoughts, asked, “These boxes won’t get my car dirty, will they? I try to keep the Escalade clean, you know.”
    â€œShould be fine,” I lied. “Of course, there may be a chocolate sprinkle or two.”
    Sis frowned. “What?”
    I gave her a quick summary of Mother’s mouse dropping trick, and if I’d thought that would disgust her, I was wrong.
    â€œIngenious,” Peggy Sue said admiringly. “The old girl’s got a head on her shoulders. Have to give her that.”
    That head was wagging side to side, as Mother was having trouble with the lock; but finally she gave it a good jiggle, and it snapped open.
    I grasped the door handle, pulling it up, revealing darkness; the ground fog swirled in as if seeking sanctuary from the night.
    Mother, poised for action, switched on her flashlight (retrieved from her jacket), aiming its beam inside, light-sabering it around.
    We stood and stared.
    â€œEmpty,” Mother murmured.
    Sis asked, “Are you sure this is the right unit?”
    I stepped back, checked the metal number nailed to the outside. “Number seven. This is it.”
    Mother had gone on in. “I don’t understand,” she exclaimed in disbelief. “It was half full when we left this morning!”
    Peggy Sue pointed. “Looks like a rolled-up rug in the corner. Maybe it’s a valuable Oriental.”
    I took the flashlight from a befuddled Mother, and went deeper, for a closer look.
    â€œIt’s not a rug,” I said after a moment.
    â€œWhat is it?” Mother asked.
    â€œUh ... it’s your friend Big Jim Bob.”
    â€œWhatever is he doing in there?”
    â€œNot much.”
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    A Trash ‘n’ Treasures Tip
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    Before an auction at a storage facility, rules and regulations will be provided to prospective bidders. Such conditions vary with each site, so be sure you understand them before bidding—if you are required to clean up the unit after you’ve removed its contents, and fail to do so, the cleaning bill you receive may be no bargain.

Chapter Three
    Calling All Units!
    I handed Mother my cell phone so she could be the one to notify the police, knowing how much making a call like that means to her. And she was very businesslike about it, though unfortunately that included using the fake British accent she sometimes affected to sound more important.
    â€œVivian Borne here,” she said crisply, chin up. “There appears to have been a murder at the Lucky Four Leaf Clover Storage facility. River Road. Mind the fog.”
    I couldn’t make out the dispatcher’s response, but judging by Mother’s reply—“My dear, I’m always ‘for real’ ”—you can extrapolate it for yourself.
    I was tending to Peggy Sue, who had actually passed out or fainted or anyway melted into a human puddle, after I’d announced Big Jim Bob’s presence (and lack of a pulse).
    I was doing my best to lift Sis up off the gravel when the flutter of eyelids indicated she’d returned to consciousness. I helped her up, then walked her to the Caddie, and eased her into the front passenger’s seat, reclining it for more comfort.
    â€œPlease,” she murmured.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œPlease take me home.”
    It was fairly pitiful. Did all the older women in my family have to be so childlike? When I was the most mature one around, we definitely had problems.
    â€œWe can’t leave,” I told her. “Not until the police arrive. And then there’ll be questions.”
    â€œBut I don’t want to get involved!”
    â€œYou are involved,” I said. “You’re a witness.”
    â€œI didn’t see that man get killed!”
    â€œNo, but you were here when I discovered the body.” Then I added,