The Farewell Season by Ann Herrick Read Free Book Online Page A

set and a one-quart casserole dish all in a red-dots pattern from the early thirties.
    As I totaled things up the shorter guy with the mustache said, "I can't believe these marvelous finds!"
    "Everything is so perfect for our kitchen!" the tall guy wearing vintage rimless eyeglasses exclaimed.
    I couldn't believe how quickly they'd dropped over two hundred dollars, not that I was complaining.
    As soon as they left, I was ready to head back into the house. I needed at least a quick nap before afternoon practice or I'd never make it through. I was feeling pretty good, thinking of the money I'd pulled in and how good it would be to sack out for a while. Just as I took two steps, however, another customer entered the store. He was a tall dude, black hair, blue eyes and a face so tanned and chiseled it looked as if it'd been cast in bronze.
    He nodded at me, but then immediately started poking through the box of tools near the end of the counter. It didn't look as if he needed any help, so I didn't ask. It didn't take long for him to pull a ruler out of the box.
    He opened it, looked it over, folded it up. "Hmm. It's got clear markings, folds tight, very nice condition. I'll take it."
    "That'll be seventy-five dollars."
    "Do you take credit cards?"
    "Yes sir." I took the card, ran it through the machine, which to me is practically an antique. Maybe that's why Mom insists on keeping it even though I've tried to talk her into going electronic instead. I guess the old machine fits in with the cash register and the phone, which is a replica of an 1820's wooden wall phone. I check the receipt twice to make sure I filled it out right. Once I forgot to write down what the item was and Mom had a fit.
    I asked for I.D. and checked it carefully. Trevor Rock. Huh. The name fit his sculpted looks. I saw that he was from L.A. Mom would want me to be "friendly" and ask if he'd just moved here or if he was in town for the Scandinavian Festival, but he didn't look like the kind of guy who wanted to make small talk. Instead, I said, "You want a sack?"
    "No, thanks." He started to leave, then stopped and asked, "You run this place?"
    "Me? No. It's my Mom's."
    "Mmm. Nice shop."
    "Uh, yeah. Thanks."
    "See ya."
    He turned and left. As he opened the door, I noticed a black pickup parked there. I went over and peaked out the front window. Sure enough, he got in the pickup. Huh. Was that the same guy who stopped to talk to Glynnie? Why was he still hanging around town?
    Okay. Maybe he was here for the Scandinavian Festival. Or maybe he did just move to town. Wait. What did it matter? I sold close to three hundred dollars worth of stuff in less than twenty minutes. Not bad.
    I started whistling, but my good mood was cut short when I opened the door to go back in the house. I heard piano music and Glynnie singing from "All Through the Night."
    I stormed into the living room and slammed my fist on the piano. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
     
     
    Chapter Five
     
     
    Glynnie's eyebrows flew up. "I saw the sheet music, so I assumed it was okay to play the piano." She stood up and closed the lid over the keys. "If it's too fragile, I apologize."
    For a second I froze, staring at Glynnie, confused by her response. Of course, how could she have known? "Look," I finally said, "it's not the piano. It's … it's … I'm tired. I really think you should go."
    I grabbed her elbow and propelled her out the door onto the front porch.
    "But I haven't really had a chance to interview you yet," Glynnie said, apparently unfazed by being rushed outside. "How 'bout just a few minutes?"
    "Look, I—"
    I heard loud, thumping music. I saw Jenny Lund driving down the street with Hedy riding shotgun. "Well, okay." I quickly guided Glynnie over to the porch swing. We sat down and I not-quite rested my hand on her shoulder. "I guess you could ask a few questions." I sneaked a look at Jenny's car to see if Hedy was getting an eyeful. She was. "What would you like to