The Wrong Stuff by Sharon Fiffer Read Free Book Online

for felting, shoeboxes full of old snapshots of someone’s California vacations, and two laundry bags full of silk flowers that she thought Tim might be able to use for decorative somethings. Since she had moved these piles in from the garage in order to sort them into the boxes that she had also dragged in and marked, the dining room was already more impassable than it had been that morning when Charley and Nick had pointed out the errant permission slip on the table.
    When her cell phone began playing “Jingle Bells”—Nick must have been at the tone menu again—she forgot how much she hated the device and lunged for it gratefully. Anything to focus on other than these piles of…these piles.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œWhoa, girlfriend, you actually sound like someone who answers a cell phone, instead of searching for it in your purse until it stops ringing.”
    â€œTimmy, do you ever use fake flowers?”
    â€œI hot glued them to a foam-core sandwich board once for a Halloween costume,” said Tim.
    â€œSo I should put them in the ‘Almost Trash’ pile, maybe?” Jane asked, more to herself than Tim.
    â€œI was going as a garden plot,” said Tim. “It was pretty cool.”
    â€œSo you do want them?”
    â€œWant what?”
    â€œNever mind,” Jane said. She looked at the mounds of stuff in front of her and made her decision. “I thought we might go on a road trip bright and early tomorrow.”
    â€œThe Waukesha auction?” Tim asked.
    â€œNope, Michigan. Campbell and LaSalle.”
    Tim laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You don’t have any furniture good enough for Campbell and LaSalle.”
    Was she wearing a “kick me” sign?
    â€œTim Lowry, you know I don’t have the money or the truck to get big pieces of good furniture, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what they are or that I don’t recognize quality. It doesn’t mean I’m small time or…” Jane stopped. Of course she wanted to accept Claire Oh’s case. She needed to take control of her life again. She took a deep breath, mustering her dignity and calling on the ghost of her former professional self for help.
    â€œTim, Detective Oh asked for help on a case, and I said yes. I mean I’ve decided to say yes. And since I also said yes to being your partner, you can be my partner this weekend. You can set us up at Campbell and LaSalle, can’t you?”
    â€œOf course I can. I’ve been going there for years,” said Tim. “I didn’t mean to imply anything about…it’s just like you said, that you don’t have the big cash flow or the truck for a Campbell and LaSalle job. No need for the thin skin.”
    This was great. Jane had been a detective on her first real case for only a few minutes, and she already had smart-ass Tim apologizing. She made a mental note to get business cards printed as soon as possible.
    Jane filled Tim in on her conversation with Claire Oh. She had barely begun her description of the Westman chest or the alleged Westman chest, when Tim stopped her.
    â€œHorace Cutler, yeah, I heard all about that. So that’s who killed him? Wow!”
    â€œTim, don’t be ridiculous. Claire Oh did not murder Horace Cutler,” said Jane.
    â€œOkay, you’re right. Forgot for a minute that you’re Jane Wheel, girl detective. But let me ask you this. If you read what happened in the paper, big-deal antique furniture forgery catfight and one cat ends up dead with the other one kneeling over him, you’d pretty much take it as fact, yes?”
    â€œWell…”
    â€œBut because this is Bruce Oh’s wife, you have some weird karmic debt that you’re paying off to him?”
    â€œBruce Oh is a quiet, intelligent man, who is wise and thoughtful and clever without having to show off about it by spouting song lyrics and puns, like some people I