Read Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery Online

Authors: Elaine Flinn

Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery (4 page)

BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
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Daria winked. “Ah, luck. Don’t count on it.”
Chapter 3
 
MOLLY FINALLY got Emma off to bed after she promised to let her have first look at the Blue Moon catalog. “Okay. Enough drooling. This stuff is too rich for us. We don’t have the clientele who’d want this kind of merch, or the money.”
Emma sighed. “Too bad. They really have some sweet stuff.”
“Sweet?” Molly laughed as she hugged her. “Is that another new
in
word these days?”
“Michelle and I are trying to stay on top of the lingo. Some of it is pretty stupid, but it’s an occupational hazard of being a pre-teen.”
Molly moved down the steps to the shop at a snail’s pace. It had been a long day, and she was beginning to feel a fair measure of fatigue. Weekends in Carmel were always busy. Tourists poured in like salt spilling from a broken container. Minding the shop alone on a Saturday during tourist season was challenge enough. Add to that the thefts, and then the scene with the Jessops. Molly wasn’t in the mood to pore over an auction catalog that would most likely prove to be a waste of time.
Turning on the desk lamp, she spent the next fifteen minutes looking for possible pieces that would work in the tasting room. She shook her head in dismay. The man must be nuts, or wealthier than she’d thought. The low estimates on most of the lots were way past a “make-up gift.” But, she thought, what price guilt?
Only three pieces seemed plausible for the tasting room. One was a good-sized pub-style bar and the other two were tall, Country French style, matching display cabinets. If these were the lots Jessop was interested in, and if by some miracle they took them for mid-estimate, they were talking about thirty-four grand, not counting the buyer’s premium of fifteen percent. Molly was surprised the fifteen percent the auction house tacked on as their fee was so low. Most auction houses now were charging up to twenty-percent premiums on each lot sold. Well, there was only one way to find out, and that was to make the call. Jessop picked up on the second ring.
“Are you thinking about the pub-style bar and the two French cabinets?” Molly asked.
“Ah, you are good. I underestimated you, didn’t I?” Jessop laughed. When Molly didn’t reply, he quickly said, “I won’t make that mistake again. Okay, got a pencil ready? Here are my bids.”
“Wait,” Molly said. Hoping to sound gracious, but not rolling over, she put a lilt in her voice. “Let’s just see if I deserve the compliment. You’ll go mid-estimate, right? The pub is listed at fifteen to twenty-five thousand. The display cabinets are being sold individually, and at six to eight thousand each.”
Jessop’s laugh was so loud, Molly had to pull the phone away from her ear. “Give the lady the brass ring. Right again. Think we’ve got a chance?”
“Auctions are a crapshoot, Todd. Depends on the crowd, depends on the desire. I’ll do the best I can. Are we firm on your bids, or do you want to add a little wiggle room?”
“No. Stick to the middle.”
“Okay. Just one thing. I have no idea what condition these pieces are in. Photos can hide a million sins. I’m not evcn sure of the age on any of the pieces, or if the pub is a marriage.”
“Marriage?” Todd asked. “What the hell is that?”
“Sorry. That means two different pieces of furniture have been joined as one. Say, for instance, a footed base belonging to an Edwardian chest added to a Regency chest whose base was either damaged or missing. Different periods, but the wood is the same, so it’s hard to tell unless you can physically examine the piece. The other problem with furniture is the risk of infestation, heat blisters a photo won’t show, repairs, and replaced hardware. What I’m saying is, without seeing them in person, I wouldn’t put too much stock in what the catalog says. Not that the auction house would knowingly misrepresent anything; it’s just that mistakes can happen. As long as you’re willing to take the chance, I’ll bid for you. Something else you need to know: My standard fee for client bidding at auction is five percent of the total hammer prices.”
“I’ll take those chances, and your fee is fair,” he said.
Molly wished she had thought to record the conversation just in case, but it was too late to worry about that now. “Okay. I’ll fax our intentions right away. I’ve never dealt with this house, so I don’t know if we’re too late to get into the phone bidding queue. Keep in mind there will be a fifteen percent buyer’s premium on the hammer price, and then the shipping costs as well.”
“I understand. I’ve got out-of-town meetings most of Monday, so I won’t be able to get back to you until later in the day. Hope you’ll have good news for me.”
“Oh, wait. You’ve got to contact the auction house and set up payment information. They’ll want a credit card, or a bank letter if you plan to use a personal check. Also that you’re authorizing me to bid on your behalf. They can suggest a shipper as well.”
“No problem. I’ll have my assistant handle all that first thing Monday morning.”
Molly laughed. “I don’t think she’d like getting up before dawn. It would be better if you faxed them your information tonight.”
When Jessop didn’t answer, Molly said, “Todd? You still there?”
“Yes, yes...I was making a note to myself. I’ll take care of it.”
Molly hung up, rubbed her eyes, and wondered if she was out of her mind. Bidding blind was for idiots, and no matter what Jessop agreed to, she had a bad feeling about this. But then, what could really go wrong? The chances of them taking even one of the lots was remote. The three lots he wanted were up early in the sale. That meant she’d have to be ready by five A.M. on Monday. She turned on the computer, pulled up a fax form, introduced herself and the client on whose behalf she would be bidding, listed the lot items and the rest of the pertinent information, then sent the puppy off.
Tempted to crawl up the stairs, Molly took each step slowly. She thought about the pieces Jessop wanted. The pub was too English-looking and way too big. With a mid-estimate of twenty thousand, it would be a waste of money and look like a stepchild. Or worse, something they’d grabbed out of desperation that reeked of bad taste. She paused on the last step. That could kill her reputation in an instant. Besides, the shipping costs for the twelve-foot enclosed setup would be enormous. She could always back out of the bidding on the pub before it reached mid-estimate. Jessop wouldn’t know. Worst case scenario, if he decided to follow the auction on-line, she could always claim a misunderstanding. But then, would he even do that?
And tle low estimate of six thousand each for the cabinets was just as crazy. But then, Molly reminded herself, newly rich tycoons, at least those she’d had as clients, frequently assumed that if something cost a bundle, it had to be quality. As Max Roman often said, “You gotta hurt them, or they won’t think it’s worth having.”
 
Molly awoke the next morning to the sound of rain pounding against the French doors. It was the first of June, but Carmel’s weather paid little heed to the calendar. Rain, fog, and overcast skies were normal companions until August, when summer finally arrived. And then it was glorious until early October. Molly pitied the tourists who arrived in shorts in July. Sunny California was a myth. The state had so many different micro-climates, it was almost impossible to standardize a season.
She opened her eyes and looked at the clock on the night table. It was six A.M. She had another hour before her alarm was to go off. It was tempting to just snuggle deeper into the down comforter and to close her eyes, but once awake, she was done for. At the foot of the bed, two of Tiger’s offspring. Killer and Toastie, were cuddled together. She nudged them with her toe and smiled as they unwound themselves, gave her annoyed looks, then promptly closed their eyes and ignored her. Molly was still trying to adjust to having three cats in her life. But she hadn’t the heart to deny Emma’s plea to keep two kittens from Tiger’s litter. Randall and Daria had taken the other two, and now it seemed they were all bound by even more than a close friendship.
In the small kitchen off the living room, Molly pulled a package of croissants from the freezer, turned on the oven, set them inside, then hit the start button on the coffeemaker. After talking to Todd Jessop last night, she’d noticed several pages had arrived on the fax. The price sheets she’d been waiting for from Max for the new merch he’d sent down from the City had finally arrived. If the rain kept shop traffic low today, she might be able to get some of the new smalls tagged and onto the floor. And if Emma had finished her homework, she could help out for an hour or two. The new shipments were in the garage, and it would be impossible to be in two places at once.
Emma was itching to get into the boxes of smalls. Molly smiled. What a natural Emma had become. She’d taken to the antiques trade almost immediately. Her gift for near-instant recall had produced a walking encyclopedia. Not complete yet, naturally, but with enough knowledge to keep Molly on her toes. Emma would need years of hands-on experience, but she was acquiring enough lingo, facts, and trivia to sit down and talk the talk with seasoned dealers. Give her a few more years, and she could hold her own with the best.
 
Molly set a new record for opening on time. Today marked the sixth day in a row she’d unlocked the door to Treasures exactly at ten A.M. sharp. She was filled with a sense of power and euphoria. Emma applauded from the stairs. “Don’t forget to call Mrs. Jessop,” she said. Molly waved a salute, opened the door with a flourish, and filled her lungs once again with the sweet scent of rain-washed air. She’d kept the window of the El Camino pickup truck open all the way to the Carmel Mission for Mass earlier until Emma begged her to roll it up.
“There’s just something about the air here after it rains,” Molly said.
Emma pretended to shiver. “Maybe it’s the zillions of pine trees? I don’t really care. I just want to live here forever.”
Molly thought about Emma’s comment as she turned on the small CD player in the storage room and searched for the pine-scented air freshener. “Out of the mouths of babes” came immediately to mind. Could it only be three years, she wondered, since she’d left New York in shame and brokenhearted? So much had happened since then, it fairly made her head spin just to think about it. Was it simply fate that had plopped her into three murder investigations in a village that hadn’t experienced a homicide in years? And what were the odds of her estranged sister showing up after so many years, and with a niece she didn’t know existed? If this was her karma, then she was at least thankful for the good fortune to meet so many wonderful people who now made her life so full. Emma was right, she mused. She just wanted to live here forever, too.
At her desk, she called Carla Jessop to ask if she still wanted to meet this evening. When the recorder came on, Molly left a message. As she hung up, Randall walked in. “I’m going over to Tosca’s. You want me to bring you back something?” he asked.
“No. I had croissants earlier. But thanks. I didn’t see you at Mass this morning.”
“Had a law enforcement meeting in Salinas. I stopped at St. Joseph’s in Spreckels on my way back.” Randall leaned against the door frame and grinned. “You keeping tabs on me now?”
“In your dreams. Emma was looking for you. She’s having trouble with her new cell phone. Something about texting. That’s what she called it. She thought you could help her figure it out.”
“What a way to bruise an ego. Here I thought maybe you’d missed me.”
Molly pulled out a box of sales tags from her desk, then laughed. “I think of you constantly. Feel better now?”
“Yeah. I’m buoyed with happiness. Okay, tell the squirt I’ll stop back after I’ve had my espresso fix.”
“I’ll come with you,” Emma said, as she skipped down the stairs. She waved her cell phone in the air. “This dumb thing is goofing up again. Michelle and I were in the middle of an important conversation and it went nuts on me.” Linking her arm with Randall’s, she said to Molly, “Michelle said to tell you that her mother will stop by after lunch.”
“Great. I tried to get her a few minutes ago. Homework done?”
“Yep. I’ll be able to help you mark the new merch now. Okay if I go with the chief first?”
“Be my guest. He seems to need attention today.”
Molly stepped outside for a moment. Carmel’s streets were unusually quiet for Sunday. The typically crowded sidewalks were actually passable, and traffic seemed light. No doubt once the sky had cleared earlier, the crisp air had lured the tourists down to Carmel Beach. She could imagine the grumbling going on in many of the shops. She couldn’t blame the tourists, though. It was a glorious day, and she, too, would prefer to be strolling on those pristine white sands than stuck in a shop. If she didn’t have to do the telephone bidding for Todd Jessop tomorrow morning, she and Emma could get back to their morning walk routine. For sure, they would begin on Tuesday.
Molly checked the fax machine to see if
Blue Moon
had sent confirmation of her intent to bid. The tray was empty. No doubt the auction office was busy and would get back to her sometime today. Auction houses worked around the clock, including weekends, when they had an auction on the horizon. Molly just hoped Todd Jessop didn’t forget to forward the payment information. And, she quickly thought, she’d better hide the catalog. She didn’t want Carla to see it. She might eyeball the same lots and ask Molly to bid for her. That marriage was volatile enough. She sure as hell didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.
BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
8.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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