PW02 - Bidding on Death (2 page)

I was baffled. “What is where?” I wanted to know.

Julia pointed toward the front. “Those tables up there will have the most valuable and desirable stuff, according to the auctioneer’s judgment. Along the sides, less choice but still good. Out there on the outside line, it’s anything goes. Usually junk, but sometimes hidden treasure lurks. We’ll need to look things over. Remember, once you’ve bought something, it’s too late to notice any damage, it’s yours.”
She put Beau on a down-stay beside our folding chairs and we went to scope out the merchandise.

I headed straight for the front table, wanting to see
the best of th
e selection. I took a spot at
the table beside a petite blonde and was surprised into exclamation. “Why, this is all old stuff!”

The blonde laughed out loud. “It’s not old,” she assured me, “it’s vintage.”

“Hey, Amy,” Julia said to the blonde. “You’re talking to a lady who thinks ‘vintage’ means ‘the year of the harvest’.”

“Oh, right,” Amy said, “you’re Mrs. Rayburn, right? From the winery? I’m Amy Withers.”
Amy looked like a liv
ing embodiment
of the mischievous elf in the Kingdom of Qu’aot adventure games. (I write their manuals.)

“Pleased to meet you, Amy,” I told her. “And
please, it’s Cissy - and
I’m not completely wine-centric. I know that in the vernacular, ‘vintage’ is a euphemism for old.”

“Not exactly,” Amy said. “To be more accurate, something gets less valuable as it gets older – until it passes a certain point and then it starts becoming more valuable. That’s when it’s vintage.”

“Seriously?” I asked. I pointed to a set of green glasses. “I mean, look at those. I got a set of those at the base thrift store when Jimmy and I were first married, they were a nickel apiece.”

Amy eyed the glasses respectfully. “Colonial Knife and Fork. You didn’t happen to keep them, did you?”

“Are you kidding? I had kids! They’re all gone now. But I got them because they were cheap.”

“No disrespect, Mrs. Rayburn, but how long ago was that?”

“Oh.” Now I got it. “That was thirty years ago.”

“You see? Then they were just old. Now they’re vintage. You watch and see what those go for. It will be more than a nickel apiece.”

I eyed the selection disparagingly. “Couldn’t they at least wash them?”

“That’s why I told you to dress down,” Julia explained. “The auctioneers have to haul everything out of the house and sort and display it. They don’t have time to get it all clean and shiny. Some of this stuff has been in an attic or cellar for decades.”

“In the attic quietly becoming vintage,” Amy said.  She
moved around the table, muttering arcana. “Autumn Leaf. American Sweetheart. Akro Agate. Roseville Clemantis.” We were joined at the table by Rose and her yapping purse. Amy immediately fell silent.

I moved on to the side tables, taking note of a handsome old mantle clock, and then outside to the boxes on the ground. Julia was there, consulting with Bob. Bob was resplendent in bib overalls. Did I mention that Bob was a retired corporate executive? He looked like he was auditioning for a little theater Hee-Haw. They seemed to be negotiating who got to spend what amount of money. I waved at them and walked the line of boxes. Kitchenware. Linens. Paperbacks. Might be something there.

Over by the willow tree, I saw Luther Dawson lounging in a deck chair and went to joi
n him. He waved. “Hey there, Miz
Rayburn, found any dead bodies lately?” Luther is an investigator for the sheriff’s department. His query was a standard greeting.

“Come on, Luther, it was one body and that was two years ago. It’s not like I make a habit of it.”

Luther gestured at the auction crowd. “You looking to buy anything in particular?”

“No, I’m just keeping Julia company and avoiding the harvest. How about you?”

“Just keeping an eye on things. My grandma’s estate, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. How’s she doing?” Without intending to, my voice had taken on a ‘poor dear’ tone – ‘assisted living’ conjured up images of the frail and the infirm.

But Luther chuckled. “She’s happy as a pig in sh-slop. Grandpa died a long time ago, you know, and living out in the country gets pretty tedious when you’re all by yourself and getting on.
I stopped by when I could, but most of the family has moved away.
Grandma had been talking about selling out and moving for years and she finally did it.
The place she’s at has little condos for the ‘active elderly’, and when she gets to where she needs help, she’s guar
anteed a spot in their advanced
care facility. Last time I was up to see her, she barely had time to visit with me. Water aerobics in the morning and golf in the afternoon, with bridge or bingo in the evening. Grandma playing golf! That tickles me.”

We both looked up at the sound of PA noises coming from the tent. “Looks like they’re getting ready to start,” I said, and headed back to my seat.

I found Amy in the seat beside the seat I’d snagged and settled in between her and Julia.

Up at the podium,
portly
Amos Lundgren spoke into the microphone. “Let’s get started, folks. First we’ll go over the terms and conditions…”

He proceeded to read through the auction rules and cautions that were already printed on our bidder cards. Julia leaned over me to address Amy. “Have you found another job yet, dear?” To me, she added, “Amy is our church organist. She worked at the hardware store before it went out of business.”

Amy shook her head. “I’m not looking for a job. I’m self-employed now.”

“Doing what?” Julia asked.

“This,” Amy said, with a comprehensive gesture around the tent.

“This?” I asked.

“I buy and sell,” Amy explained. “Buy locally at auctions, estate and yard sales, and then resell on eBuy.”

“Resell on what?” Julia asked.

“EBuy. It’s an online auction site. It’s basically a venue to bring buyers and sellers together.”

I was intrigued. “How does it work?”

“You have something to sell, you make an auction listing.
People bid on it, and the highest
bidder pays you and you send them the merchandise. It’s a lot of fun and gives you a global market. Last week I shipped a Howdy Doody doll to Italy.”

“Huh!” I was going to have to look into this business.

Julia had more questions, but Amos was done reading terms and conditions and the first item went up for auction. I sat back to watch the show. There was nothing here I felt passionate about buying, so for me it was a spectator sport.

Amy did a lot of buying. Old stuff that I’m sure she’d call vintage. The other major buyer was Rose, and frequently she and Amy were in direct competition for the same items.
When the green glasses went to Rose for fifty bucks, Amy sat back with a scowl. “That woman is my nemesis,”
she grumbled
.
“If she weren’t here, I’d be getting this stuff at half these prices.”

“What does she do with it all?” I asked. “Does she have a store?”

“She’s another eBuyer,” Amy explained. “This was pretty much virgin territory for me before she got into the game. Plenty of items that are considered old and unfashionable out here are seen as vintage and kitschy in New York and Los Angeles. It was a happy hunting grounds before Rose showed up.”

“Tough luck,” I said. “But it is an auction after all.”

“I know,” Amy admitted, “but look at this.” She gestured toward the front, where a carnival glass bowl was undergoing a brisk bidding war. When the gav
el fell, it went to Rose
for $125.

“Wow.” I said.

“She’s not going to get that on eBuy,” Amy said. “Oh, she’ll list it, but it won’t sell, not with the price she puts on it.”

“
A
ren’t some people here just collecting
, though
? They can pay as much as they want.”

“But they aren’t taking a tax write-off for it as merchandise,” Amy said. “Oh, I don’t know that’s what Rose is doing, but she must write off merchandise purchase
s
, and th
en if it doesn’t sell,
oh well, it’s hers. And I know she’s got a reseller tax ID
so she doesn’t pay sales tax on
her auction purchases.”

Then she gave herself a little shake. “Oh, don’t listen to me,” she said. “I’m just resenting the competition.”

“Did she just move here?” I asked.

“No, she just retired,” Amy explained.

Julia chimed in. “Come on, Cissy, you remember Rose.”

“I do?”

“S
ure, she was in the County Administrator
’s office just about forever. Of course, she dressed for the office and wore makeup back then, and wasn’t hauling Paco around with her everywhere.”

With an effort of memory, I managed to connect
Amy’s nemesis with the
stubbornly efficient woman behind the counter at the county administration building. Of course, with Julia’s dress down warning, I was wearing blue jeans and
one of my numerous Kingdom of Q
u
’
aot teeshirts; I wondered if anyone who’d met me at our holiday open house at the winery would recognize me today.

Julia brought the subject back to the online auctions. I was surprised at such an interest from my tech-shy friend, but turns out she collects McCoy cookie jars. (Huh! I’d seen those jars in her kitchen countless times, but never realized it was officially a collection.) There were a few rarities she was still looking for,
but was leery about buying sight
unseen from someone she’d never met in person.

Amy explained some complicated process about ‘feedback’ which supposedly kept sellers on the straight and narrow, lest they garner enough negative feedback to get them booted off the site.
It sounded chancy to me.

At first
it was inter
esting to listen to
the two of them have a detailed conversation while at the same time watch
ing
the front of the tent for interesting items coming up
for bid. But after a period
of being leaned into and talked over, I decided to investigate the BBQ Hut. Excusing myself, I eased out of the row of chairs and wandered out of the tent.

It was nearing noon now, and other people had the same idea. I found myself in line behind Rose and Paco.
I don’t dislike small dogs (though I don’t see much point in them, frankly), but purse dogs annoy me.
The little dog eyed me with disfavor and growled deep in his throat. I wondered if I could befriend him. “Hi, there!” I told Rose’s purse in the chirpy voice I use when I talk to our four-legged friends.
“Aren’t you handsome?”

Rose half-turned and said in a goopy voice, “He thinks he’s so fierce.”

I cautiously extended my hand. “Does he bite?”

“Sometimes,” Rose admitted.

I withdrew my hand. “Who’s your trainer?” I asked. There are only two in Queen Anne County.

“Oh, we don’t need a trainer,” Rose said, shaking her purse like a cradle. “He hasn’t gone in the house since he was a puppy.”

I bit back a response. Too many ignorant dog owners, not enough time. Canine bad behavior means they have negligent owners, and here was a perfect example. There are other kinds of training than housebreaking, and biting dogs can become non-biting dogs with work and patience. But did I want to get into it on a beautiful fall day with
a woman I don’t even know? I did
not.
So we just had a general ‘aren’t dogs great?’ conversation while waiting in line.

I got my pulled pork and fries, and wandered the yard for a while
. There was a separate auction line going on out by the barn. This was the manly stuff, the farm equipment, tools, yard implements, and of course the guns. I saw quite a few familiar faces in addition to Bob.

Gene
Abernathy for one. He never struck me as the farm type, but after a moment I realized he was schmoozing the crowd. Of course, he was up
for reelection next year. Gene
represented my district on the Board of S
upervisors. It’s a part-time job, and I was always amazed at the people willing to take the nominal pay for the amount of work involved. Better him than me.

Drat, he saw me! Gene
eased through the crowd to sidle up beside me and give me a sideways hug, almost causing me to spill my fries.
He was probably the only man within twenty miles wearing a suit on a Saturday.

“How’s the prettiest winemaker in the county?” he asked.
(I was the only female winemaker in the county, if you count my help with Jack’s work as ‘winemaking’, which Jack probably wouldn’t.)

I allowed Gene
to engage in some heavy-handed b
anter
.
Even though his notions of ga
llantry are a bit grating, Gene
and I are allies of a sort. His role in the county is as our local tycoon, the main mover and shaker in construction and development. He is also
the member of the Board of Supervisors who considers it his mission to drag Queen Anne along with the rest of the nation into the 21
st
Century, which he keeps reminding us all, is ‘right around the corner.’ That means better roads, better schools, and better infrastructure. As a tech junkie, I was in his corner.