Free Death of a Garage Sale Newbie by Sharon Dunn Page B

“It’s got the extra large reel, and the rod collapses in on itself so you can fit it in a small space.” Frank shook his head again. “Beth!” His feet pounded on the concrete driveway as he lumbered toward the open garage. “Beth!”
    A woman’s high-pitched voice drifted out of a window. “What?”
    Frank stomped out of the garage and stood beneath the open window. “I need to talk to you.”
    “I’m right in the middle of a batch of pineapple rhubarb, Frank.”
    “Did you sell my lucky Mickey Mouse fishing pole?” He tilted his head, glaring at the window.
    No answer came from inside the house.
    Something about the unfolding drama made Ginger think of Earl. He could be really rough around the edges, and sometimes he just pretended to be excited about things she bought on sale. But at least he pretended for her and never spoke to her like Frank was talking to Beth.
    A moment later, the front door burst open and a woman who must be Beth stood wiping her hands on a dish towel. A pastel scarf framed her round face. “What’s going on here?” She glanced at Ginger and Kindra.
    Frank strutted back over to the truck and snatched the fishing pole off the hood. “Did you sell this at a garage sale? You know this is my lucky fishing pole.”
    Beth raised her chin. “It’s a piece of junk, Frank.”
    Poor Beth, she had probably thought she’d seen the last of Frank’s silly fishing pole. And now it had come back to bite her.
    “What else did you sell? Did you sell my antlers?” He strutted toward the garage and opened storage cabinets. “Where is my stuffed antelope head?”
    Beth placed her hand on her hip and tilted her head back while she spoke. “No, I did not sell your stupid antlers.”
    “What about my bobblehead collection?”
    Beth dropped her gaze to the sidewalk, then lifted her chin and crossed her arms. “Holy cow, Frank. Half of them were broken from the kids dropping them.”
    “You did sell them. You did.” He dashed through the garage to the sidewalk and stood nose to nose with his wife.
    “I didn’t sell them. I threw them out. They’re not worth anything.”
    Ginger pretended to be busy arranging the other garage sale stuff. Beth didn’t know her junk from her treasures. Bobbleheads brought good money to the right collector.
    Ginger caught a glimpse of Kindra in her peripheral vision. Something about that pixie face and blond hair always made her think of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, which she used to read to her kids. A faint smile crossed Kindra’s face. Was she thinking that life as a single person was pretty good? Kindra had a very large collection of Beanie Babies, which were not in any danger of being sold or thrown out.
    “You threw them out.” Frank performed an odd dance in the driveway. The choreography involved clenching his fists, bending at the waist, and turning a half circle one way and then reversing. “You threw them out.”
    Beth twisted and untwisted the towel around her wrist and hand. “I thought we were gonna dejunk our lives. We agreed.” She fisted a hand on her hip.
    “I noticed you’re not getting rid of any of your stuff. What about all those ceramic roosters you got around the house?”
    “They give the decor unity. We have rooster wallpaper.”
    “They collect dust, too.”
    Beth’s gaze darted from Frank to the two strangers standing in her driveway. She softened her tone. “I have gotten rid of some of my things. I hauled away two bags of clothes last week.”
    Frank stopped dancing long enough to stare at them.
    Ginger gathered up the garage sale stuff. “Maybe this is a bad time.”
    “Now my jam is ruined.” Beth dashed back into the house, slamming the door behind her.
    Frank chased after Ginger and Kindra. “Wait, can I buy that fishing pole back from you?”
    Ginger turned and cleared her throat. Other than their misdemeanors against each other, Frank and Beth seemed like ordinary people, not those who would try to run her