Free Deadly Appraisal by Jane K. Cleland Page A

do.”
    “Okay.”
    “I’ll let Eddie in.”
    I left Gretchen to her work and walked through the morning-chilled warehouse toward my private office. Except for the clomping of my work boots, the quiet was absolute.
    I decided to greet Eddie myself instead of sending Gretchen, so I could reassure him that I still wanted him to cater our upcoming auction dates. Maybe it wasn’t a necessary gesture, but I was a little worried about him. Saturday night, after Detective Rowcliff had supervised the removal of Maisy’s body, I’d spotted Eddie sitting alone in a far corner of the room, silent and morose. He’d put a lot of eggs in the Gala basket, and from his demeanor, I concluded that his situation was bleak. Catering my monthly receptions probably didn’t represent enough business to save his company if things were as dismal as his manner Saturday night had suggested, but knowing that he hadn’t lost an account might help him muster the energy to persevere.
    As I walked across the shadowy warehouse en route to my office, I could see the outlines of hundreds of items in various stages of preparation. While Fred or Sasha worked on the appraisals, Eric cleaned and polished the pieces, readying them for sale. Lesser-quality goods went to the weekly tag sale, while better items were sent to auction. Except that sometimes I tucked a low-priced special piece into the tag-sale mix to encourage regulars to seek out bargains week after week.
    The warehouse was a little more than half-full, and that was great news. Half-full meant business was good. A little more than half-full meant business was growing. As I passed by stacked shelves and roped-off areas filled with furniture, I smiled, proud of my accomplishment.
    I sat at my desk and turned on my computer. While it booted up, I gazed at the old maple outside my window. Its branches swayed gently in the soft morning breeze and orange leaves fluttered to the ground.
    I wondered what people in New York were saying about Trevor’s release. I reached for my old Rolodex and found the entry for a former colleague named Shelley. We’d worked together at Frisco’s for years—and she was still there. We’d never been close friends, but we’d always gotten along, and during my last days with the firm, she’d remained neutral. She hadn’t rushed to my defense, but neither had she participated in the witch-hunt. I got her on her cell phone as she walked to work.
    “Josie!” she exclaimed. “How ya doing?”
    “Good. Really good. Business is strong up here. All is well.”
    “That’s great to hear. Do you have snow yet?”
    “Shelley, it’s only October!” I chided, laughing at her chauvinistic view of the world outside New York City.
    “Well, all I know is that you left us and moved to the frozen tundra or something.”
    “ ‘Or something’ is closer than ‘frozen tundra.’ Listen,” I said, trying for a casual tone, “I heard that Trevor got out of prison.”
    “Yeah, I heard that, too.”
    “What do you know?”
    “Not much. I haven’t seen him or anything.”
    “Have you heard what he’s up to?”
    “Just rumors that he’s determined to clear his name and regain his, ahem, proper place in the antiques world.”
    Clear his name? I protested silently. He confessed, for God’s sake! I closed my eyes in an effort to steady my rage-fueled shaking hands. “Really?” I asked, aiming to convey playful disbelief. “How does he plan to do that?”
    “Probably by trashing you,” she said with an embarrassed giggle.
    “Jeez,” I whispered, stunned at the thought. Her answer was logical, but I couldn’t help wondering if Shelley knew more than she was telling.
    “Especially since you’re not here to defend yourself,” she added.
    “Did you hear something in particular?” I asked as if it didn’t matter one way or the other.
    “No. I just know Trevor.”
    So do I, I thought. “You’re so right, Shelley. Well, I guess it’s another reason I’m glad to