Free A Killing in Antiques by Mary Moody Page B

nearby. But he balked on the small load that I’ve gathered so far today, and made a deal taking another load on a long haul.”
    “When do you have to move it?”
    “Sooner is always better,” I said. “Dealers hold a large piece, paid for in advance of course, for a short time, but real estate is too valuable here. They usually want to replace a sold piece with inventory stockpiled on their trucks.”
    “Well, you’ve already paid for it, so it’s pretty safe,” he said with a big grin. “What are they going to do if you don’t come back fast enough to suit them? Sell it to someone else?”
    “Yes,” I said. “That happens.”
    I watched the grin on his face freeze as dismay snatched it away. Now it was my turn to laugh.
    “Yes, it’s true,” I said. “Sometimes if the dealer is ornery enough, and if he has an interested buyer, he’ll sell an item he’s already sold to you.”
    “They can’t do that,” he sputtered.
    “They can, and they do,” I said. “And sometimes it goes fast, especially if you’ve bought something very special. Say you’ve only left it for a few minutes while you go back for your vehicle. Another buyer may ask the dealer how much you paid, then offer a higher price. Bada-bing, it’s all over.”
    “That has to be illegal,” he said. “It’s unethical; it’s irresponsible.”
    “Maybe it is, Coylie, but try and make a case of it.”
    “But if you paid for it, and they give it to someone else, that’s gotta be illegal!”
    “Oh, they give you your money back, and sometimes with apologies that may be sincere.” Maybe. But I’m sure I’ve also seen the smirks of a sly deal on occasion.
    “I have a truck,” he said. “I’ll give you a hand.”
    “Oh, Coylie, no. I’m sorry. I wasn’t angling for your help, truly. I’m sure I can get a mover. I just hate to pay top dollar for the pitiful load I was able to gather today.”
    “You’re not asking me. I’m volunteering,” he said, repeating my earlier words. “I can’t take big loads, because my truck is full of Frankie’s stuff.”
    “If it’s full, how can you carry my stuff?”
    “Easy. When Frankie had to leave, we tossed a lot of his stuff into my truck, without arranging it. If I take the time to rearrange it, I’ll end up with lots of space.”
    I hesitated. I truly didn’t want to exploit the kid any further. Our deal for Thursday was already nudging my guilt button. I was about to put my foot down about moving when he interrupted my thoughts.
    “How about you pay me? I won’t gouge you. We won’t be able to tell who’s doing who the favor here.”
    “Perfect.”
    “I get off at two,” he said. “I’d like to be back here by four o’clock, to get paid for another job.”
    We firmed up the time, the place, and the price. Revived, I grabbed Supercart and headed toward Dealer’s Choice. I was far too late for the opening; I’d be going in just when everyone else was halfway through their second run.
    I rambled through the field, trying to keep my mind on what was going on around me, but I couldn’t get into it, and considered quitting for the day. When I saw Mr. Hogarth at the coffee stand, I joined him, and in telling him that I had Coylie lined up to help me move my things, I had a flash of insight. What a match those two would be for each other!
    And I was right, so the day turned a little better, and I did fairly well at the one o’clock opening. No one-ofa-kind treasure fell into my hands, but I did acquire some first-quality stuff that suited my shop perfectly.
    My second run-through was also productive, and it took the curse off the rest of my day at Brimfield. I had acquired far less than usual for the first day of the spring show, but the worst was behind me, and I could now concentrate on the treasure hunt.
     
    I was back to Coylie before two, and helped him finish consolidating things in his truck. He packed it right up to the roof. My role was merely to hold a stack in