Free Shadows at the Fair by Lea Wait Page A

looking for a pretty lady who had an argument with a light-haired old man. Right?”
    Ben nodded.
    “Susan Findley is striking, that’s for sure.”
    Maggie remembered seeing Will talking with Susan during the preview. “Do you know the Findleys?”
    “I’ve run into them before. Susan certainly doesn’t lack for conversation.”
    That didn’t exactly answer her question. Maggie wondered how well Will did know Susan. She fought back a blush as she realized she’d had an involuntary flash of jealousy. Lady, take it easy.
    They passed three men Maggie didn’t recognize, all of them wearing dealer’s tags.
    “When the stock market’s up customers buy,” the tall man in the windbreaker said, dropping his cigarette on the ground and grinding it into the mud with his heel. “Always.”
    “Not for me.” A man in a blue poncho with long, braided gray hair disagreed. “I figure, when the stock market’s down, that’s when people invest in antiques. They can’t lose money on something with age.”
    “To a point. I never understood why people pay thousands of dollars for new furniture that’s going to be used and worthless tomorrow when they could invest in good eighteenth-or even nineteenth-century furniture that usually becomes more valuable. Built better than the modern stuff, and when you get tired of it, you can call me back and I’ll take it off your hands.”
    “We’re the ultimate recyclers, John. Finding value in what other generations have discarded.”
    “Well, I’d still rather invest in some good Chippendale than in those Barbie dolls your cousin Jack is hawking!” They all laughed.
    “But he’s making a darn good living. How many pieces of Chippendale have you sold this year?”
    Maggie kept going. The perennial debates. Value versus investment. Collectibles versus antiques. Quality versus commercial popularity. It was all part of the business.
    “Maggie, isn’t it getting late? Aunt Gussie will be worried.”
    “Ben, you’re right. We’ll just see if Susan is at her van, and then we’ll get back to the motel.” She glanced at her watch: 10:25.
    Susan’s van was the last one in the row over by the fence, as Lydia had said. It was faded sky blue, with a large dent in the left side, and New York license plates. No vanity plates or business logo for Manhattan dwellers. They’d be advertisements for car thieves.
    The van looked empty, or as though the person inside had retired for the night. Maggie walked all the way around, listening for voices. She really didn’t want to disturb Susan if she was sleeping.
    “Okay, Ben, I think we call it a night. All is quiet here. Let’s head back and assure your aunt Gussie that you’re not a murderer. Will, thanks for your help.”
    Ben breathed an audible sigh. “And we’ll see if the pizza’s still warm?”
    “I don’t have any pizza, warm or otherwise, but I do have some terrific salami and ham and cheese in a cooler, and there’s enough cognac for two, and some soda for you, Ben, if you’d like to visit my home away from home,” Will said.
    “Thanks! Actually, the cognac sounds nice…but Gussie is waiting for us, and the police will be closing the gates. Tomorrow morning and, I hope, customers will arrive faster than we think.” Maggie tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and smiled up at Will. Maybe he was lonely, too. And he seemed nice enough. But she had other obligations.
    “Maybe a rain check, then. But let me be a gentleman of the old school and escort the two of you back to the gate. You have to go through some dark areas to get there.” Will fell into step with Maggie. They walked companionably away from the last rows of trailers and vans, headed diagonally toward the entrance.
    Maggie wished they’d seen Susan; she would have felt better knowing what had really happened when Ben knocked down whoever it was. Whom could Susan have been arguing with? It could have been anyone.
    And Lydia Wyndham had seen Harry and