Free Pickin' Murder: An Antique Hunters Mystery by Vicki Vass Page A

found a young Cherokee squaw. She had been shot by hunters and left for dead. I tended her wound and carried her to the spring. When she was able to continue, I took her to my hunting lodge and cared for her until she was strong enough. I learned her name was Immookalee, which means waterfall in English. We became friends and she taught me her language.
    “When she had recovered enough to travel, I took her to her people. Her father was the great chief and was grateful to me. He let me stay in the village.” The papers flew out of Anne’s hand scattering across the floorboards as CC slammed on the brakes to avoid missing a gas tanker who was swerving around a slow moving car.
    “Watch it, CC,” Anne said. “Now I’ve lost my place.” While Anne was picking up the scattered pages of the journal, her text message alert sounded. She reached into her large orange Prada bag and pulled out her phone. The text was from Nigel.
    “Who is it, Anne?” CC asked.
    “It’s Nigel. I forgot to tell him that I was going out of town. He wants to go to the movies tonight.”
    “Anne, really? Isn’t it time you told Nigel how you really feel? You’re not being fair to him, are you?”
    “CC, I don’t know what to say. I enjoy his company. I like going out with him but he doesn’t make me feel like . . .” She stopped, realizing she hadn’t explained to CC what had happened last night at the reservation.
    “Feel like what, Anne?”
    “You know. Exciting. Tingly.”
    CC wanted to end the conversation right there.
    “I’ll text him.”
    “Anne, you can’t do that. You owe it to him to tell him in person.”
    “All right.” Anne texted back. “I’d love to go to the show but I’m on my way to Nashville. Wish you were here,” she read aloud as she typed. “There. See.”
    CC swerved slightly on the highway. “Watch out,” Anne said.
    “I was looking at the mountains. Anne, they’re so beautiful,” CC said, pointing to the tall mountain looming in front of them. The smoke billowed at the top creating a blue fog. “You know, Anne, the Smoky Mountains were the first national park in the entire system.”
    “That’s great, CC.” Anne clutched the armrest, hanging on for dear life as trucks flew by, going around zigzag turns with enough g force to lift their tires off the ground. CC seemed unconcerned about the rain that had started. She kept looking right and left at the view rather than at the road.
    “You know, Anne, the Smoky Mountain range is the heaviest forested range in the world. And there are two black bears for every square mile.”
    “We’ve already had our quota of black bears. Watch the road,” Anne said. The VW bus hydroplaned over the pavement, gliding. Anne was truly terrified now. She had gone from mildly upset to downright nauseous. “CC, don’t you think you should slow down?”
    “Anne, this old bus was built for the Autobahn.” A Dually F250 with rebel flags in the rear window and more rebels in the bed flew by, one of them waving at CC who smiled back at the young shirtless farm boys. The gentle rain gave way to a blue rainbow as the sun broke through the fog on the mountains. Anne saw a billboard that read Tobacco Barn , area’s largest antique store, 70,000 square feet with over 70 dealers .
    Anne’s nerves settled. Finally, a calm in the storm. “CC, did you see the billboard?”
    “Yes, Anne. I’m going to pull off at the Asheville exit. We have to stop.”

Chapter Twelve
     
    They drove down the exit ramp onto the two-lane street that bordered the river and led into Asheville. They pulled up to the Tobacco Barn, an old warehouse that was once used as a tobacco factory. In a Mercedes springer van next to them, a road-weary family from Florida piled out. Three screaming blond-haired children jumped out first, followed by a haggard mother. Anne popped some Tylenol. The father ignored the children, motioning to a young Spanish nanny to corral them and keep them quiet. Anne