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

popped a few more Tylenol. Between the children and CC’s driving, her nerves had reached a critical state.
    Outside of the large steel delivery doors were hundreds of wrought iron gates, some as small as three feet, others 20 feet wide by eight feet tall. CC stopped to gaze longingly at them, picturing them in her garden.
    “I’m going inside,” Anne said, walking through the large overhead door. She was greeted by the smell of tobacco and must. She marveled at the expanse of the warehouse. The first thing Anne came across was a table piled high with hurricane lanterns––some iron, some brass. Surrounding them was a mishmash of garden art and cement lawn statutes. Every aisle was packed full with antiques and salvaged sconces, stained glass windows, leaded-glass doors and lots and lots of furniture.
    Anne walked up to a long table with linen. The sign read “lace linen.” The handwritten tag on a tablecloth read “$300, 1920s hand-sewn Irish lace.”
    A young couple next to Anne was looking at an ivory tablecloth embroidered with red and green leaves. Anne could tell immediately that it wasn’t old. She overheard the young woman say it would be perfect for their new home. Apparently, they had just gotten married. “Excuse me,” Anne said. “Are you going to buy that tablecloth?”
    The young woman was wearing a short orange dress and high, matching, orange wedge heels. Her face beamed. “Yes, it’s absolutely beautiful. My parents gave us a dining room set for a wedding present and this would be perfect on it.”
    “You know it’s not authentic, right?” Anne said.
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “Smell it. What does it smell like?”
    The young woman held the linen up to her nose and took a deep whiff. “It smells like tea.”
    “Yes, sometimes dealers take a new linen that resembles the original and they soak it in tea to give it an aged patina,” Anne explained.
    The girl smelled it again. “I didn’t notice it. The whole building smells like tobacco. I never would have thought of sniffing it.”
    “It’s a good rule of thumb if you’re looking at antique linens.”
    “Do you work here?” the girl asked, setting the tablecloth back on the table.
    “Oh, no.” Anne retrieved her card from the bottom of her purse. “I’m an antique hunter. We can help you find whatever you need.”
    The young woman looked at her new husband and then back at Anne. “Ma’am.”
    “You can call me, Anne.”
    “Would you mind helping us look around?”
    “Not at all; it would be fun.”
    Before they could move to the next booth, a middle-aged woman tapped on Anne’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I overheard your whole explanation to her. I was wondering if you would mind looking at this vase. It’s marked Chinese and priced $500. Can you tell me if this is authentic? It says it’s over 300 years old.”
    Anne picked up the 23-inch colorful vase decorated with dogwood branches. She held it up to her mouth and licked it. The woman stared in shock. “I’m checking the temperature of it to see if there’s been any restoration done,” Anne said.
    The woman didn’t know how to respond and watched fascinated. When Anne was done, she handed the vase back to the woman. “Some of the vase is authentic; some is not.”
    “What do you mean?” The woman gave her a quizzical look.
    “Sometimes a dealer has an authentic antique. They break it into pieces and incorporate those pieces and make several replicas from the original antique. It’s almost impossible to see where it was glued together. The difference in the thickness of the material will transfer heat differently. That’s how I can tell it’s been restored.”
    “Thank you so much. Do you mind if I tag along?” Anne led the couple and the woman throughout the store. When they reached the fine china there was an older couple, who were both wearing leather motorcycle vests. Anne thought they were cute; she had seen their three-wheeler out in front. The biker