Free The Big Steal by Emyl Jenkins Page B

chairs, etched mirrors. Wouldn’t give you two cents for it, myself. Gilding the lily to my way of thinking. But Hoyt had seen it in Europe and he thought it was great. Mazie, being from Louisiana, had grown up with fancy things. It was the perfect match.”
    My mind began seesawing back and forth, undoubtedly helped by the wine. Hoyt and Mazie, Tracy and that whole cast of characters, Michelle, Wynderly itself, the stories Worth Merritt was telling me, the theft—like so many pieces of a puzzle, they all had to fit together. But how? That I didn’t know.
    Our waitress appeared tableside, scattering my thoughts like the crumbs Worth was sweeping from around his plate. “So how’s it going, Mr. Merritt? Dessert anyone?” She looked at me.
    Worth glanced at his watch. “Where has the time gone? It’s past nine, child. Their closing time. We roll up the streets early around here,” he said apologetically. “The check, Dolly.”
    He picked up his glass and drained it dry. He gave me a broad wink. “Her name’s not really Dolly,” he said.
    â€œIt’s Bonnie Sue,” she said with a playfully exasperated roll of her eyes.
    â€œBut I think Dolly suits her better, don’t you?” Worth said.

Chapter 9
    Dear Antiques Expert: When my great uncle died, he left his collection of walking canes to my husband. Actually, these were my uncle’s father’s and grandfathers’ canes, so we figure they have to be over 100 years old. Is there a market for them?
    During the 18th and 19th centuries, “walking sticks” were more than just walking aids. They were fashion accessories for men
and
women—especially ones with gold, silver, jeweled, or ivory handles. Some even concealed daggers and swords and had snuff compartments. But that was then. Today, walking sticks have generally lost their appeal. Having said that, some antique and even early 20th-century folk art canes carved as snakes, alligators, and such have sold for thousands of dollars. Hopefully you will find some folk art canes among your newly inherited collection.
    W E STEPPED OUT into the cold night. Behind us, Dolly began turning off the neon “open” light in the front window. The street became even darker, the moon even brighter.
    â€œI could go on and on about the Wyndfields,” Worth said.
    â€œAnd I could listen forever,” I said, wondering if I’d haveanother chance to hear what Paul Harvey called “the rest of the story.” “But I guess we should call it a night,” I said.
    â€œI’m sure I’ll see you again soon,” Worth Merritt said. “Houseman was already talking about calling another ‘emergency’ session at Wynderly. He’ll be crawling all over the place tomorrow, mark my words. He’s not about to let that house permanently close down if he can help it.”
    â€œWell he won’t get any help from Miss Mary Sophie McLeod,” I said with a chuckle.
    I made a U-turn in the middle of the block. In the rearview mirror I watched Worth turn onto a side street. The whole town was deadly quiet and it wasn’t even nine thirty. Out of nowhere I had a gnawing desire to see Wynderly in the black of night. On just such a winter night years ago, I had seen Bannerman Castle. Though built a few short years before Wynderly, today only its hollow shell stands as a sad reminder of its past grandeur. But when the moon is high over New York’s Hudson River and its crumbling towers and walls are silhouetted against the night, it is magnificent. I have never forgotten the romance and mystery of the moment. Tonight’s moon was full and silver. Did I dare?
    And then a lipstick red Nissan whipped around me and bolted into the 7-Eleven’s parking lot without so much as a turn signal. I slammed on the brakes and the horn at the same time.
    I proceeded on, but began thinking twice about venturing out to