Free Antiques Fate by Barbara Allan Page B

frowned. I’d revealed too much.
    â€œLady, I have things to do. I’ll see you at the play Saturday night. You break a leg, okay? Break a couple.”
    His smile was ghastly, but I did smile back, and got quickly out of there.
    I made my way across the village green—where volunteers were making preparations for tomorrow afternoon’s fete—intending to drop in on Flora Payton at her floral shop on Manchester.
    As I entered, a little bell above the door tinkled (and I didn’t jump at all, thank you), and I found Flora arranging a vase of red roses behind the counter. She was wearing another low-cut top, pink, her red hair caressing her shoulders.
    â€œWell, hello,” she said, looking up. “Vivian, isn’t it?”
    â€œIt is Vivian,” I replied, closing the door, the bell sounding again. “And you’re Flora.”
    She grinned. “And I’m Flora.”
    â€œMight I say that you’re looking just as lovely as those blossoms.” A little flattery does wonders to loosen Ye Olde Tongues.
    â€œWhy thank you, Vivian. May I help you?”
    I’ve also found that greasing a palm can prove an effective loosening agent, tongue-wise. “I’d like to purchase a cheery bouquet to brighten up my room.”
    â€œI’m sure we can find something to do just the trick. Anything in mind?”
    â€œWhat do you suggest, dear?”
    Setting the roses aside, Flora came out from behind the counter, revealing the rest of her ensemble: a tight black skirt and red kitten heels. Unlike her flowers, this child bloomed all year long.
    â€œThese are quite lovely,” she said, gesturing to a vase of orange roses and lilies. “I call that Clockwork Orange .” Flora gestured to another vase brimming with pink roses and carnations. “Or perhaps you’d prefer Pretty in Pink .” She giggled. “I name all of my arrangements after movies.”
    â€œI gathered that, dear,” I allowed. “Quite clever. I’ll take Pretty in Pink .”
    I once attended a theatrical showing of A Clockwork Orange, just getting in out of the rain, and in fact went in humming “Singin’ in the Rain,” which as a song has never quite worked as well for me since. But back to our story.
    â€œI’ll wrap it up,” Flora said, reaching for the pink concoction.
    Following her back to the counter, I eased into the purpose of my visit. “I visited the museum, earlier. It’s really quite impressive.”
    She was wrapping the arrangement in cellophane. “Yes, certainly is.”
    â€œI understand the town actually owns the artifacts and that grand old house itself.”
    â€œThat’s right.” She was tying the cellophane top with a pink ribbon.
    â€œSomething I can’t quite grasp.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œIf Barclay Starkadder is a paid employee, not an owner, why ever would he be against incorporation?”
    She took her eyes off my purchase. “Well, that’s easily answered. He gets his salary from a trust fund set up by the founding families, years ago. If this town square became Tourist Central, the museum could be moved to a smaller location, and that ‘grand house’ used for something far more profitable.”
    â€œAh. I would think, after incorporation, the contents of the museum might even be liquidated, those valuable antiques sold to fund civic improvements.”
    â€œWouldn’t be surprised, Vivian. And it would almost certainly put Barclay out of a cushy job.”
    â€œI see. And you, dear? How do you stand on the incorporation issue?”
    â€œThat’s easily answered, too. I vote no. I understand progress and all that. But me? I couldn’t possibly compete against a chain, or some big supermarket that carried flowers.”
    â€œMight I pose one last question, dear?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œDo you agree with those who insist that Millie took an