Free A Killer Collection by J. B. Stanley

word everything ."
    The cause for their excitement was
obvious, because this room contained valuable antiques. The most eye-catching
of them being a large grandfather clock with a paint-decorated face.
    "Walnut," Lex informed
them.
    "Looks Virginia-made,"
Clara said as she peered into the face. "Early. It's right too."
    She and Lex exchanged happy looks.
Whenever one of them said, "It's right," what they meant was,
"This is a real antique that has not been damaged or refinished and it
will bring a lot of money at auction." But Molly knew it was more than
that. Lex and Clara respected a good antique piece. They were harder and harder
to find these days, so it was a joy to see something so pristine and graceful,
an object of history created by means of a true craftsman's passion and hard
work.
    Clara had once told Molly that a
person could really fall in love with a chest of drawers, a quilt, or a piece
of pottery.
    Molly understood. It was the power
of owning something made by hand. These pieces possessed a kind of magic. It
was the mark left inside the grain of wood, the strings of thread, or the
smooth skin of clay. It held there, fast, through the decades, yet only certain
people felt its presence.
    Kitty, impatient to get an
overview of the rooms, had gone ahead. Now she ran back into the front room,
her eyes round with wonder.
    "You guys are going to pass
out!" She pointed down the hall.
    But Lex and Clara would not be
tempted beyond the living room. They had an 1840s sugar chest to look over, a
collection of Chinese import porcelain to view, the weave on an Oriental carpet
to examine, and several old oil paintings in gilt frames to inspect. Molly took
the bait, however, and followed Kitty's bouncing steps down the corridor.
    The first room must have been
George-Bradley's office. His large, leather-topped desk was the only piece of
furniture in the room other than the rows of bookshelves. The shelves covered
every open wall and partially obscured both windows. Each one held three to
seven pieces of pottery. The shelves were perfectly dusted and labeled with a
little card that identified the pottery, the maker, and the year purchased.
George-Bradley's desk was stacked with a neat pile of reference books on
pottery as well as general price guides and books on collecting antiques.
Except for last week's Sunday paper, there were no loose papers on the desk
surface. George-Bradley clearly liked organization.
    Molly looked over the pottery
quickly as Kitty was calling her again from the next room. According to the
labels, the same potter made most of the pieces, a man named Ben Owen. Molly
had heard of him only because her mother
    had a few of his vases on her
dining room mantle. She also knew that his work was strongly influenced by
Asian shapes and glazes, and that he made several exquisite vases each year
that sold for around $2,000 apiece.
    George-Bradley had six of these,
standing in a dignified row on two bottom shelves. The glaze was called
"Chinese blue," even though it was mostly red in tone with some hints
of blue that peeked through in a brilliant shade reminiscent of the Mediterranean
Sea.
    Clara and Lex appeared in the
office.
    "My heavens," her mother
breathed. "I have never seen this much Ben Owen in one room."
    "Look at these Han
vases!" Lex exclaimed. "They're perfect. Think of what an awesome
catalogue cover they’d make!"
    Clara and Lex were in their
element They showed one another piece after piece, admiring the shape, the
shimmers of glaze, and the complete lack of chips or firing cracks.
    "He certainly had excellent
taste," her mother complimented George-Bradley. "There isn’t a piece
in here that doesn't catch your eye and demand further inspection and
admiration."
    Molly left Clara and Lex to
salivate and continued on to where Kitty waited in the sitting room across the
hall. It had a small leather couch and matching wingback chairs turned toward
the fireplace. Oriental throw rugs warmed the room in red