Free A Killer Collection by J. B. Stanley Page A

and blue tones, while
English hunting prints raced along the wood-paneled walls. On top of a small
hunt board, crystal decanters with sterling silver labels indicated that while
gin and vodka were available, the favorite drink was clearly bourbon.
    A set of shelves was built into
the back wall only. The other walls were given space for a cherry game table
and two very old southern stands. Both of the stands held stacks of small,
leather-bound books and a collection of carriage clocks, which ticked merrily
away as Molly examined the pottery.
    "Isn't this your favorite
potter?" Kitty asked, holding the figure of a lion out toward Molly.
    "Billy Ray Hussey. Yes, it
is. I only have one piece, though. Mom gave me one of his cat doorstops for my
birthday." She took the lion from Kitty and examined him with wonder. His
solid body was glazed a burnt yellow, like the underside of a sunflower petal.
His large brown mane was made from dozens and dozens of individual curls of
clay, and his red roaring mouth sported a row of white teeth.
    "Look at that mane."
Kitty admired the curls while patting her own. "Kind of looks like
mine."
    "I read that they call that
fur 'Cole slaw' in the pottery world. All those little pieces of clay."
    "Are you saying that my hair
looks like slaw?" Kitty asked, pretending to be insulted.
    Molly smiled, and then pointed to
the figure of a poodle with tons of curled clay fired in a white glaze. Kitty
showed her a shelf of silly, smiling face jugs, and the women touched the chips
of broken dishes that formed the rows of teeth.
    "Shall we proceed?" she
asked Kitty.
    Except for the bathroom, the final
room in George- Bradley's wing was a large sunroom with windows overlooking three
different views. Walking over to the sparkling glass,  Molly was granted a view
of an immaculately landscaped pool complete with outdoor bar and tables with
umbrellas. Beyond the pool she could make out a tennis court nestled in a grove
of mature oaks.
    "Bunny must've come with a lot of money," Kitty observed, in a loud, singsong voice.
    "Kitty!" Molly scolded.
"Hush!"
    The windows directly in front of
them overlooked the slope of green lawn leading down to the drive. A gardener
was busy weeding one of the beds. His broad back faced the windows, and though
Molly couldn't see his face, his muscular arms and baseball cap gave the
impression of both strength and youth.
    The furniture in this room was
simple. There was a long, pine church pew running beneath the windows along the
longest wall, an antique music stand, and some kind of wooden box on a side
table. Molly moved toward the box and gingerly lifted the lid.
    "Kitty, look."
    The women stared down at an old
windup music box. Beneath a glass window, five brass bells waited to be rung
out by five silver birds whose beaks would delicately peck at them, creating an
accompaniment to the song played by the rolling cylinder dotted with raised
notes.
    "Do we dare?" Molly
asked, gazing in wonder at the tiny birds.
    "We do," Kitty answered
and carefully pulled up the crank that would wind the box.
    "Just crank it one or two
times, so we can hear a few notes. We don't know how loud it's going to
be."
    As they watched the cylinder begin
to move, the women held their breath. The music began. It was like nothing
Molly had ever heard. Sweet notes like trickling water tripped along with the
resonating chimes of the birds striking the bells. The sound was light and
high, yet reverberated within the depths of the wooden box, creating an echo.
It was the music of fantasy, of rain falling on the pond's skin, of a butterfly
bursting from its chrysalis in silence of the night. It was the hypnotizing
language of fairies, of dragonflies.
    Lex and Clara couldn't deny the
pull of the music, and the four stood like statues as it moved through them.
Molly looked above the box and saw that several old instruments hung from the
walls. There was a trumpet, a clarinet, and a flute. On the opposite wall hung
a