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

banjo, a tambourine, and a violin.
    When the music stopped Kitty
whispered in awe, "For such an unpleasant person, he sure had some
wonderful things."
    "Professor Plum, with the
wrench, in the Music Room," Lex joked to lift the serious mood, his gaze
falling upon the old instruments. No one got his joke. "Clue?" he
said. "Remember the board game? Oh, forget it."
    Undeterred, Clara explained that
the shelves covering the back wall were divided into two sections. One half
contained the pottery of Jack Graham and face jugs and churns by C. C. Burle. The
second set contained fragile roosters by a Georgia family of potters called the
Meaders and ovoid jugs from Edgefield, South Carolina.
    Encased in glass, one large jug
stood aside from the others.
    "What's this?" Molly
asked her mother.
    "That, my dear, is a piece of
pottery created by a black man known as Dave the Slave. It's only worth about
twenty thousand dollars!”
    "Wow," she said picking
up an Edgefield crock. "What are these orange stickers on the bottom of
each one?"
    "Looks like inventory
stickers. He must have a master list stored somewhere around here," Clara
said.
    Molly moved over to the shelves
containing Jack Graham's pottery. She immediately loved his work. His vases
were small and elegant, fired in crimson reds and deep blues. There were also large
vases with wider mouths and fluted rims. Some were swirled in browns and
coppery yellows, but others were glazed a cobalt blue and covered with white or
yellow drippings. He made large bowls with glazed snakes inside, spiraled and
dotted with red curly tongues. Molly reached up and drew down a blue vase with
wide shoulders that rose up to a thin, graceful neck.
    "Mom," she breathed,
"his work is amazing."
    Clara watched her daughter's eyes
glow in wonder, turning over the vase she held.
    "There's nothing like it—to
fall in love with something another person loved to create."
    "I can sense it," Molly
said softly, feeling a little embarrassed. "I can tell what he put into
this piece. It’s like his hands are still moving over it."
    "I told you," Clara said
triumphantly. "Once you've got the bug, you can't go back. Kiss all of
your money and your sanity goodbye! Lex, I think you'll have a new bidder at
your next sale."
    Molly turned the vase upside down
and a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground.
    "Looks like a portion of a
newspaper article." Molly stooped to retrieve the scrap. "It's been
highlighted."
    "What does it say?"
Clara craned her neck over her daughter's shoulder as Molly proffered the
article. It read:
     
    E.M.—Now, I know
you don't make human figurals, but how about animals?
    J.G.—No. I stick to
pieces I can make by turning.
    E.M.—Do you ever
think you'll make a figural in the future? How about an experimental cat or a
horse?
    J.G.—No, I'll leave
those for the more talented potters out there. I just never had the notion to
make anything off the wheel.
    E.M.—Well, if you
ever made one I'm sure it would be exceptionally valuable.
     
    "E. M. must be the
interviewer and J. G. must be Jack Graham," Molly said. "I wonder why
George-Bradley kept this." She then began to examine the bottom of the
vase she held. Jack Graham had signed his initials instead of using a metal
stamp like most of the other potters. He had also scraped a number into the
unglazed clay.
    "What's this number?"
she asked her mother.
    Clara took the vase from her
hands. "That's the kiln number. There are fifty to seventy-five pieces of
pottery that survive each kiln load. This is an early one. He made this piece,
put the number in the clay, and fired the kiln for the fifth time."
    "Fifth time ever?" Molly
wondered how long ago that was.
    Clara nodded. "Yes, from the
time he began numbering pieces. I think he made a few kiln loads without
numbers first, before he really began selling as a full-time potter. He started
off as a welder."
    "And he quit his job to make
pottery? Did he have any experience?"
    "No, he just loved