Free Murder on Consignment by Susan Furlong Bolliger

previously mooned: the construction workers; Alex the Sasquatch Man; all the people on the street. “Yeah, that would have been really embarrassing,” I replied thinking there was no need to embarrass the both of us.
    “Where are you going?” she asked.
    “Uh…well, I have an appointment in Ridgewood.”
    “With whom?” My mother’s grammar was impeccable.
    “I have an appointment with an estate auctioneer. Why?” It was natural to be suspicious when my mom inquired about my whereabouts.
    “Why?  Because you’re wearing makeup and you’ve actually styled your hair.”  She gave me an approving once-over. “I thought maybe you had a date.”
    “A date?”
    “Didn’t you follow my advice and call about the singles club at church?”
    “Well, I haven’t actually had—”
    “What will you do at Cherry’s wedding without a date? You’ll be bored to death.”
    Hmm. I hadn’t thought about that. Another good reason to get a hold of Shep. He’d always come through when I needed a male stand-in. “I’m working on it.” 
    “Fine. Just remember to stop by the house when you get back. I picked up the dress today and you’ll need to try it on again, just in case Doris needs to make any more alterations. The wedding’s just a week away, you know?”
    I grimaced. “I know. Here, take this,” I said, handing her my peanut butter sandwich. “I won’t need it.” Just thinking about that skin-tight chiffon atrocity was ruining my appetite.
    *
    Thirty minutes later, I walked through the door of A to Z Estate Sales, and came face to face with Chuck Norris. Well, not the actual Chuck Norris, but someone that looked just like him.
    “Can I help you?” he asked.
    I stood speechless—my slack-jaw mouth unable to produce an intelligible syllable. I had a huge crush on Chuck ever since I was in junior high. Even now, I’ll stay up until all hours of the night just so I can watch him strut his stuff on late night infomercials.
    “Miss?” Chuck was waiting for my reply.
    I stuck out a wobbly hand. “I’m Prud…no, I mean…I’m Pippi O’Brien.” The eyes of the ranger were upon me. I couldn’t lie. “I need to speak to the manager.”
    “That’s me.” He grasped my hand and gave it a firm shake. “I’m Charlie.”
    “No way,” I said, before I could stop myself. “Does anyone ever call you Chuck?”
    “Yeah, I get that all the time. What can I do for you?” He seemed in a rush. “I need to find out about an estate sale that your company handled for Calina Sokolov. Do you recall the name?”
    He tilted his head back and studied me through furrowed brows. “Yes, why?”
    I took a deep breath and continued, “Did you keep records of who purchased books from that estate sale.”
    “We always keep records of sales, but they’re confidential.” He smiled and winked. Strange, I’d never seen the real Chuck wink.
    “I think there may be a connection between that estate sale and a recent murder.”
    “Murder?” Chuck suddenly looked nervous.
    “It’s just a hunch. But if you could simply verify if you sold items from the Sokolov estate to Jane Reynolds or perhaps to her business, The Classy Closet, it would be a huge help to me.”
    “Why, are you a cop?”
    I chuckled. “No, I’m not a cop. Although, I am sort of working as a consultant for the police.”   
    “Sort of working?”
    “Well, not officially, I guess.” I hesitated and shifted a little. “Actually, it’s just a personal thing. Can you help me out? Please?”
    He moved over to his desk and fingered a manila file. Even from where I was standing, I could see the name Sokolov written on it with black sharpie.
    “That’s the Sokolov file,” I stated, practically salivating.
    “Yes, it is.” He kept a firm grip as he leaned back on his desk and smiled like a sly cat.
    Like an idiot, I reached for it. He snatched it away. “You gotta be kidding,” he laughed, “I don’t know what’s going on, but these names are