A Dollhouse to Die For(119)

            Patience wasn’t my strong suit, but I figured I’d wait until Angus was ready to tell me what was weighing so heavily on his mind.

            “Have you finished cleaning out Harriet’s place?” I asked.

            “Yeah. It was funny, though. Ardine and I showed up the other day, and the lockbox was gone. I guess Marybeth put the place under agreement already.”

            “Wow. So what did you do?”

            “Oh, it was okay. Ardine figured out the code to the garage door.”

            “She did? How on earth did she do that?”

            Angus chuckled. “Apparently she used to work for Kunes, back in the day. He never changes his passwords. It was the same damn number he used for his office voice mail password years ago.”

            I frowned as I sipped my coffee.

            “You know, Ardine’s kind of a weird gal, but I like her,” he said.

            “Me, too. And I think she’s very happy to have found some friends around here.”

            Part of the market was housed inside in an old hairpin factory, where there were about fifty stores, a bathroom, an ATM machine, and two small restaurants. The main attraction was outside, however, with over three hundred tables selling everything from vintage jewelry to organic vegetables. A century ago, it was just a livestock auction, but over the years, the flea market sprang up and was now an institution. People came all the way from New York and northern New Jersey to combine early morning browsing with a day out in New Hope or Lambertville.

            We found a parking space relatively easily, although the grounds were already half full. Angus and I wandered down aisles of tables where the vendors were setting up glassware, books, tools, and old records. There was furniture for sale, too, including complete sets of dining chairs, Tiffany lamps, oil paintings, clocks, and chandeliers.

            Angus usually went for the rusty stuff and I stayed on the lookout for vintage linens and sewing notions. These days it was getting tougher to find the real bargains. Online auction sites had made everyone an entrepreneur and antiques expert. Or at least they thought they were.

            I spotted a bag of skeleton keys on one table among some coins, stamps, and baseball cards. “I know Laura can do something magical with these,” I said, as I paid three dollars and stuffed them in my tote bag.

            The clouds above us were a dark peach and light gray. Like a fresh bruise against the face of the sky. An occasional breeze blew scattered leaves across the tables.

            It might rain later, but with any luck it would hold off until we were done. In the summer it could get ferociously hot on these forty acres, but in this soft, cool dampness, I felt like I could walk all day, reveling in the joy of the hunt.

            “I’m so glad you asked me out, Angus. It’s helping to take my mind off everything that’s been going on. Too much drama lately.”

            Angus glanced at me, his expression somber. “Speaking of drama, I’ve got some news.”

            Here we go.

            I moved off into a grassy opening between the aisles and he joined me, shoving his huge hands into the pockets of his jeans.

            “I’m getting a divorce.”

            “What?” I gasped.

            “Well, Betty says she wants one. I don’t.”

            We stared at the table across from us, filled with comic books, cookie jars, and lunchboxes from the sixties.

            “You know, when she never came to see me in prison, that should have been my first clue,” he said.