“Just take it easy at first. No one expects you to be as experienced as Angus. And most of the people out there you know anyway.”
“Yeah?” She peered through the window again. “I’ve been practicing on the diner regulars all week.”
“I’ve got some last-minute tips for you.” Instinctively I knew that for her to focus on absorbing new information would suck up some of the anxiety. “If Betty tells you ‘one money’ on something, it means the bidding is for so much apiece, but it’s a set that stays together. For instance, for a set of six chairs, it’s easier for the bidders to think about a bid of one hundred dollars per chair, knowing it will be multiplied by six at the end.”
Patsy nodded. “Got it.”
Betty poked her head in the door. “It’s showtime, folks.”
Patsy sucked in a breath and threw back her shoulders.
“Go get ’em, tiger,” I said. “And don’t forget to watch for my bidder number.”
I found Joe near the front, sat on the seat he’d saved for me, and felt the familiar tingle of anticipation. Like the curtain rising on opening night. I took a quick look around me and wondered which of these seemingly innocuous people would be my nemesis in a bidding war for the dollhouse. Would I emerge victorious?
I caught a glimpse of Fiona Adams in the back, gingerly swiping at one of the chairs with a lace handkerchief before she sat down. The first time I’d met her, she wore nothing but black. This time she was in a winter white designer suit that was striking against her dark hair, but who the heck wore an outfit like that to a country auction?
Betty sat at a desk next to the podium with a laptop open in front of her. She’d be keeping track of the bidder numbers and sale prices.
First up were the box lots to warm up the crowd. A collection of Pabst Blue Ribbon paraphernalia was number one.
“Would you give five dollars to start this box?” Patsy’s voice sounded strong and clear, so maybe it was only me who heard the slight waver in its tone.
One of the old men with long beards waggled his bidder card.
“And ten, do I hear ten?”
Patsy pointed to a man at the back of the room, who nodded imperceptibly.
“Fifteen now?”
No movement. “How about twelve, do I have twelve dollars?”
The second man nodded again.
“Twelve, twelve, now fifteen, do I have fifteen?”
The first old man shook his head.
“Fifteen anywhere? Sold! For twelve dollars to bidder number 202!” She crashed the hammer down on the podium.
I caught her eye and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
The rest of the boxes went along the same tack—a box of car collector magazines, Barbie dolls, books, tools, and kitchen items. I scored with a winning bid of eight dollars for a box of costume jewelry, and five dollars for a box of old postcards and some wooden darning eggs.
Next up were what were called “smalls.” Not surprisingly, small things like a Spode cake server, a jewelry box, some Royal Copenhagen plates, and Fiesta Ware.
One of the regular auction helpers carried a tray across the floor in front of the stage for everyone to take another look. Waiting in the wings was Sarah with the next item to keep the merchandise moving. As soon as the previous piece was sold to the highest bidder, another one came up onstage.
The excitement was building. You could feel it in the room, like the rising pressure in the air when a storm was coming.
Patsy was warming up, too.
“Start me at five and go!” she yelled, pointing to a punched tin lantern. “Five, I have five, now seven anywhere?”
An old man in front of me raised his handkerchief a millimeter.
I hoped Patsy would spot him, but she already had. Being a waitress, Patsy was used to scanning the crowd to pick up signals—whether someone was ready for another cup of coffee or looking for their check. Sometimes she was a one-man show down at the diner, especially in the early morning if another waitress was late or hungover.
“Seven, seven, now ten, will you give me ten?”
It was amazing how many different ways there were to bid. One guy slid his eyeglasses down his nose a fraction, one raised his eyebrows, another waved his bidder card, someone else nodded, and someone called out “yes.”
Right now, she was pacing, yelling, “Will you go ten-dollar bid? You want it, Tommy Allebach? Yeah? You got it, baby!”
I smiled to myself. I knew she’d have the right personality for this. She was popular in town, confident, sharp, and could think on her feet. She was having fun now with the people in the crowd. Angus had been good at that, too—a gentle mixture of teasing, pushing, and prodding to drive the bidding with the dealers and regular customers.