Going Through the Notions(89)

“Don’t you want to keep this?” I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

Mary shook her head firmly. “No. It actually feels good to clean out the house. To simplify my life. I’ve realized that I don’t need all this stuff. And if my kids don’t want it, it’ll be less for them to get rid of when I’m gone.”

I looked into her eyes and saw the determination there, but also the peace.

As I tallied up the value, I thought about “things” and what they could do for you. For some people, they provided comfort and memories, to others, they represented financial security, to a collector, they gave satisfaction, but in some cases, they caused anxiety by creating too much clutter.

At the bottom of the bag was the best part. A shirt box filled with doll’s clothes and dollhouse furniture. I gave her a very fair price. Not the sympathy price of before, but I could tell it was still much more than she’d expected.

“There you go, Mary,” I said as I counted out seven crisp one-hundred-dollar bills from the register. “Pleasure doing business with you again.”

“Thank you, Daisy,” she said, her cheeks pink. “You know, I’m going to spend part of this money paying off some of my debts, and then I’ve already decided I’m going to spend a little on a bus trip to visit my sister in Lancaster. I haven’t seen her in three years.”

I smiled. “Sounds like you have it planned out well.”

As she headed for the door, I had a brain wave. “Hey, Mary, if you come across anything in your house that you would donate to charity anyway, bring it to the country fair on Saturday. It’s for a good cause. A fund for the Kratz children.”

“Oh yes, I heard about that. I’ll see what I can find.”

After she left, I put a pot of coffee on. I couldn’t believe Martha and Eleanor hadn’t made an appearance yet.

As the coffee finished brewing, Detective Serrano strode in. “Morning, Ms. Buchanan.”

The man moved like a predatory cat, full of tightly coiled energy, sizzling and ready to explode. Today he wore a black leather jacket over a white shirt and jeans, and was even more devastatingly good-looking than I remembered. He glanced briefly at the displays, scanning everything like he’d done with our little group the other night, but he paused at the Welsh dresser. He ran his tanned hand across the top, tracing the grain of the wood. “You know, I remember seeing my grandfather chopping up a dresser like this for firewood once.”

“Don’t tell me!” I stuck my fingers in my ears. I had no idea why some people couldn’t see the value of old things. It broke my heart to hear that kind of story. “Look, Detective Serrano—”

“Call me Tony. Please. I stopped in because I sensed there was more you wanted to tell me on Saturday night, but perhaps were reluctant in front of the others.”

Was I that easy to read? First Cyril, now the detective.

I bit my lip. It was okay to give the police information, right? And it wasn’t as if I’d been looking for trouble. “Um—Tony—how about some coffee? This might take a while.”

“Sounds great.”

I filled two mugs and we sat at the bistro table.

“So I gather you’re acquainted with the accused, Angus Backstead?” he said.

“Yes. We’re good friends.” I took a deep breath and told him first about the oil change and proof that Angus didn’t drive back to Jimmy’s the next morning. Then about Ramsbottom’s vendetta against Angus and the long-ago fight with Hank Ramsbottom. About the rummage sale and the boots. And finally the story of the Perkins brothers and their resentment over their grandmother’s house sale.

Serrano listened carefully, making notes from time to time.

“Oh, and Reenie Kratz thought her husband had some kind of deal going on with a crooked estate company that sent the pens out here to auction for below market price.”

Even though it seemed as though the estate company was a dead end, I was determined to tell him everything I could think of. “They’d pay a guy like Jimmy Kratz to place a bid, and then resell them afterwards for a much higher price.”

“Sounds kinda kooky, but I’ll check it out. I went back to the crime scene yesterday and spoke to that Kratz woman. She seemed a little on edge. Couldn’t get much out of her.”

Reenie had had enough of me poking around her place. I’m sure she didn’t appreciate the police coming back again either.

“She’s had a lot to deal with lately,” I said. “Jimmy was abusive when he drank, and now he’s left her with nothing but debt.” I cleared my throat. “He was also cheating on her.”