“Oh, you know me,” she said, as if we were old friends. “Just an old yard sale hound. I have to say, though, I do think it’s much nicer when you don’t have those nasty old professionals.”
“Like Gordon, you mean?”
She blinked in surprise at the name, and then rearranged her expression into one of profound sadness.
“That poor man,” she said, shaking her head. “Such a tragedy. But, yes, I do think that those antique dealers and pickers lower the whole tone of a yard sale, don’t you think? Instead of a fun event it becomes something crass and commercial.”
I stifled the smart aleck impulse to say that so far our yard sale hadn’t proved nearly crass and commercial enough for me. For one thing, it wasn’t true. I didn’t care whether the sale was crass or classy; whether we made a huge profit or didn’t even cover expenses, as long as we got rid of a few tons of stuff. And for another, I didn’t think it would help me get her talking.
So I also refrained from saying that I thought the genuinely professional dealers and pickers improved the tone. With a few exceptions, like Gordon, they were a lot less trouble than the amateur bargain hunters. They showed up on time rather than early and went through the sale quickly and efficiently, gathering up large quantities of merchandise without trying to nickel-and-dime the sellers to death. I’d have been happy to have nothing but dealers and pickers if not for the large amount of junk we wanted to sell that no self-respecting picker would touch.
To her, of course, they were competitors who might snatch up some rare bit of Hummel before she could.
“Sorry you feel that way,” I said. “Do you think that’s why Gordon was killed—that someone resented him lowering the whole tone of the yard sale?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she said.
She paused, briefly, and then asked in an overly casual tone:
“What’s going to happen to the stuff he was buying? Or had he already bought it when he was killed?”
“He collected a great heap of stuff, but he hadn’t paid me a dime,” I said. “So as far as I know, as soon as the police release it, we’ll have to find someone else to buy it all.”
“I see,” she said. “If someone were interested in something that he might have gathered—”
“I’m afraid the trunk’s already spoken for,” I said. “A pity—the buyer will probably get a ton of money for it on eBay, but my conscience wouldn’t let me keep it.”
I deduced from her expression that she found the juxtaposition of “money” and “conscience” odd, if not downright unnatural.
“I see,” she said. “If you happen to come across any little bits of china …”
“You can have any Hummel we have at a dollar the lot on one condition,” I said.
“Yes?” she said, leaning forward eagerly.
“I want to know the truth about what went on when you were in the barn,” I said. “Not the pack of lies you told Chief Burke.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said, drawing herself up with apparent indignation. “Are you suggesting that I … would lie?”
“I happen to know more than Chief Burke about what went on in the barn yesterday,” I said. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. I was sure Chief Burke knew nothing about the fledgling owls, for example.
“Were you spying on me?” she asked.
“What makes you think that?” I asked, trying to strike the right note of nonchalance to convince her that the answer was yes. And then something struck me—she’d said “spying on me” not “spying on us.” I decided to take a chance.
“Why did you make up a whole conversation with him when you never even saw Gordon?” I asked.
Her shoulders fell.
“If I’d known someone was watching, I’d have admitted that I never found him,” she said. “I was afraid someone would think I’d killed him. I didn’t know I had a witness who could clear me. You could have said something.”
“I’ve told the chief everything I saw,” I said. “Just what did you think you were going to accomplish, anyway?”
“I was searching. For any little bits of … Hummel,” she said, forcing the last word out as if she were convinced that saying it aloud would jinx her quest.
“And you looked everywhere,” I said.
“Except in the locked trunk, of course,” she said. “I thought that must be where he’d put them. I even tried to force the lock open, but I couldn’t. And then I heard someone coming in, and I thought I should leave.”