I could see all sorts of small family dramas shaping up. Did Aunt Cleo’s sons know she was selling their paintball guns? And did Mother know that Dad was buying them for Eric and his brothers?
Why was Aunt Verbena, who lived in a high-rise condominium with her seven cats, buying several birdhouses and bird feeders? Was this some scheme to cut her cat food bill and, if so, should I report her to the Audubon Society?
And why was Michael spending so much time in Cousin Ginnie’s booth? I knew he’d volunteered to talk to Morris, and I could see that he might need to talk to Ginnie as well in the process of patching things up between them, but why would talking to Ginnie involve so much inspection of her merchandise? That looked like shopping. Had I failed to make my feelings about secondhand lingerie clear?
I tried to push these worries out of my mind and think positive thoughts. Stuff was leaving. Someone actually bought Edwina’s entire wire coat hanger crop, the results of nearly a century of uncontrolled breeding. And the same person walked off with the wallpaper collection—full and partial rolls of every wallpaper ever used in the house, any one of which would be a strong contender in a “world’s ugliest wallpaper” contest. If only unloading the unused wallpaper would be my last sight of them—I had a feeling some of those ghastly patterns would haunt my dreams for weeks once we began stripping down the walls. But—positive thoughts. The rolls were leaving.
And the clock hands were moving, however slowly. Though the end of the yard sale didn’t mean I could rest. There was still the murder. I heard people talking about it, but none of them mentioned any exciting new information on the case. So, since Chief Burke wasn’t using the information I’d given him, I was impatient to use it myself.
“You should take a break,” Michael said to me, not for the first time.
“I will in a few minutes,” I said.
“I’m serious,” he said. “You look beat.”
“I am, and I’m going to rest. Just not yet. Not until I check three more people out.”
Michael glanced down the line.
“Is the third guy someone particular?” he asked, in an undertone.
“Gordon-you-thief’s ex-partner,” I murmured back. “I want to talk to him.”
“Gotcha,” he said. “I’ll shuffle about getting ready to take your place until you’re finished with him.”
The next two people took forever, but then Ralph Endicott stepped in front of me.
Checking him out took quite some time, too. Which surprised me. I didn’t remember that he’d been carrying around all that much stuff before the murder, but now he had two full boxes.
Had Gordon’s death freed him from the worries and problems that had kept him from opening his new shop? And if so, was that a sufficient motive for murder?
Still, checking him out gave me time to study him before I tried to talk to him.
“Let me help you carry that to your car,” I said, when he’d paid for his purchases and Michael had taken my seat.
“Oh,” he said, surprised. “If you’re leaving anyway.”
“Taking a much-needed break,” I said.
We walked along for a few minutes without speaking, though not exactly in silence, since the entire choir of the New Life Baptist Church, more than a hundred voices strong, was belting out “There Is a Balm in Gilead” from on and around the front porch stage.
We passed my cousins Basil and Cyril, who were blocking one lane of the road as they tried to load a small truck’s worth of stuff into the trunk and nearly nonexistent back seat of a Miata. At least one twin was loading stuff, while the other tried to prevent Cousin Deirdre from splashing their twin moose heads with paint.
We walked nearly a quarter of a mile toward Endicott’s car before I felt our surroundings were quiet enough for him to hear me and private enough for me to say what I wanted to say.
Of course, there was still plenty of time. No wonder he’d accepted my offer of help—he’d parked more than half a mile from our house. I spent a few moments trying to devise a subtle, diplomatic way to open up the subject, but I finally decided that I was too tired and hungry to be subtle, not to mention cranky because he had stuck me with the heavier of the two boxes, so I just dived right in.
“Look,” I said. “I know what you did in the barn.”
His head whipped around to look at me, and he dropped the box he was carrying. It landed with a rich and varied medley of crashing and tinkling noises that went on for several seconds after impact.
Endicott didn’t even notice.
Chapter 33
“I beg your pardon,” Endicott said, in a shaky voice.