A Deal to Die For (3 page)

“You make us sound like we’re special ops,” Claire said.

“We are,” Ginger said. “We’re the Good Buy Girls, the A-Team of bargain hunting.”

“Have we seen Summer yet?” Maggie asked. She took a moment to scan the gathering crowd.

“Not yet, but you know she’ll be here,” Ginger said.

“Okay, keep an eye out for big, blonde hair,” Maggie said. “And if you see her, sound
the alarm. I don’t want a repeat of the last time she crashed our sale at Stegner’s,
when she kept snatching things out of my hands.”

Pete delivered her coffee, and Maggie smiled. He didn’t
wink at her this time, and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

She told herself she was neither and focused her attention on the booths across the
street.

“Okay, I did some recon last night while they were setting up,” she told the others.
She took a pen out of her purse and drew a rough sketch of the green on a napkin.

“Aside from Vera’s booth, there is the usual St. Stanley fare.”

“Bertram Prendergast and his bread-and-butter pickles?” Ginger asked.

“I heard he’s expanded into two booths,” Joanne said. “He’s making the big, crunchy
garlic ones now, too.”

“How about Dolly Minton and her crocheted toilet paper covers that look like dolls?”
Claire asked. “I think I have to get one for my white elephant gift for the library’s
annual holiday party.”

“Oh yes, she’s there,” Maggie said. “She’s in the same spot as last year. She’s branched
out to making paper towel covers, too.”

“You know, I heard Tyler Fawkes is selling off his mother’s collection of Depression
era glassware,” Ginger said. “You might want to carry more than just clothing at the
Closet, and some glass pieces might give the place some oomph.”

Maggie sipped her coffee while she considered what Ginger had said. She had thought
that she’d like to carry more than clothing. Not a lot more but a few things. If she
sold the furniture she put in the store, she could keep refreshing the look of the
shop and make a profit at the same time.

“Oh, it looks as if they’re getting ready to start letting people in.” Joanne bounced
up from her seat with her usual over-the-top enthusiasm.

The others followed with Maggie hurriedly slurping her coffee. Ginger went in to pay
the tab and met them back on the sidewalk.

“All right, let’s do this thing,” Maggie said. “Now, remember, the most commonly purchased
shopping sizes are between six and ten for American women. And remember, Vera has
couture clothing, so an American six is a British ten and a European forty.”

“My head is beginning to spin,” Claire said. She looked nervous. “What if I buy the
wrong sizes?”

Maggie put her hand on Claire’s arm as they crossed the street. “I’m being bossy,
aren’t I? Ignore me. Go shop and have fun. You all have excellent taste, and I know
you’ll find fabulous stuff for the shop.”

Claire gave her a relieved smile, and they stepped onto the town green along with
the throngs of people who had come in for the annual event. The St. Stanley flea market
brought people in from all over the county. Bertram Prendergast’s pickles alone brought
some folks all the way from Dumontville. The same could not be said of Dolly Minton’s
crocheted creations.

The four of them made a beeline to Vera’s booth. It was amazing. While other booths
consisted of a folding table with a plastic canopy overhead, the Madison booth looked
like something designed by Martha Stewart. An iron-and-canvas gazebo had been erected,
and it was swathed in copper-tinted netting with satin trim that gave it an air of
the exotic.

Clothing racks were suspended from the iron roof, letting the clothes float above
the ground in an ethereal ballet of fabric. Maggie got a glimpse of powder blue satin
and chocolate tulle that made her drool.

“Out of the way, Gerber,” a voice barked in Maggie’s ear.

She turned to see who it was, but the person hip-checked her and sent her tilting
into Ginger, who grabbed her by the elbow and kept her from sprawling just in the
nick of time.

“Summer!” Maggie growled as Summer sped past her on her way to the booth.

Maggie had to clamp down the urge to take her nemesis down with a diving tackle. She
knew Vera wouldn’t approve of any unladylike behavior, and if she wanted to work out
a deal with Vera, she had to shine.

She patted Ginger’s shoulder in thanks, adjusted her sweater and jeans and hurried
in Summer’s wake. The Madison booth was loaded with goodies; surely there was enough
for everyone. Still, Maggie simply could not lose out to this cow.

She jogged forward until she and Summer were side by side. Summer sped up, and Maggie
matched her stride. Thankfully, Summer was in her usual platform heels, and the rain
from a few days previous had left the earth soft, making Summer’s spiky heels sink
into the spongy ground, slowing her down.

“Oh no you don’t,” Summer snapped as Maggie passed her.

Maggie arrived at Vera’s booth just a few paces in front of Summer. To her surprise,
Vera was nowhere in sight, but her daughter, Bianca, was standing amid the racks,
looking a bit overwhelmed.

Bianca was Vera and Buzz Madison’s only child. She had come very late in their lives,
and it was rumored that she had been a bit of a surprise. Buzz had died when Bianca
was a teen, and afterward Vera had kept Bianca close, as if her daughter could fill
the void left behind by her husband.

Subsequently, Bianca had become a sort of personal assistant to her mother. This was
no easy task, given that
Vera had a formidable temperament and got by mostly by bending everyone around her
to her will, sort of like a Victorian psychic bending spoons.

Maggie never saw much of Bianca, but when she did, she couldn’t help but wonder if
Bianca was happy in her assigned role of caretaker.

Since she never left her mother’s side, it was assumed that she was happy, but Maggie
often wondered. Her own daughter, Laura, had been reluctant to leave St. Stanley,
Virginia, to go off to college at Penn State, but Maggie had pushed her, knowing that
the two greatest gifts she could give her daughter were roots and wings. Vera had
only seemed to grasp the roots part.

“Hi, Bianca,” Maggie said. Ginger and the others fanned out among the racks in an
attempt to divide and conquer.

“Hi, Maggie,” Bianca said.

“Bianca, how are you, darling?” Summer cried as she strode around Maggie and enveloped
Bianca in a loose hug with several air kisses.

Bianca gave Maggie a startled look over Summer’s shoulder, and Maggie rolled her eyes.

“Listen,” Summer said, “I’ll double any price you’re asking if you sell to me and
not
her
.”

Maggie’s jaw dropped. “What? Why, that’s just mean!”

Summer shrugged, looking very satisfied with herself.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Bianca said. “Mom didn’t say anything about anyone
paying double. Everything is labeled.”

Bianca was tall and thin and wore her light brown hair tied at the nape of her neck.
Frameless glasses perched on her nose, and she blinked from behind the glass lenses
at them. She was only a few years older than Maggie’s daughter, Laura, so she had
to be in her mid- to late twenties. She
looked nervous, and Maggie felt sorry for her. Summer had probably thrown her a major
curve.

“Let’s ask Vera, shall we?” Maggie asked.

“She’s not here,” Bianca said. “She wasn’t feeling well, so she went to see Dr. Franklin.”

Maggie picked up a pair of tan gloves from the table in front of her. They were an
exquisite ecru shade with seed pearls sewn onto the cuffs.

“Are these Lilly Daché gloves?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, they belonged to my grandmother,” Bianca said.

“I’ll take those,” Summer said.

She went to snatch them out of Maggie’s hands, but Maggie spun away from her at the
last second.

“Quit it, you big ox,” Maggie said.

“Who are you calling an ox, you stubby little turnip?”

Maggie scowled, resisting the urge to slap Summer across the face with the gloves.
Suddenly knights challenging other knights to duels made perfect sense to her. She’d
gladly cut Summer down a notch or two.

“This will not do,” Bianca said. Her voice was rising, and she sounded on the verge
of hysterics.

“I agree,” Summer snapped. “Toss her out, and I’ll buy your entire stock, every last
stitch. Your mother would be so proud of your good business sense.”

Bianca frowned at Summer. Then she turned to Maggie and held out her hand. Maggie
gently placed the gloves onto her palm.

“I’m sorry,” Bianca said. “But you two are banned from the booth until my mother returns.”

Summer stomped her foot and began trying to wheedle her way into Bianca’s good graces.
Maggie had a feeling that beneath her mousy exterior Bianca had a core of steel. She
glanced over to where Ginger was scouting the racks.

Their eyes met, and Maggie jerked her head to the side. Ginger nodded, and they met
up at the corner of the booth.

“So, that went well,” Ginger said.

“Ugh,” Maggie grunted. “Listen, can you stay here and guard the booth?”

“On it,” Ginger agreed. “What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to dash over to Dr. Franklin’s and charm the haute couture out of Vera.”

“You’d have better luck if you brought three old men with you,” Ginger said.

“I’m not following.” Maggie frowned at her.

“From what I’ve heard, Vera responds best to persuasion from Jackson, Grant and Franklin.”

“Twenties, fifties and hundreds?” Maggie asked. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

“I’m just sharing what I know from her accountant,” Ginger said.

“Fabulous. Why couldn’t she be influenced by Washington and Lincoln?” Maggie grumbled.
She gave Ginger a wave and slipped away from the booth, hoping Summer was too busy
groveling to notice her absence.

She wove her way through the clusters of people that surrounded the various tables.
She saw Mrs. Shoemaker, who lived down the street from her on Society Road, haggling
over the price of some cookie cutters with Jessica Newberry, who worked in the kitchen
at the elementary school.

Mrs. Shoemaker had some alarming hoarding tendencies, but at ninety-two she enjoyed
the process of acquiring items almost as much as the items themselves. Maggie frequently
thought Mrs. Shoemaker’s family should ban her from eBay and hold an intervention,
but she supposed that, at her advanced age, Mrs. Shoemaker deserved to spend her time
and money however she chose.

Maggie slipped through a crowd that was enthralled by Doug Hooper’s knife-sharpening
demonstration—he was peeling an apple, and only slowed down to see the peel come off
in one long piece; impressive—before she resumed her course toward the exit.

She hurried down the sidewalk toward the Spring Gardens assisted-living facility for
seniors, where Dr. Franklin kept his office. She had just turned the corner when she
heard someone walking closely behind her. Too closely.

She spun around, expecting it to be Summer, and slammed smack into Sheriff Sam Collins’s
chest.

She bounced back, and Sam caught her with a hand on her elbow. Maggie tipped her head
up, and her mouth opened but no sound came out. She wanted to think it was because
she was winded at the sudden impact of crashing into him, but she knew better. Sam
had always had that effect upon her.

Maggie and Sam had grown up in St. Stanley together. Sam had teased her unmercifully
when they were in grade school, mocking her red hair and nicknaming her “Carrots.”
Subsequently, she’d spent more than a few hours in the principal’s office for bloodying
his nose.

As they got older, however, their enmity had morphed into something else entirely,
and for one summer, just before Sam left for college, they had spent a couple of months
completely head over heels in love with each other. That was, until Maggie had caught
Sam in a passionate clinch with Summer Phillips.

She had refused to see or speak to Sam from that night on, and he’d left for college
without ever knowing why she’d dumped him. The kick in the pants about that scenario
was that Maggie had been wrong. It hadn’t been Sam with Summer, but rather one of
his teammates who was wearing his football jersey.

Summer had set Maggie up to walk in on them and think she was with Sam. It had worked.
Sam had left for college and Maggie had been brokenhearted.

Sam had gone on to become a detective with the Richmond police force while Maggie
had married Charlie Gerber, a local deputy, who was killed in the line of duty when
their daughter, Laura, was only two years old.

Maggie had loved Charlie. He was a good father and
husband, and she treasured the time they’d had together. Now that Sam had returned
to St. Stanley to be sheriff, however, Maggie couldn’t help but feel there was unfinished
business between them. She just couldn’t tell if Sam felt the same way or not.