Read Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery Online

Authors: Elaine Flinn

Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery (6 page)

BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
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“He’s out of town and was supposed to fax you his information.”
“Look, I can get you back in the queue, but I’ve got to have some proof of accountability. I’m not supposed to do this normally, but since it’s you, I can take your credit card info and work the sale that way. How’s that sound?”
olly’s eye began to twitch. She didn’t relish the idea of adding thousands of dollars on her American Express card. What she would relish was wringing Todd Jessop’s neck. There was nothing more gauche than a dealer backing out of a high-ticket auction. It screamed of being an incompetent, or worse, having cold feet. Playing the game was not for the faint of heart, and Molly Doyle could snap out bids and hold her own with the best. But this wasn’t the first time a client had backed out, and Molly knew that discretion was the better part of valor.
“I think I’d better pass, Terry. Bidding was a last-minute decision by my client. He’s out of town and scheduled with back-to-back meetings. Either he screwed up, or changed his mind.”
“No problem. These things happen. But look at it this way, we had a chance to hook up again. Listen, you take care and any time you want to bid with us call me first and I’ll personally set you up.”
“I’ll do that. And thanks for everything. I appreciate it that you’re willing to accommodate me. Great talking to you.”
Molly’s eye was out of control. Not willing to offer her credit card was like saying her limit wasn’t high enough, or she was over-extended. The twitching was so bad, she had to squeeze both eyes shut. She thanked God she’d managed to get her ego under control and bow out with a reasonable excuse. She knew she’d been only an inch away from staying in and assuming Todd had turned it over to his assistant despite her suggestion he handle it. If he had, then his assistant dropped the ball. As a witness to Jessop’s quick temper, Molly suddenly felt sorry for the assistant.
Molly wiped her hands on her sweats. ‘The gearing-up process for telephone bidding was an adrenaline rush, and, she had to admit, addicting. Akin to being in a free fall, it was insanely competitive and sometimes dangerous to one’s mental health. The advantages of seeing one’s opponents, or eavesdropping on conversations, or simply getting a feel for the crowd were absent. It was like bidding against a ghost. Your telephone stand-in couldn’t help but feel the competition that fueled the air. In spite of training to be calm and not transmit his or her own anxiety, it often came through and that’s when it became a test of self-control. Coming down from the high was another problem. Win or lose, it often left Molly feeling as limp as a wet dishrag.
Molly jumped when the phone rang. It had to be Jessop. No one else would call her this early. She checked her watch. There was no way they could get back in now. The auction would be underway any minute. She wiped her hands again, picked up the phone, and in a calm voice, said, “You’re too late. It’s already started.”
“I’m not too late. Your watch must be fast.”
“Randall? Why are you awake this early?”
“I wanted to wish you luck. What do you mean, it’s too late?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Yeah? I can’t wait to hear it. Unlock the door. I’ve got doughnuts.”
Molly turned and saw him leaning against the door. She shook her head and laughed. “Got any apple fritters?”
“Of course.”
Molly opened the door. “What a pal.”
“Yeah, that’s me. Got coffee, too. Clear your command post and bring me up to date.”
Molly told Randall that Jessop hadn’t forwarded his financial information, and how Terry Jorgenson was willing to let her bid, but she had to give him her credit card number. “For a nanosecond I almost stayed in and gave Terry my American Express number.” Tearing off a piece of the apple fritter, she sighed. “But I came to my senses in time. The thought of being stuck with merch that expensive, which would be hard to sell here, didn’t give me a warm feeling.”
“Smart move.”
“Smart, maybe, but I was embarrassed. Any dealcr doing a phone bid for a client would have had everything in place in time.”
“Hey, your reason was plausible. And you told him it was a last-minute thing, so what’s the problem?”
Molly pulled off another bite, and shrugged. “I guess you’re right. It’s just, my big ego is a tad bruised.” Molly wiped the sugar from her fingers, then laughed. “I was actually looking forward to it. I haven’t been in an auction for months. Guess I miss the fun.”
Randall shook his head. “You dealers are like junkies waiting for your next fix.”
Molly gave him a sly look. “Yeah, but I’m in control of my habit. I think my performance this morning is self-evident.”
“Sometimes I wonder.” He pulled the bag of doughnuts towards him. “I forgot to get a buttermilk bar. Damn. How could I have done that? It’s your fault.”
“My fault? How do you figure that?”
“I was worried about you and lost my head.”
“Worried about
moi?
Oh, please! I’d think by now you would know I’m a sterling individual.”
“Solid gold, okay? Feel better now? At least you’re off the hook with Jessop. I’d hate to be in his assistant’s shoes if he delegated that little assignment.” After devouring two doughnuts, he rose and said, “You need any furniture moved before I leave?”
Giving Randall one of her sweetest smiles, Molly said, “There
are
a couple of chairs out in the garage you might help me with. They’re kind of heavy.”
Randall followed Molly into the garage and when she pointed out the set of six chairs, he laughed. “A couple?”
The set of early-eighteenth-century, Louis XIV-style, walnut, open arm chairs with padded backs and cushioned seats was in pristine condition and very pricey. Molly ran her hand over the carved arms. “I only need two on the floor. I’ve got to photograph them for a new client. I promised to e-mail her today.”
Randall picked one up and winced. “Must be a big house. These babies will fill up a room by themselves. Okay, out of my way.”
Molly went ahead of Randall, then pointed out where she wanted them. “You’re a champ to do this for me. By the way, they’re not going into a house. It’s for her business.”
“Fancy boardroom stuff? Well, they’ll make an impression for sure.”
Molly bit her lip and tried not to laugh. She wondered if she should tell Randall what the chairs were really for. Best not to, she decided. Her client ran a prosperous lap dancing enterprise in the City. Molly wasn’t sure if lap dancing was legal and didn’t want to get Del Tinsley in trouble. Besides, she sure as hell wasn’t going to blow a twelve-grand sale. Del wanted only the best, and she was willing to pay for it. “Oh, I’m sure the chairs will make a big impression.”
 
Molly woke Emma at six-thirty, told her about the auction screw-up, then took a shower. After seeing Emma off to school, she ran over to Tosca’s for her morning treat of Bennie’s apple cake. Randall’s fritters hadn’t ramped up her energy level enough. Coming down from auction anticipation drained her, and she needed more sugar to get ready for the day. She could also have a forbidden cigarette and not worry about Emma looking over her shoulder. She and Daria had been working hard to quit, but a morning like this just blew all her good intentions to hell.
Molly e-mailed the photos of the chairs to Del Tinsley, then set about getting the shop ready for what she hoped would be a good sales day. Monday was generally slow, and Molly often thought if she were to stop being open seven days a week, which Max had left up to her, Monday would be the day to close. Maybe, since Sunset Center, the culture-and-art venue for Carmel, was hosting a traveling art show starting today, she might be lucky. She had heard tickets for the three-day event were sold out. Most likely, she thought, from the four chartered busses arriving with tourists from the Bay Area just for the art show. If the retail gods were smiling, she might sell a few things from the overflow.
But it was not to be. Between opening on time again until noon, not one person walked into Treasures. At least Del Tinsley got back to her via e-mail and loved the chairs. She promised to give her a call in the afternoon to arrange delivery. Every time the phone rang, Molly rushed to her desk hoping it was Todd Jessop apologizing for the mix-up. Instead, she had three telemarketers, two people looking for Lladro figurines, which Molly did not carry, one from Emma’s counselor setting up a progress report date, and one from Randall asking her if Jessop had called.
After a quick salad for lunch in the storage room, Molly was tempted to put the CLOSED sign in the window and take a short nap. Stifling a yawn, she decided to do just that. On her way to the front window, the phone rang. No longer interested in jogging to her desk, she sauntered over and picked it up. “Treasures. How can I help you?”
“Molly? It’s me, Del. Honey, I just love the chairs! The girls are crazy about them. How about if I send a few of my boys down in a U-Haul tomorrow?”
“Aren’t they gorgeous? Tomorrow is perfect. I’ll be ready.”
“Gorgeous? They’re piss elegant. I’ll be driving down tomorrow, too. We’re doing a private party out in Carmel Valley next week, and I want to meet the guy who hired us. I don’t know him from Adam.”
Molly laughed. “Maybe I can help? I mean, I might know someone who knows him?”
“I can’t tell you who it is. These things are confidential. But thanks anyway.”
“Gotcha.”
“Figure I’ll be there around ten. Keep your eyes open for more chairs. Business is booming and I’m thinking of expanding.”
“Consider it done.”
When Del rang off, Molly collapsed in her chair and laughed. If only her former New York clients could see her now! Purveyor to lap dancers. She couldn’t wait to tell Daria. At least she’d find it humorous. Randall might not. But then, he didn’t have to know.
Molly looked around the shop, hoping to find something to keep her busy. Everything was pristine. Not a speck of dust, not one cushion off-center, all the silver was shining, the French copper molds glowed, crystal sparkled, even the working fireplace was ash-free and burning gently. She placed the CLOSED sign in the window. She stretched out in her favorite tatty wing chair in the storage room and set the small alarm clock to wake her in an hour.
Molly had no sooner closed her eyes when the phone rang again. She eyed the monster next to her on the table and considered ignoring it. With a deep sigh, she picked it up and before she could speak, Carla Jessop said, “Hi, change in plan for dinner tonight. We’re still on, but instead of the ranch, we’ll be at the tasting room. My father wants to see what we’re doing and his cook will fix us up there.”
Molly hesitated. She’d forgotten about the invitation and really wasn’t in the mood to break bread with Jessop after this morning’s fiasco. But she couldn’t bow out now. Sooner or later, she’d have to face the jerk. Maybe he would still be out of town. “Works for me. Is seven still okay?”
“Seven it is. Oh, by the way, I’ll pick up Emma when I get Michelle, okay?”
“Thanks. I’ll call Charles and let him know.”
Molly dialed Bitsy Morgan’s number and spoke to Josie. Charles and Josie were the married couple who took care of Bitsy’s gigantic house in Pebble Beach. When the decision to send Emma to Santa Catalina in Monterey was made, Bitsy had insisted that Charles would drive Emma to and from school. Monterey and Carmel were relatively crime-free, but Bitsy was adamant that Emma have safe transportation. One just never knew these days, she’d insisted. And one just never argued with Bitsy Morgan.
“Hi, Josie. Carla Jessop will be picking Emma up today with Michelle, so Charles won’t have to go.”
“Good thing you called. He was going to leave early to do some errands. Oh, Bitsy called today. She’s coming home early.”
“Bored already?”
“Are you kidding? Bitsy bored? No. She said shopping in Palm Springs wasn’t much fun anymore unless you were a wanna-be tramp, and she was too old for that look.”
Molly laughed. “Somehow I can’t see her in navel-baring hiphuggers and four-inch heels.”
Molly hung up and shut her eyes again. If the damn phone rang once more, she’d just let the machine pick up the call. When it did ring later, Molly jumped with a start. As she reached for the phone, she saw the clock and almost fainted. The alarm hadn’t gone off and it was just past four. How could she have slept so long?
Randall’s voice was blaring in her ear. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why is the ‘closed’ sign in the window? You okay? Emma okay? What?”
“I fell asleep.”
There was a pause, then a laugh. “Are you kidding me? Molly Doyle asleep in her shop? Impossible.”
“Yes, isn’t it. It’s been a slow day, and well, I just thought I’d shut my eyes for a little while and the damn alarm didn’t go off.”
“Hey, don’t bellyache to me. You’re the one who said you’d bid for that jerk.”
“Aw, come on. A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.”
“He call you?”
Molly paused. The last thing she needed was Randall to give her grief. “No, and I hope I won’t see him tonight at dinner.”
BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
5.06Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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