Danger in a Small Town. Ginny Aiken
not ready for the living room,” Miss Tabitha said with a shake of her head. Her alabaster braided coronet loosened, and a stray wisp grazed her forehead. “That’s why Ethan’s going to help you up those stairs. He should be here any—”
The doorbell cut her off. She murmured something about lunch, and Tess headed for the foyer. At the door she smiled at Ethan Rogers. “Surprise, surprise!” she said. “I didn’t expect you to be the boarder Miss Tabitha said she’d roped into helping us corral our wild man.”
He smiled. “Hi, Tess.” He stepped inside and went straight to her great-uncle. “Mr. Graver is going to need a hand with those stairs. Don’t know about that corralling bit, though. I’m a city boy all the way.”
As the tall, muscular Ethan stood next to thin, wiry Uncle Gordon, Tess grinned. “I doubt he’ll give you much trouble.”
Uncle Gordon snorted again. “I don’t tangle with the law, girlie-girl! This guy’s way outta my league. I know when I’m beat. Let’s go upstairs.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Retired, Mr. Graver. I used to work for the DEA.”
Uncle Gordon jutted out his chin. “I’m still impressed.”
“Don’t be,” Ethan said, his words as tight as his jaw. “There’s no glamour in law enforcement. Just a lot of pain and heartbreak.”
Hm…she’d been right. Definitely a story somewhere under Ethan’s many layers. But just as she’d told herself out on the roadside the day before, she didn’t have the right to go digging. That didn’t stop her from wondering what had led Ethan to leave the agency.
Her curiosity would have to go unsatisfied, though. They had a septuagenarian to get to bed.
To her surprise Ethan didn’t leave right after he helped her settle Uncle Gordon in the middle of the old four-poster bed. Instead he followed her to the kitchen, where Miss Tabitha was making lunch.
She turned and waved toward the table when Tess and Ethan walked in. “Take a chair. The sandwiches are almost ready.”
“Great!” Tess said. “I’ve missed your cooking.”
Miss Tabitha tsk-tsked. “Oh, this isn’t cooking. I told you, it’s just sandwiches.” Then she beamed her forest-green eyes at Tess. “Gordon’s told me you left your job in Charlotte. How come?”
Tess didn’t know anyone who could dodge Miss Tabitha’s stare. But how was she going to tell the older woman about the thefts at Magnusson’s Department Store? Especially with Ethan, a virtual stranger, sitting right here. How, for a brief time suspicion fell on her because of her position as manager of the Finer Footwear department? How could she tell Miss Tabitha that even after the culprit was found and Tess was cleared, the stigma of suspicion had dogged her every move at work?
She couldn’t, so she fell back on the flip response. “I retired. I worked like crazy, and it was great for a while, but home is home. I’m back for good.”
“Pshaw! You’re barely out of diapers, Tess Graver. You’ve no more retired than I’ve taken up beach volleyball. What are you up to?”
Diapers? Beach volleyball? “I’m serious, Miss Tabitha. I’m done selling fancy flip-flops and sky-high heels for Magnusson’s. I’m back in Loganton to stay. I’m starting a new business here.”
“Tell me all about it.”
BRIIING!
Saved by the phone! “Hold that thought,” Tess said, and went to the phone. “Hello?”
Silence.
“Who’s this?” she asked, but got no response. Then she shook her head and hung up. “Wrong number.”
She returned to the table and realized both Miss Tabitha and Ethan were staring right at her. “What?” she asked.
Miss Tabitha arched a brow. “You were about to tell me about this new business of yours.”
It was time to tell. “Well, I’m glad Molly and the rest of that bunch decided they couldn’t get away to help Uncle Gordon. They gave me the chance to do what I really wanted but hadn’t had the guts to go ahead and do.”
“And that would be…?”
“I’m opening an online auction and consignment service. I’m going to make money off other people’s junk.”
Out the corner of her eye, Tess saw the disbelief on Ethan’s face. Miss Tabitha, on the other hand, looked intrigued. Tess smiled at the lady she hoped her uncle would finally marry someday.
“It’s not as crazy as it sounds,” she said.
Miss Tabitha set thick sandwiches before them, then placed a pitcher of her trademark sweet tea in the center of the table. “Tell me.”
After a quick prayer they ate, and Tess explained the online business phenomenon. True, it wasn’t the most traditional of endeavors, but she liked the idea of finding new homes for usable items. “You know what they say,” she added. “One man’s trash is another’s treasure.”
Miss Tabitha tapped her spoon on the table. “Well, Tess, my dear. You’ve just snagged yourself your first client. I’ve got more than my fair share of junk. I can stand to unload a whole heap of it. If it’ll help you and keep you here for Gordon, why, I can’t think of a better fate for all those things.”
Tess gaped.
The phone rang—again.
She smacked her mouth shut, then went to the phone. “Hello?”
This time, she heard breathing, faint and even, but got no response.
“Come on,” she said. “I can hear you. What do you want?”
The breathing continued, and a sudden chill ran through her. This time, she couldn’t drop the receiver soon enough. “I’ll have to call the phone company. That’s two times this happened in less than an hour. I hate prank callers. They really need to get a life.”
“Prank?” Ethan asked, his voice taut, his eyes narrow and fixed on her face.
Wow! His look was colder than ice. “Mmm…yes. Silence, and then breathing. No big deal. It happens.”
Ethan looked ready to object, but when he glanced at Miss Tabitha, he sat back and stared at the table. His fingers tapped out a rhythm against the wood.
Tess forced her thoughts back to their earlier conversation. “Are you really serious, Miss Tabitha? You want me to sell some items for you? What would you like me to sell first?”
A slow smile brightened Miss Tabitha’s round, still-lovely face. “I’ve just the thing. It’s bound to bring you a good commission, too. How would you like to list my collection of Victorian funerary urns?”
Ethan made a choked sound. Tess refused to look. She didn’t blame him. After all…funerary urns? Ick! “Uh…what are funerary urns?”
“Well, honey, just what they sound like. They’re the glass, ceramic or metal urns Victorian folks used to store the ashes of their dearly departed.”
Oh, swell. She wants me to sell hundred-plus-year-old ashes. “Hm…” How did one ask diplomatically? “What exactly does one do with Victorian funerary urns?”
“Why, nothing, I suppose. They’re just unique and rare collectibles. Victorians didn’t cotton to the notion of cremation. They agreed with Scripture about the body being buried.”
Tess knew her Scriptures just as well as the next Christian girl, but still, the thought of urns and ashes…she shuddered.
“That still doesn’t tell me why you—” or anyone else “—would collect them.”
Miss Tabitha gestured vaguely. “A distant relative left me a small collection—four