The Case of the Angry Auctioneer (Auction House Mystery Series Book 1) (4 page)

As she started back up the steps to her place, the door to the ground floor apartment opened. A cloud of menthol cigarette smoke blew into the shared entryway.

“I see you,” said the voice of a middle-aged woman. “Don’t think you can sneak on by without saying hi!” The voice held a teasing, sing-song quality.

Jasper came back down to meet her new neighbor. She introduced herself.

The woman said her name was Mrs. Margie O’Neil. She stepped into the entryway and closed the door behind her. Fifty-five, 65, 70 years old? Jasper couldn’t tell. Mrs. O’Neil had a plump, old-fashioned figure encased in a powder blue going to church dressy dress covered in a floral bib apron. She might have been younger than Jasper’s mother would have been if she had lived beyond her daughters’ childhood, but the clothes she wore reminded Jasper of small town life 25 years ago. Mrs. O’Neil fanned the air with her plump hand. “That’s my husband Mr. Dick O’Neil in there. He’s a chimney.” From her apron pocket, she extracted a spray can. She began misting the hallway with floral air freshener.

Jasper felt like a mosquito under air raid attack. “Oh, please, please, you don’t have to do that! Not on my account.” She covered her hands and mouth with her hands.

“I wouldn’t want our nice new neighbor complaining about smoke the way the last one did.” Mrs. O’Neil aimed a roguish spray Jasper’s direction and squawked in delight.

“Could you stop now, Mrs. O’Neal? Please?” Jasper pleaded.

The spraying petered out. Mrs. O’Neil shook the can. “All gone. I’ll pick up some more next time I’m out. That is, unless you want to buy the next round?”

Jasper said she would try to remember.

“Bye now.” The door closed, then reopened before Jasper could move. Mrs. O’Neil stuck her head out. She eyeballed Jasper’s long, chaste skirt. “We attend service every Sunday. You’re always welcome. Mr. O’Neil and I would just love that.”

Jasper thanked her. The second the door closed, she dashed upstairs. She opened the bathroom window and both of the ones in the living room. Then she grabbed a sweater and padded downstairs and out the front door. It seemed like the perfect time to take a look around the neighborhood.

The air outside was cooling with the approach of evening, and Jasper, quick to chill, wished she had a heavier wrap. But the air smelled so fresh after the menthol cigarette meets lilac stink back inside, that she didn’t mind. She’d just walk faster, that’s all. She hoped that if she met up with anyone, her own clothes didn’t reek with the foul blend. Pastor Tim always told her to windmill her arms, shake out her hands, do jumping jacks. None of that actually helped her icy hands warm up. But that didn’t stop his
suggestions
. She turned herself into a human pinwheel for him. She tried. She really had tried.

She found tears coming to her eyes. She forced herself to focus on her new surroundings. There were indeed lots of trees here in Forest Grove. They still stood bare branched from the winter but they promised blossoms soon and lots of shade for the summer.

Two joggers went by and nodded at her. A couple walking a Great Dane and a bulldog maneuvered by. She moved into the grass, but they were nice and pulled the dogs far from her. “Nice evening for a walk!” they said cheerfully.

Jasper smiled back. “Yes! Isn’t it?” It was comforting, these little public exchanges. By the time she had passed the swing set on the length of lawn between sidewalk and the cemetery fence which was set well back from the road, and reached the gate to the cemetery, her loneliness had eased.

She decided to walk a little ways into the cemetery. Forest Lawn it was called, according to the sign at the entrance that displayed a list of rules. Winter hours were 7 a.m. to 6 p.m., she noted. Nothing about springtime. She wondered how diligent the local police were in enforcing this. With a twinge of slight guilt, she followed the red brick pathway inside. She liked the uneven feel beneath her feet of the old paving bricks. She admired the old granite markers and statues. “For Our Soldiers Dead” read the inscription on one that showed four men in Civil War uniforms. None of their backsides showed and they carried canteens and flagpoles to cover the fronts of their pants.
Oh God,
Jasper thought,
have I started to get odd about sex already?
Fifteen years of life next to Pastor Tim with little to no sex between them had finally caught up to her now that she was free of him.

Jasper studied the headstones.
Bliss, Key, Peet and Love,
she read. Suzannah Reynolds had lived for only 14 days.

Cemeteries did not sadden Jasper. She felt at home there, curious about the lives lived in other times, liked knowing that in Victorian days families would picnic in the park like settings.

Forest Lawn had huge oaks growing and Jasper, squinting, could practically see a family in warm weather cottons sitting happily on a blanket. Jasper’s heart panged with Family Envy.

Before she knew it, she had walked far down the first long brick road. A wave of tiredness washed over her. It had been a long day. She looked for a second gate she might not have noticed earlier but did not find one. Maybe she could climb the fence and shorten her route home. She peeked around but could see no living person. She giggled. She felt so naughty. Then she felt chagrinned at how this little thing was such a big deal to hesr. Her world, until this very day, had shrunk to such a small repressed size. She approached the fence. A chain link one. High enough to keep intruders from hopping over easily but not too tall to climb. In or out.

There wasn’t anything nearby to stand on since the closest grave markers were at least three feet away. After a moment’s deliberation, Jasper approached the barrier, reached up and grabbed the top rail, then stuck the toe of one shoe inside the metal mesh as far up as her leg would reach. She hiked her skirt up above her knees, then boosted herself up and flung the other leg over the top. She centered herself atop the fence. She’d have to catch her breath and figure out how to extract her foot from the inside hole of the fence before she could drop to the other side. Easier fence climbing probably took practice.

Then she saw a man walking across the grassy yards of the park between the cemetery and the sidewalk near Milwaukee Road. Her toe was really stuck. He drew closer. Jasper smoothed her skirt down as best she could. She pretended to admire the view from her fence top perch.

“Hi,” the man said with a friendly smile. “You just hangin’?” He was a handsome dark-skinned man, slim, in jeans and a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Maybe 40 years old, Jasper assessed.

Darn it, oh darn it.
“Might as well,” Jasper said.

“You need a hand?”

There was nothing she would have liked better, but she felt much too embarrassed to accept help from this stranger. This strange man. This handsome stranger.

“No. I’m good. I think. Ouch.” Jasper shifted uncomfortably on the fence. She tried to get her shoe free. She just about had it out when her hem caught on one of the strands of metal.

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m good. Really.” Jasper wriggled her left foot free of the cemetery side of the fence, balanced again, and had nearly gotten her outside leg cleared when she completely lost her balance and tumbled down to the grass outside the fence. She felt the back side of her skirt rip. The man hurried over and helped her to her feet.

“Ah, you might want to tie your sweater around your waist,” he said. “Sorry I don’t have a jacket to offer you.”

“Th-thank you. I think.”

“You do this a lot?”

Jasper stared at his solemn face which cracked into a wide friendly grin. She smiled back. “My first time. I’m new to the neighborhood.” She hoped the nice man would go away soon before her deep intrinsic shame – shame on general principles – rose to the surface along with the blush she was already showing.

“Oh. Are you the new lady in the two-family?”

She nodded.

“Word travels. Or at least Mrs. O’Neal’s words do. I’m Glenn Relerford. Two houses down.”

“I’m Jasper. Jasper Biggs.” They walked together back toward their block of Hickory Lane. “But weren’t you taking a walk?” she asked.

He smiled easily before he answered. “I was just finishing when I saw your dilemma and I just couldn’t leave you stuck up on that fence all night.”

She thanked him. They chatted amiably, and Glenn told her about the neighborhood. She was relieved to hear she wasn’t the only singleton. Although he didn’t say whether or not he had a family, he mentioned several other neighbors on their own. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

There was a Mrs. Beyer, a banker’s widow, and Ginny Gardener, the widow of a doctor. These were older ladies, Jasper knew, who had defined themselves for many years as the wives of important professional men. She felt glad to know she was breaking free of her role as Mrs. Rowe, the minister’s wife. She would never be the minister’s widow. She gulped and rubbed her skinny wedding ring. “I’m sorry. Did you ask me something?” They paused on the sidewalk in front of 320 Hickory.

Glenn nodded toward the downstairs picture window. “Good ol’ Mrs. O’Neil. She’s having the time of her life right now,” he said. “’That new girl is talking to the black policeman,’” he said in falsetto.

“You’re what?”

“I’m black,” he said with a straight face.

Jasper laughed nervously. “No, the other part.”

“I’m a police detective. You look startled. Should I be worried about you?”

“Okay. I was in the cemetery a little late. But that’s why I was climbing the fence.”

He stood silently.

Guiltily, Jasper continued. “That’s why I was climbing the fence. To get out faster.”

Glenn remained silent.

“Well, okay, here’s the thing. I was just plain tired. You know? And, to tell the truth, I was just taking a short cut home.” She shifted from one foot to the other. She checked out the curtains on the ground floor picture window. Sure enough. They fluttered.

“Uh-huh. You were saying,” Glenn said.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Well, let’s see. After hours occupation of cemetery. Possibly disturbing the peace of a bunch of dead folks. Fence climbing.”

Jasper actually found herself sweating.

Glenn burst out laughing. “Hey, I think that Forest Grove can overlook these minor infractions, Mrs. Ex-Minister’s Wife.”

“What?” That wave of tiredness she’d felt earlier washed back over her. She took a step away from Glenn.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he offered.

“I guess I better get used to my new title.” Jasper waved a hand at him over her shoulder as she trudged toward her front door.

“Wait!” he called after her.

“Nice to meet you,” Jasper said without turning around. She unlocked the door and went inside.

The combined odors of cigarette and lilac lingered like indoor smog. Tiredly, Jasper climbed up and beyond the cloud and let herself in to her apartment.

Her footsteps echoed across the bare wood floors. In the living room, she sagged on to the sleeper sofa. She sat and sat until the light faded all around her. She heard a mumble of voices from below. Something strange and yet oddly familiar. She got wearily to her feet and tiptoed to her apartment door. She cracked it open and could hear more mumbling, indiscernible voices from downstairs.
It sounds like…

Jasper retreated, closing the door behind her and locking it. She retrieved a stemmed glass from the kitchen, brought it into the front room, and turned it upside down against the bare floor. She got down on her stomach and laid her ear atop the base of the glass. The loud gibberish she thought she had heard was amplified now. It was what she had thought.
Glossolalia
. Speaking in tongues! “Oh, God, can’t I get away from this stuff?” Jasper asked the nobody in the room. Her cell phone Alleluiaed. It was Cookie. “Hi, Sis, I’m so glad to hear from you.” Jasper flopped back on the sofa and settled in for a comforting long chat.

Jasper kicked all her covers off the sleeper sofa during the first night in her new apartment. So when her cell phone chirped her awake at 6:30 a.m., she took her goosebumped arms and icy feet to the bathroom for a hot shower. No shower, only tub. She’d forgotten. She sniffed back a second of self-pity, her life felt so reduced, ran a couple inches of water into the claw foot, and took a quick sitz bath, only long enough to warm her purple toes to deep pink and give her time to soap down her vital parts. When she stepped out, she saw no towels. She wiped herself semi-dry with her nightgown and draped it on the towel rack. Her mouth tasted foul so she ran her tongue over the wet bar of soap, scooped up a handful of water from the tap, and gargled until suds leaked out her mouth. She had no idea where she had packed her toothbrush and toothpaste.

Jasper rushed to her suitcases and boxes to find something suitable for her first day of work at Biggs Auction House. She dug through a box labeled “Church Donations” and found a pair of neutral slacks either black or navy; she couldn’t tell from the dim overhead bulb in the bare bedroom. Further down in the box full of items parishioners had sent to the manse, she discovered a plaid shirt that reminded her of a Country Western tune she liked, “For Crying Out Loud, I’ve Got You to Thank.” She sang a little bit to keep herself company. In her own things, she found a cache of clean panties. She grabbed up a balled pair of dark hose and one-inch pumps that were almost the right size and, sprinting naked back to the living room, found her bra from yesterday where she had dropped it alongside the sleeper sofa.

A quick glance at her cell phone showed that she had unbelievably used up a half hour already. The eastern light poured in the living room windows. Even the proximity of the house next door couldn’t block the sun. A second floor curtain across the way twitched. Jasper clutched her clothes over her breasts and her flats across her crotch. A gray-haired woman smiled and waved. Jasper smiled automatically and waved back. She dropped to her knees atop her fallen clothes, and scooted along on top of them to the arched doorway between living room and the empty possibility room. There she lay on her back atop the painted wood floor and shimmied into her clothes.

A buzzer sounded from the hallway inside her front door. Fire alarm? Jasper sprang upright in a hurry and went to check. She heard voices talking downstairs, so she turned the deadbolt and opened her door. A ribbon of cigarette smoke curled inside. Fanning the air, she stepped out on the landing in her stocking feet and closed the door behind her.

“There you are!” Her downstairs neighbor Mrs. O’Neil stood near the open front door in the ground floor entryway. She wore a red and blue plaid bathrobe. She aimed a spray of gardenia-scented air freshener up through the clouds of cigarette smoke toward Jasper. “You have company!” She slammed the front door and marched off into her own apartment.

Jasper padded downstairs. That same buzzer sounded from over Jasper’s shoulder.

“Next time you’ll know the sound of your own door! Mr. O’Neil and me get the bell,” Mrs. O’Neil shouted.

The first five knocks of shave-and-a-haircut came from outside.

Jasper flung open the door. On the porch outside stood a familiar looking woman of 70 years or so.

“I’m sorry – “Jasper began.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the woman said. “And that other person.” She giggled. She held a stuffed animal of some kind up to the screen. “Welcome to Hickory Lane.”

“Oh! You’re from next door.” Jasper fumbled with the lock on the screen door.

When the woman was inside the foyer, she handed over the toy which turned out to be a fluffy orange and white cat. Jasper immediately dissolved into tears. She sank onto the second step from the bottom and clutched the toy cat to her heart.

“Mrs. Rowe, you’re overwrought.” She edged onto the step next to Jasper. “I’m Ginny Gardener from next door.”

“Jasper,” Jasper said.

“No, Ginny. There, there.” Ginny Gardener draped her arm gently around Jasper’s shoulders and pulled her into a motherly side hug.

Jasper rested her tired head against the other woman. “You don’t understand,” she blubbered. “My old name is Rowe. My new name is Jasper. Jasper Biggs.”

Ginny Gardener reached for the toy cat. “I think I’ve made a mistake.”

Jasper held on tight. “Don’t take the kitty!”

“You don’t have to keep it to make me feel better. I know you’ve been through a lot lately. I don’t want to add to your burdens.”

Jasper hugged the toy cat. “How do you know? My name – my old name?”

“That’s what neighbors are for. At least they are in an old-fashioned neighborhood like ours.”

“I love the kitty, Mrs. Gardener.” Jasper felt about ten years old hugging the stuffed cat and, for the moment, she did not care how she was coming across to her new acquaintance.

“Ginny.”

“Call me Jasper.”

“Of course, dear.” The older woman cleared her throat. “I wanted to warn you about that policeman who lives on the other side of me,” she said. “He’s married, you know.”

“Oh?” Jasper snuffled back the last of her tears.

“I’ve never met the lady. They don’t live together. But I believe it’s the real legal deal and all that.”

Jasper swallowed her disappointment.
Told you the world was a wicked place. Better get used to new heartaches,
that wicked old familiar voice inside said. “I suppose he has a bunch of kids too,” she said.

“That I couldn’t say. Although sometimes there are young people visiting next door. I believe he has other family in the area.”

Jasper squared her shoulders. “Thanks for sharing that with me.”

"We’re a close-knit little neighborhood here,” Ginny said.

"Yes, I see that,” Jasper said. She helped the older lady to her feet and linked her arm with hers. She escorted her next door, explaining en route how she had to hurry to leave for her first day on the job. The front lawn felt crunchy under her feet, but warmed by the morning sun, soaked the soles of her hose.

Ginny pointed at the footprints that trailed them across the adjacent driveways. “Oh, dear. I’ve caused you problems.”             

“It doesn’t matter,” Jasper said. She hugged the friendly neighbor good-bye and promised to come over for a longer visit when she could find time.

Ginny opened the side door to her house. A fluffy animal resembling the toy that Jasper still clutched came toddling out.

“Oh, Buddy!” Jasper, who had never been allowed a pet as the wife of the persnickety and often on the move Rev. Rowe, stood still not knowing how one approached a cat new to one’s acquaintance.

“That’s Alice.”

“Alice.”

Alice chirped a very small meow for such a big feline.

Jasper was won over immediately. She reached down to stroke the pet but it ambled just out of reach.

“I’m so glad you like cats.”

“I didn’t know I did but it turns out I do.”

“Not like the other people in your house.”

“The O’Neils.”

“I don’t know about him. I’ve never met him. But she brings out the broom every chance she gets.”

“She goes after Mr. O’Neil?” Jasper glanced back over her shoulder and saw Mrs. O’Neil glowering out the window of the lower apartment directly at her and Ginny Gardener.

“No, I meant Alice.” Ginny cleared her throat. “Ah, when you saw me at the window earlier.”

“Oh, well, not really. Not for long.”

“It was by mistake. People look out their windows in this neighborhood but I never expected to see you….I mean…in the ….I mean the way you were. I just wanted to see what color of curtains you had hung.”

“Well, we’ll both know soon!” Jasper did her best to sound light hearted. She made a mental note to buy the heaviest curtains she could afford. After all her years as a minister’s wife, she was tired of having the details of her life scrutinized by others. Nice or otherwise. “Gotta run!” she called as she hurried back to her house.

“Dear!” Ginny called. “You might want to rethink those shoes you were planning on wearing. I expect at the auction house, you will be on your feet all day long.”

***

Biggs Auction House was just where Cookie had told her it would be, on the corner of West and Lincoln. It took only 20 minutes and one quick call to her sister before Jasper pulled into the big blacktopped parking lot. A former Piggly Wiggly grocery store, the gold brick building still boasted large display windows. Jasper parked in front of them since the lot was empty of other vehicles and she didn’t know where to go. Old-fashioned furniture that looked heavier than all get-out took up the display area inside. A cherry red sign hanging down from the one-story roof announced the building’s new identity. The auction house stretched nearly the entire length of the lot. Two big dumpsters stood side by side at the far back.

8:20 on her Ford’s clock whose digital display was working this morning for a change. Jasper glanced in the visor mirror. Yikes. She had forgotten to do anything with her hair. She took one of the rubber bands she always kept on the gear shift, ran her hands back over her scalp, and pulled her long dark waves into a ponytail. The morning sun did nothing to hide her paleness. She slapped her cheeks and chewed her lips to bring out a little color.

A black SUV charged over the curb and roared to a stop alongside her car. The SUV’s passenger window powered down. Jasper cracked her door open. She heard the radio blaring out early rock music. “Got a pen?” Jimmy Biggs yelled.

Jasper switched off the car and started rummaging through her purse. Tissues. A Forest Grove map. Peppermints. A religious tract titled, “God has a Plan for You.”

“Leave it. We’re late.” Jimmy’s voice boomed out and echoed against the sides of the auction house. The plate glass windows rattled.

“I just need a moment.”

“We don’t have a minute. Lock your goddamn door. Get in.”

Suddenly feeling sweaty in the palms like the 21-year-old she had been nineteen years ago when she had to break the news of her impending marriage and the end to her college career to her angry stepfather, Jasper felt her 40 years of life and all her starting over courage evaporate. She got shakily out of her car, leaving behind her purse, pressed the lock button, and stepped up and into Jimmy’s vehicle. It smelled strongly of some musky male cologne.

“What the hell took you so long?” he asked.

“How are you this morning?” Jasper asked.

Jimmy roared out onto Lincoln Avenue.

The force of the car slammed her back against the seat. She scrambled for her seatbelt. Jasper realized that she had left her keys locked inside her car. She told Jimmy.

“Don’t whine,” he said.

“But I need my car. It’s all I’ve got.”

Jimmy put in a quick call on his cell phone. "My brilliant stepdaughter locked her keys in her car. Open it for her, will you? Don't worry about it. It's a piece of crap." He tossed his cell on the dash.

"Thanks. I think."

"You see a yellow pad in here?”

“A pad? You mean, like a pillow?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

“There’s no need to swear.”

Jimmy swerved the SUV over to the curb. The car behind sounded its horn and pulled past. Jimmy yanked off his seatbelt, threw open the door and marched to the back where he retrieved a legal pad from among the packing boxes and paperwork, and brought it back inside. He threw it onto Jasper’s lap. There was an address scrawled across the top page.

“Thank you.” She was nice to a fault.

“Don’t be sarcastic, missy. Remember who’s boss here.”

Jasper started to protest, but Jimmy cut her off. “We’re on our way to a look-see,” he said.

“Is that like a looky-looky?” Jasper asked, trying for a light-hearted note.

“Why don’t you just be quiet and learn something?”

“Yessir.”

Jimmy cut her a look. Even in three-quarter profile, Jimmy’s glares had always cut her down to size. He had aged since she had last seen him. But even with liver spots and thicker glasses over his rheumy blue eyes, Jimmy was still the Man in Charge. He ruled his auction kingdom the way any despot does. Absolutely, with few kind words meted out to anyone in close association – family, employees, auction-goers.

He explained to Jasper that a look-see was an informal survey of stuff that a potential client wanted to sell on auction.

“An appraisal?”

“What?”

Jasper reached for the radio knob to turn down the volume. Jimmy pushed her hand away. Jasper raised her voice. “A look-see? It’s an appraisal.”

“No. We’re just gonna look at their stuff and see if there’s anything we want for the auction.”

“Oh, a pre-auction estimate.” Jasper had heard that term on her CD from the auctioneering college.

“No.”

“An evaluation?”

“Look-see. What’s our address?”

Jasper studied the handwriting on the pad. “I can’t make it out.”