“Well she was in the bakery, maybe she saw the cat. Wouldn’t put it past her to clobber Everett to get it if it’s valuable.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Beatrice Sloan’s antique shop sat on the corner of Main and Clement, a narrow storefront with a bay window full of carefully arranged pieces and a hand-lettered sign that read Sloan Antiques & Appraisals — By Appointment or Chance. On a normal Saturday it was open. On a town-wide yard sale weekend, when half of Brooke Ridge Falls was dragging things out of attics and basements and wanted to know what they had, Beatrice did some of her best business of the year.
But today, the sign was turned to Closed.
The lights were off. The bay window display stared back at them, undisturbed. Nans rang the bell anyway. They waited. Nothing.
“That’s odd,” Helen said.
“That’s more than odd,” Ruth said. “This is the busiest weekend of her year.”
Lexy cupped her hands against the glass and peered in. The shop was dark and still, everything exactly where it should be, no sign of anyone.
“Maybe she had an emergency,” Helen said.
“Maybe,” Nans said, in a tone that suggested she wasn’t putting much weight on maybe.
“Or,” Ida said, “she’s in some back alley right now trading the cat for uncut diamonds and a mink stole.”
Everyone looked at her.
“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” Ida said.
“Nobody was thinking that,” Ruth said.
“Someone should have been.” Ida peered into the window alongside Lexy. “She knows what it’s worth, she’s gone, and it’s the one weekend a year she’d never close this shop voluntarily. You do the math.”
Nobody argued with the math.
Nans stepped back from the door. “The question isn’t just who took it. It’s how they move it. A piece that was in Everett’s hands in a public bakery.”
“You can’t sell that locally,” Lexy said.
“You can’t sell it anywhere obvious,” Ruth said. “Not quickly. You’d need someone who moves things quietly. Private buyers, no questions, no paper trail.” She was already on her iPad, tapping with the focused efficiency that meant she was doing something she wouldn’t fully explain. “Let me make some calls.”
“What kind of calls?” Helen asked.
“The useful kind.”
She stepped away from the group, phone to her ear, speaking too quietly to hear. Ida tried to listen anyway and was not subtle about it.
Two minutes later Ruth came back. “Mickey the Key,” she said. “He’ll know if anyone’s trying to move something like this on the local market. He wants to meet.”
“Where?” Nans asked.
“The laundromat on Birch Street.” Ruth paused. “He says to bring laundry.”
Ida brightened. “I need to do laundry, I’m down to one outfit.”
“We have time before he can meet,” Ruth said, pocketing her phone. “Two hours.”
Nans looked down the block toward Clement Street. “Then we have just enough time to pay Darlene Harrington a visit at the Wine and Cheese shop before we run home for Ida’s laundry.”
Ida was already moving. “The wine and cheese shop,” she said, with the quiet satisfaction of someone whose patience had finally been rewarded. “For information.”
“For information,” Nans confirmed.