8 Antiques Con Read Online Free PDF Page B

you like to try again?”
    Back in the game, Mother batted her long eyelashes, a feminine “perk” of her glaucoma medication. “Certainly, Robert.”
    And she hauled the briefcase up, slapping it on the desk, like a fisherman landing a mackerel on a boat deck.
    “Someone,” she said with melodrama that might have been better saved for the Serenity Community Playhouse, “was after this .”
    Robert seemed less impressed than Mother might have liked. “What is it?”
    Mother smiled slyly. “I’ll show you—as soon as I rid myself of these handcuffs.” She gave me a look usually reserved for magicians’ assistants. “Brandy? The key please.”
    I sighed. “I don’t have it, Mother.”
    Mother’s smile continued on, fairly regal now. “No, dear, I’m sure I gave the key to you.”
    “No. You didn’t.”
    Déjà vu. And gesundheit.
    Mother sighed. She gave Robert a smile of girlish embarrassment. “Well, it’s of no great import. I’ll just open the case.”
    With her free hand, she began fiddling with the little four-tumbler lock. “Let’s see, I just changed the combination this morning. . . .”
    “Zero, zero, zero, zero,” I suggested.
    “That was yesterday.”
    “One, two, three, four.”
    “The day before.”
    “Try the year you claim you were born.”
    She shot me a nasty look, and I admit that had been a low blow. “You’re not helping , dear.” Then, “I remember! It’s our room number.” She turned to me. “ What’s our room number again?”
    But Robert beat me to it: “Fifteen thirty-seven.”
    Mother raised a forefinger. “I’ll try that .”
    She did, and the briefcase snapped open. Mother twirled it around on the desk, and Robert leaned forward for a look.
    “A drawing of Superman,” he said flatly, sounding a little surprised but mostly disappointed, perhaps having envisioned diamonds or cash.
    Mother, unfazed by his lackluster reaction, gushed, “Not just any Superman drawing, my dear man.”
    “Really.”
    She nodded vigorously, and for a moment I thought something in her head rattled, but it was only the handcuffs.
    “It’s extremely rare,” Mother explained. “Drawn by the creators of Superman, who are dead.” The latter was delivered as if very good news. “That simple drawing is worth a small fortune.”
    Robert frowned. “How small? Or should I say, how big?”
    “That’s part of why we’re attending the comic book convention here. It’s going to be auctioned off, and this drawing is a real draw.” She smiled at her delightful play on words.
    Robert was still frowning at her. “And you’ve been carrying it around with you?”
    Mother shrugged. “Well . . . yes. But it was in this locked case.”
    Robert again sat forward. “Ma’am,” he said sternly, almost crossly, using a term ladies of all ages hate to hear, “you’ve been very foolish, not putting that valuable drawing in the hotel’s safe. And it was reckless that you didn’t call us immediately after the break-in.”
    Mother, looking crestfallen by the reprimand, was at a rare loss for words.
    I said, “We apologize for our inaction—I guess we forgot we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
    Mother’s magnified eyes blinked at me. “Don’t you mean we’re not in Iowa, dear? You’ll have to forgive her, Robert, she’s most flummoxed this morning, after our close call last night.”
    “ Wizard of Oz reference, Mother? Hello?” I asked Robert, “Could we please leave the drawing with you? You’ll see that it’s put into the hotel’s safe?”
    “Of course,” he said, nodding. “I’ll get the necessary papers for you to sign. But first, let’s take things back a few steps, okay? Not all the way to the wrong side of the blanket, if you don’t mind.”
    I smiled. Maybe I blushed.
    “Dear,” Mother said, “I think Robert would like you to stop going down these side roads, and tell him about the break-in.”
    I did, with Mother pitching in when necessary, and pretty much