A Killer Collection Read Online Free PDF Page A

Despite the event, not many people had moved from
their spots. Unsure of how to act, they simply waited to see what would happen
next. Once the source of their shock was removed, they just continued checking
out as if nothing unusual had occurred.
    "Do you think he's all
right?" some people asked without much genuine concern. George-Bradley may
have been respected in person, but behind his back, tongues wagged.
    "Didn't look too good to me.
I heard he has some kind of serious diabetes."
    "Really? Well, did you see
him goin' at those cookies? I thought you couldn't eat like that if you had his
condition."
    "His condition is called Too
Many Big Macs,' if you ask me," a woman said with a snide laugh.
    "I'd call it too much smoking
and beer chugging," added another.
    One of the local dealers, a handsome
man in his mid-forties wearing a denim shirt tucked into dark brown pants
approached the cluster of buyers.
    "Oh, I know exactly what
George-Bradley’s condition is," he said importantly.
    "Well?" a woman holding
a large vase with speckled glaze demanded. "What would that be?"
    "When an ambulance leaves
without using its sirens," he explained, "it can only mean one
thing."
    The buyers looked back and forth
at one another, realization slowly dawning in their eyes.
    "What you saw leaving here,
my friends," the man in the blue shirt declared, "was a corpse."
     
    ~~~~~
     
    The excitement of George-Bradley’s collapse and dramatic
departure had renewed the energy of the crowd. Gossiping at a mile a minute,
men and women alike paid for their items and got in their cars, eager to be the
first to spread the tale of his death around town.
    Molly was shocked at their
flippant reactions. She had just seen her first dead body, and she felt as
though her mind wasn't working correctly. She couldn't seem to move her legs
and as the line moved forward, she simply stood still as other buyers went
around her, paid, and left.
    Finally, only Clara and Molly
remained in the quiet yard. Clara comforted Eileen, who suddenly looked years
older. Between the stress of the kiln opening and the shock of having one of
the area's most notorious collectors collapse in her yard, the woman looked
done in. Clara helped her pick up trash and gather the rest of the
refreshments. As they worked, the women murmured together in low tones.
    Molly felt that this was certainly
not the time to interview C. C., but he caught her eye and waved at her to join
him in the barn.
    "I can come back at a better
time," she offered once inside.
    "Nah." He shook his
head. "I need somethin’ else to think about instead of folks keelin' over
at my openin'. Come on, I'll show you around." C. C. seemed deeply
relieved to have another subject to talk about. Molly received a detailed tour
of the pottery studio, the kiln, and was even invited into C.C.’s house to view
a few treasured pieces crafted by generations of Burles long gone.
    C. C. showed Molly how he worked
throughout the year in the cramped bam that looked like a small metal cabin. He
had a fan for the summer and a space heater for the winter as his only
comforts. The floor was mud-covered concrete, cool even in the summer heat. The
entire length of the back wall was lined with tall wooden shelves used as
drying racks and the rest of the room's accouterments were reminiscent of
colonial times. A crude three-legged stool was pulled up to a wheel that used
foot power instead of electricity. An old door on sawhorses served as a table
for holding blocks of clay wrapped in tight plastic to retain moisture. Wooden
tools like spatulas or cheese knives were stuck haphazardly in chipped crocks
near the wheel. Lined up on a warped tabletop were a dozen undecorated jugs
that appeared moist to the touch. Every tool and piece of furniture was
encrusted with clay.
    "I just threw them this
momin'." C. C. pointed at the jugs with a gnarled and chapped finger.
"Couldn't sleep. Those new jugs that haven't been burned are called
'greenware.'