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Muller, Marcia, [McCone 01] Edwin of the Iron Shoes(v1, shtml) Read Online Free PDF
Tags: Literature&Fiction
from it. What a terrible thing to do to a pet!
Joan must have sensed my squeamishness. "Yeah, I would have buried him, too. But you get used to him." Her voice had lost much of its animation, as if she'd wearied of her act. "What can I do for you?"
"Hank Zaton sent me over. From All Souls Legal Cooperative. He said you need some investigative work done."
"Oh, you're Sharon McCone!" She shook her head, laughing softly. "And here I was, giving you a sales pitch!"
"It was pretty effective. In a few minutes you could have sold me anything in the shop."
"That's good to know. Have a seat, why don't you." She gestured at a nearby chair. "I spoke to Hank on behalf of our Merchants' Association, which I'm a member of. All Souls has been handling my legal work and… oh, excuse me."
A remarkable-looking woman had come into the shop. She was tall, and her fine cascade of blond hair fell to her shoulders from under a brown suede hat with a long pheasant feather. Her face was well made up, classically beautiful; and her entire outfit was of suede like the hat, even to laced knee-high boots.
As if she sensed a sale here, Joan moved in quickly. "Good afternoon, ma'am. You look like you might enjoy meeting a lovely lady…"
I sat there for a minute as she drew the newcomer along on the same fantasy trip she'd taken me, modified here and there when she pointed out different objects of interest. Finally I got up and wandered around the shop, finding a couple of Oriental lamps and a carved table that would be perfect for my apartment. I was considering a black lacquered trunk with brass trimmings and a price very much out of my range when Joan Albritton called out to me.
"Okay, she's gone. Now you and I can talk business."
Reluctantly, I returned to the front. "She buy anything?"
"Sure, but frankly I thought she'd be more of a sale than she was."
"Oh, not so good?"
"Not bad, forty bucks. That Italian painting I showed you. Now I'll have to find Edwin a new picture to appreciate."
Then we had sat down and launched into a discussion of the vandals who had been plaguing Salem Street. It occurred to me, with a pang, as I came back to the present, that had I been more successful in my investigation, Joan might be here today, introducing still another unsuspecting stranger to the lovelorn lady from Paris.
Suddenly there was a tap on the door. Charlie Cornish. I went to let him in.
He entered the shop cautiously, keeping his eyes averted from the floor where Joan's body had lain. "Thought I'd stop in and see how you're doing."
"I'm not doing much. Right now the thought of the inventory intimidates me."
Charlie sat down on a stool by the counter. "I take it you don't know anything about antiques."
"Not a thing."
He nodded. "Let me warn you then: the hard part is telling the real ones from the others."
"The others?"
"Sure. Joanie had some good pieces here, damn good, but she ordered a lot through van Osten's catalogues, too."
"I know she bought things from him, but what do you mean?"
Charlie assumed a mock-pedagogical stance. "Well, consider how many antique stores there are in this city. Couple of hundred, right?"
"I guess so."
"Take my word for it. There are close to five pages of them in the phone book. Now, multiply that by all the other cities around the country. See what I mean?"
"I'm getting the drift."
"Good. Now, how many antiques are there to go around? Lately, the trend is for dealers to order stock from Europe, through catalogues. But Europe has only so many antiques, too."
"Are you saying the antiques are fake?"
"Oh, the catalogues claim they're the real article. But when a big dealer or a department store orders fifty of number SSI73X, oak washstand with marble inlay, how many of those washstands do you think the European catalogue house found sitting around in somebody's barn?"
"Not fifty, at any rate."
Charlie bestowed a proud glance at me. At this rate, I was going to go to the head of the class.
"Now,"
Joan must have sensed my squeamishness. "Yeah, I would have buried him, too. But you get used to him." Her voice had lost much of its animation, as if she'd wearied of her act. "What can I do for you?"
"Hank Zaton sent me over. From All Souls Legal Cooperative. He said you need some investigative work done."
"Oh, you're Sharon McCone!" She shook her head, laughing softly. "And here I was, giving you a sales pitch!"
"It was pretty effective. In a few minutes you could have sold me anything in the shop."
"That's good to know. Have a seat, why don't you." She gestured at a nearby chair. "I spoke to Hank on behalf of our Merchants' Association, which I'm a member of. All Souls has been handling my legal work and… oh, excuse me."
A remarkable-looking woman had come into the shop. She was tall, and her fine cascade of blond hair fell to her shoulders from under a brown suede hat with a long pheasant feather. Her face was well made up, classically beautiful; and her entire outfit was of suede like the hat, even to laced knee-high boots.
As if she sensed a sale here, Joan moved in quickly. "Good afternoon, ma'am. You look like you might enjoy meeting a lovely lady…"
I sat there for a minute as she drew the newcomer along on the same fantasy trip she'd taken me, modified here and there when she pointed out different objects of interest. Finally I got up and wandered around the shop, finding a couple of Oriental lamps and a carved table that would be perfect for my apartment. I was considering a black lacquered trunk with brass trimmings and a price very much out of my range when Joan Albritton called out to me.
"Okay, she's gone. Now you and I can talk business."
Reluctantly, I returned to the front. "She buy anything?"
"Sure, but frankly I thought she'd be more of a sale than she was."
"Oh, not so good?"
"Not bad, forty bucks. That Italian painting I showed you. Now I'll have to find Edwin a new picture to appreciate."
Then we had sat down and launched into a discussion of the vandals who had been plaguing Salem Street. It occurred to me, with a pang, as I came back to the present, that had I been more successful in my investigation, Joan might be here today, introducing still another unsuspecting stranger to the lovelorn lady from Paris.
Suddenly there was a tap on the door. Charlie Cornish. I went to let him in.
He entered the shop cautiously, keeping his eyes averted from the floor where Joan's body had lain. "Thought I'd stop in and see how you're doing."
"I'm not doing much. Right now the thought of the inventory intimidates me."
Charlie sat down on a stool by the counter. "I take it you don't know anything about antiques."
"Not a thing."
He nodded. "Let me warn you then: the hard part is telling the real ones from the others."
"The others?"
"Sure. Joanie had some good pieces here, damn good, but she ordered a lot through van Osten's catalogues, too."
"I know she bought things from him, but what do you mean?"
Charlie assumed a mock-pedagogical stance. "Well, consider how many antique stores there are in this city. Couple of hundred, right?"
"I guess so."
"Take my word for it. There are close to five pages of them in the phone book. Now, multiply that by all the other cities around the country. See what I mean?"
"I'm getting the drift."
"Good. Now, how many antiques are there to go around? Lately, the trend is for dealers to order stock from Europe, through catalogues. But Europe has only so many antiques, too."
"Are you saying the antiques are fake?"
"Oh, the catalogues claim they're the real article. But when a big dealer or a department store orders fifty of number SSI73X, oak washstand with marble inlay, how many of those washstands do you think the European catalogue house found sitting around in somebody's barn?"
"Not fifty, at any rate."
Charlie bestowed a proud glance at me. At this rate, I was going to go to the head of the class.
"Now,"