A Killer Collection

by J. B. Stanley

  Clara agreed it would be a challenge. "I told you to come last night!" She scolded her daughter from her position behind the checkout counter. "How are you going to take pictures with all these people around?"

  "I'll manage." Molly smiled at the signs of her mother's unusual nervousness, watching as she scanned over her notes in the catalogue. Molly knew that organized, capable Clara had the location of every item memorized and could run the sale in her sleep, but her mother still worried. "Some courteous use of good manners is all it'll take. People won’t mind standing aside for a few seconds. Don't worry Ma, it's going to be a great sale."

  Clara closed her catalogue and frowned. "I don't know," she said gloomily. "I woke up with this bad feeling that something was going to go wrong today."

  Molly did not dismiss her mother's instinctual feelings—like her own, they had too often proved correct.

  "Like what? Lex has obviously gotten a great deal of interest. I looked at the Internet bids last night and many things have already reached their estimates and the sale hasn't even begun."

  Clara lowered her voice. "It's not the prices. It's something else."

  "You didn't say anything to Lex about your vibe, did you?" Molly asked.

  "Of course not." Her mother gestured to where Lex stood chatting up one of his frequent buyers. "He's already got a fever."

  "Not again!" Molly couldn't help grinning. Lex habitually ran fevers before one of his quarterly sales. These were the ones that brought in the real profits for him. His weekly sales just paid the rent, and since he and Kitty were dreaming of buying a new home, this sale was especially important.

  Molly watched him pat his forehead with a handkerchief before moving on to refocus the projection screen. Lex also hired people to hold the smaller items aloft so the crowd could view them with ease. After they were sold, the items were brought to a cordoned off holding area where they were later packed and given over to their new owners only after a receipt was presented.

  Between the Internet bidding and the live bids. Lex needed a large crew to run one of his premier sales, and though Molly enjoyed working the sales as much as Clara did, she found she could not glean the details she needed for her Collector's Weekly article while dashing to and fro looking for a snuffbox or a set of sterling spoons to hold up for the crowd.

  Inside the main room, groups of buyers clustered before the display cases, carefully examining the selections of southern pottery, some of which were from George- Bradley's collection. A sign taped to the sliding glass doors read, Please do not handle the pottery. Ask for Assistance. It was being completely ignored as collectors and dealers raised pieces out to the light, searching for minute cracks or flakes to the rims.

  They swiveled jugs upside down, looking for the potter's stamp or a date. Each did their best to appear disinterested in the piece they examined, setting their faces into ambivalent masks as they ran their fervent fingers over the curves of clay. It was always the hands that gave their desire away.

  Molly spotted Donald scrutinizing a pottery poodle glazed in earth brown. She watched Donald's face as he angled the piece and bobbed his head up and down so that his bifocal glasses could absorb all the details. Brows knit in concentration; he replaced the handsome poodle in its case and made a note in his sale catalogue. He liked the piece.

  "Are you planning on buying up the whole showcase?" Molly greeted him with a teasing pat on the arm.

  "Hello!" Donald hugged her warmly. "I might not be able to afford the prices today, but that N. Fox jug in the third case is a keeper." He glanced worriedly at the stream of incoming buyers, more of whom were filtering wide-eyed into the room like fish released into the open sea.

  "Looks like a lot of people waited to preview until today," Molly said, following his gaze.

  "It sure does," Donald agreed. "I came on Monday night so I could take a long look in private. It's good to have a friend inside," Donald nodded in acquiescence in Clara's direction, "but I still like to get here early and get my seat."

  Molly looked over at the end of the first row and saw Donald's name taped to a chair.

  "I'd better snap photos of some of these pieces before the showcases get too mobbed again." She excused herself and got to work taking photographs of the items she expected to fetch the highest prices.

  It was almost impossible to interview bidders before a sale. They were too preoccupied and reluctant to say anything that could indicate their preferences. Molly focused on taking all the photos she could, then ambled over to the front desk where Kitty was registering bidders and handing out reserved seating cards.

  "Hey Kitty." Molly greeted her friend with a quick hug. "Is it going to be a full house?"

  "And then some," her friend said as she patted the pile of bidder numbers. They were already up over the hundreds.

  "We had to rent extra chairs, and people will still be standing."

  Lex came over in search of his absentee bid sheets, his eyes darting about without settling on anything. Kitty placed an arm on his chest and handed him a bottle of water and three aspirin.

  "You burning hunk of man, take these and I'll get you the sheets. I know exactly where they are."

  Lex kissed her cheek and downed the aspirin. Molly got some short quotes on his feelings about the prime pieces in the sale, but then he was hailed by several prospective buyers and had no more time for chatting.

  "We've got a problem," Clara said gravely as she appeared from the back room, holding one of the cordless phones in her hand. "Wade just called. Craven threw his back out last night and neither of them is coming! What are we going to do?"

  Wade and Craven were experienced auction workers. They could lift the heaviest pieces of furniture without breaking a sweat and courteously help customers load their goods at the end of each sale.

  Molly looked at her watch. It was 9:30 and the auction was scheduled to begin in thirty minutes. Two of the four men had called out sick. The other two were new and would be scrambling to move and locate all of the furniture during the sale. Also, there was so much pottery to be displayed, taken to the back, and carefully wrapped without damage. It was a serious problem.

  "I don't think Will and Mike can handle the whole job!" Kitty wailed dramatically in between chewing on her nails. "They are too green!"

  "They don't have any choice!" Clara snapped. "Today is the day Will learns what a mantel is." And she hurried off to find her victims.

  Just then, Will shuffled in and grabbed a soda off the patron's buffet table. Clara appeared with hands on hips, a clear sign that she was unhappy. "What kind of outfit is that for working a sale?"

  Will's cap covered his eyes completely, and he had to peek out from under its brim to read the listing. As he snaked away from Clara's glare in order to review the listing of furniture he was to move, Molly noticed an odd shadowing on his skin. Browns, greens, and blues swirled around his eyes like smudges of paint. The left side of his lower lip was bloated and hung slightly forward, and a small cut worked its way through his upper chin.

  "What happened to you?" Molly asked in concern. She didn't really know Will or Mike well as they were relatively new crewmembers, but she was shocked into bluntness by the sight of his bruises.

  "Got in a fight," Will mumbled, a gleam of pride in his sunken eyes.

  "When? Last night?" Molly couldn't believe he had been out carousing the night before one of the big sales.

  "Nah, Thursday," Will said nonchalantly and walked off.

  "Looks like you lost!" a bent old lady who was a regular buyer called after him, cackling maliciously.

  Finally, it was time for the auction to begin. The last stragglers took their seats while those who were too edgy to sit found places to stand behind the back rows. Lex came to the podium to make his opening announcements. Molly winked encouragingly at Clara as her mother surveyed the crowd, her crew poised to begin the frantic pace. From his elevated platform, Lex reminded the crowd that all of the items had been available
to preview for over a week and that all purchases were final. Most of the audience talked through his opening speech, having heard it all a dozen times before.

  "And lastly, thank you all for coming. Let's get started, shall we? Lot 1. We have a fine gentleman's shaving stand out of cherry. Excellent patina on this early piece. Let's start it off at $100. Now $150. Now $200. Thank you."

  Just as the item closed at a selling price of $750 plus buyer's premium, the power went off. The lights winked out and the humming computers went silent. The projection screen turned black and the air-conditioning ceased flowing through the vents. The crowd sat agog for a fraction of a second, before turning about in their chairs and twittering animatedly with their neighbors.

  Lex was frozen at the podium, but as he blinked his eyes and began to step down, the power snapped back on. He wiped his forehead in a dramatic gesture of relief and the crowd laughed.

  "Can you reboot?" he called over to the two girls running the computers.

  "Yeah, just give us a minute."

  While Lex entertained the crowd with a story about another auction disaster, the computers were brought back to life and the image of Lot 2, a painted humidor, leapt onto the projection screen. Molly looked at her mother, whose mouth was set in a thin line of concern. Was this the event she had had a premonition about?

  Then, Mike, the other new crewmember, pushed past Molly's seat in order to retrieve a cast-iron urn placed in a far comer. She recoiled at the strong smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke that hung in a tight cloud around his body. She also noticed that he bent to pick up a pottery jardinière instead of the iron urn.

  "No, not that one," she whispered to him, pointing to the correct piece, "that one in the comer."

  He turned to thank her, his eyes bloodshot and puffy with fatigue. As she watched him reach out to grasp the urn, she saw that his hands were shaking. He was certainly not in a good state to be carrying valuable antiques. As he moved to grab the urn by its rim, she leaned over again, turning her nose away from his barroom odor.

  "Grab it by the handles or the base. You'll drop it that way," she scolded. "And you'd better drink some water."

  If Lex had any idea Mike was still inebriated on the day of his big sale, he would burst, but that reaction was nothing compared to the wrath Mike would face from Clara should he disturb the flow of the sale. With the veteran workers absent, Molly could see that the expectations set for Mike and Will were just too high. She was torn between sympathy and disgust for the irresponsible boys.

  When Clara next came her way, loading her hands with two crystal decanters, Molly warned her of potential disasters.

  " Mike’s got a nasty hangover," she whispered.

  "Hangover? The boy is dead drunk!" Clara retorted and whisked her items up to the front.

  Twenty lots later, Mike was nowhere in sight.

  "Molly." Kitty appeared at her side, gripping her arm like a vise. " Mike left. He just left!"

  "What?" Molly asked, astounded.

  Kitty whispered urgently, "He left! He said he was peeing blood and had to go to the hospital."

  Molly looked across the room at her mother, who was scrambling to prepare a table full of pottery to be auctioned off in the next few minutes. "Oh, Lord."

  "You've got to get up there! Your mom can't handle all this," Kitty pleaded.

  Molly left her notepad on her chair and wove her way around the standing observers until she reached the front. She whispered the dire news to Clara, who unhesitatingly shoved a catalogue in her hands.

  "I told you something bad was going to happen. Still, I'd rather have you up here anyway. You're now in charge of all the pottery. I'll grab you if we need to lift something small. Otherwise, we're going to have to use the wand."

  The wand was a stick with a star glued to its tip that the crew used to point to objects that were just too bulky to bring up front for the crowd to view.

  "We have the projection screen, too," Molly reminded her mother. "They'll know what we're selling." And she quickly grabbed the next lot, a pottery lamb, and held it aloft before the audience.

  Lex did a double take when he saw her, but didn't miss a beat of his selling lilt. As he opened the bidding, Molly watched the same old lady who had cackled at Will hold her bidder number firmly in the air. Donald raised his as well, and it came down to just the two of them fighting for the pottery animal. Finally, Donald shook his head and looked back down at his lap, a sign that he was done bidding. The old woman lifted her face and smiled with pleasure.

  "That lady is having a ball," Molly whispered.

  "I'm glad someone is," Clara returned, waving for Will to pick up the next lot.

  As Molly watched him carry a Persian runner up to the front, her eyes fell on a familiar puff of hair in the audience.

  Bunny Staunton was seated in the third row. She had never come to one of Lex's sales before, but since some of her late husband's pottery was about to be sold, she probably wanted to bear witness to its true value. Catching Molly's eye, she gave a cursory nod of recognition, then turned her gaze to the next lot, the first of her husband's collection.

  The piece, a Ben Owen two-handled tapered vase glazed in Chinese blue with large patches of red, was an extremely handsome item. The large amount of red glaze seeping through like a sunrise would raise the price, and bidding cards flapped around the room like white wings, eager to be spotted.

  Finally, the last two bidders battled it out. One was a man seated toward the back wearing jeans and a faded flannel shirt. Molly knew, despite his casual dress, that he was quite wealthy and was a fervent pottery collector as well. She craned her neck to catch a view of the second bidder and instantly recognized the neat, trim figure wearing a silk blouse and a double strand of pearls. It was Susan, George-Bradley's former mistress.

  She sat on the opposite side of the room from Bunny, about two rows back. She could observe Mrs. Staunton, but Bunny couldn't see her. Susan's lips, shiny with a trendy gloss, were pursed in dogged determination as she won the lot. She made a notation in her catalogue and prepared to bid on the next. As each piece of George-Bradley's collection came up for sale, she waged a relentless war against other bidders until she laid claim to the majority of his better pieces.

  Soon, several people turned to see who the persistent buyer was, including a disgruntled Donald. Even Bunny was curious, and she turned to look behind her shoulder just as a large C. C. Burle devil face jug came up for sale. It was the very piece Susan and George-Bradley had wrestled over at the kiln opening. Susan sat erect in her chair, raising her bidding card with delicate flicks of her tiny wrist.

  From her vantage point, Molly could see the two women clearly. As she held up an unsigned whiskey jug for the audience to view, she watched Bunny discover the identity of the determined bidder.

  Susan glanced over at Bunny, her bidding card held up like a shield.

  The two women locked eyes, but only for a moment, exchanging looks of venomous loathing before Bunny sneered in disdain and turned back around. Molly could see that underneath her thick makeup and attempts to control her expression, Bunny's eyes were filled with a cold rage. She looked down at her catalogue, cheeks flushed with anger and humiliation.

  "Poor Bunny," Molly whispered to Clara, as mother and daughter witnessed the other woman's misery.

  Clara, who never missed a single detail of the entire sale, handed Molly an antique Cherokee basket. "This is next. And yes, I feel bad for her too."

  For Bunny, this should have been a moment of triumph. Like the photographs in her home, Bunny had appeared at the sale as the devoted wife of the late George-Bradley Staunton. Everyone attending the auction knew who she was and had paid their respects to her over the loss of her husband and had extolled the virtues of his collection. If his pottery sold well, it only increased her husband's reputation as a collector and made it easier to maintain her illusion of having married a well-known man with impeccable taste. The presence of her husband's
former mistress evaporated that image into mist.

  As the last of George-Bradley's pottery sold, Bunny made her way to the restroom. When she returned, she passed right by the row where her reserved seat was located and crossed into the front room. Through the window, Molly saw her open the door to her silver BMW and sit down inside without starting the ignition.

  Unable to pay any more attention to Bunny, Molly and Clara worked like frenzied bees for the next two hours. In between lots, they guzzled water and took hasty bites of ham and cheese sandwiches. By the last lot, they were dead on their feet.

  As buyers lined up to pay Kitty for their items Lex asked, "Can one of you guys help wrap some pottery?" He was still ignorant of what the three of them had accomplished without Mike’s help.

  "No," Clara said wearily. "The customers can wrap their own. We've had it."

  "Where's Mike?" Lex looked around.

  Clara filled Lex in on the details of Mike’s departure as Molly moved her leaden legs down to the wrapping area to assist with the pottery. Of course it was Susan's huge pile that required so much attention, but Lex was almost out of boxes.

  "Do you have anything to pack these in?" she asked Susan with as much politeness as she could muster.

  "I might have some bins in my car," she replied haughtily. "But I would expect you to provide boxes since I'm spending all this money."

  "I'll come out with you to fetch them," Molly offered reluctantly, her fatigue and dislike for the petite woman causing her to wish she had not volunteered to help. She wondered if Susan would be embarrassed about being so snotty when Molly showed up on her doorstep a few days later for their interview. Right now, Susan thought Molly was simply another member of Lex's crew, unworthy of cordiality.

  "Oh fine, let's go," Susan drawled. "But hurry up, I don't have all day."

  Susan's white Mercedes SUV looked brand new. Molly wondered what Susan did for a living to be able to afford such an expensive car and lot after lot of costly pottery. Her car retailed for around eighty grand, and she had probably spent ten thousand at today's sale. All of her clothes were designer labels and her shoes alone were the latest fashion of monogrammed leather that cost three hundred dollars a pair.