A Killer Collection
Page 18
Once the article went to print, Molly put all thoughts of secrets and murder out of her head. Every time she glanced at Jack Graham’s rabbit, she assured herself that she had done the right thing and tried to focus on what to do with her extra money. Sitting at her desk at the end of the day, an idea bloomed in her mind. She shut down her computer and picked up her purse.
At that moment, the door to Matt's office opened and a familiar pair of long legs attached to a slim, female body strode out.
"I can't believe you ditched the party, Matt," Amy Byrd cooed. "I was looking for you all night."
"I'll catch up with Paul to do some guy things," Matt said dismissively then bid her a hasty goodbye. She stood open-mouthed at his brusqueness as he made his way over to Molly's desk.
"Hi. Thought I might take the woman of the hour out for a real date," he said loudly enough for Amy to hear. "How about dinner and a movie?"
A real date! Molly couldn't hide her joy. Was he asking her out just to get rid of Amy? No, she didn't think so. Her face flushed with radiance as she accepted. Amy Byrd stormed off in a huff, but neither Matt nor Molly gave her any notice.
"Look." Molly waved her check. "Let me take you to dinner. I don't have extra money too often." She told Matt about her surprise bonus.
"You can buy me pizza some other time. You need to treat yourself to something special with that money. You deserve it after the month you've had. Let's see, how about a shopping spree, a day at the spa, a weekend in the Outer Banks..."
"Actually, I was thinking of taking a class over at the Cultural Arts Center."
Matt smiled and picked up her work bag as they headed out to the front door. Outside, sheets of rain fell on the warm ground as steam sprang up from the concrete sidewalks. Matt opened a large golf umbrella and beckoned Molly to join him under its protective cover. "But you're already smarter than all of us," he teased. "What kind of class?"
"The kind that starts Friday." Molly turned a beaming face up to his and called loudly over the beating rain, "It's called Pottery for Beginners."
~~~~~
Rookie officer Monica Clarke was irritated that she was always assigned the job of fetching and sorting the police station's mail. Organizing a stack of letters and catalogues for Officer Bennett, Monica noticed that the current edition of his weekly sports magazine featured swimsuit models instead of football players.
"Men," she muttered, cramming Bennett's mail together in a sloppy pile. If Bennett asked her to get him another cup of coffee she would threaten to sue on grounds of gender discrimination. Little did Monica know that Officer McLeary, a large, muscular African-American man, had also been forced to fetch coffee for Bennett before he was allowed to work the beat. All the rookies started off doing desk work, and they had all gotten Bennett coffee, regardless of gender.
Monica also wasn't aware of the existence of a small envelope addressed in neat handwriting to Officer Bennett. It was from a woman named Molly Appleby. Shoved between the pages of his sports magazine, the missive was completely hidden from view.
Bennett looked up from a thick, uneven stack of paperwork as Monica entered the room. He groaned at the sight of his pile of mail and knew he would never be free to take his new bride out for lunch.
He brightened when he shifted through the pile and his gaze fell upon the lithe tanned body of a brunette in a white string bikini. He gazed furtively at the cover, knowing that his possessive wife would not approve of him ogling other women, even airbrushed ones.
Bennett was just about to settle down to a leisurely viewing of a dozen swimsuit models when he heard the familiar clipping of high-heeled shoes and a perky, bright voice moving through the station's main room.
His lovely bride would reach his office in seconds. In a blind panic, Bennett shoved the magazine into the paper shredder and pressed it down firmly into the biting, metal teeth. As his wife stepped into the office, picnic basket in hand, her fiery red hair and wide smile quickly made Bennett forget all about swimsuit models.
Along with a letter detailing the death of a notorious collector, the models had all become narrow, feathery ribbons of scrap paper.
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Interlude
The clay sank into the wheel like an old man dropping into a deep, soft chair. The mouth of the bowl spun into a lopsided yawn that seemed to mock the young hands upon its smooth, wet body.
The potter placed his hands over the boy's, cupping the bowl until the walls sprang high again. The clay recognized the tie between the two sets of hands and began to respect the strength of their union. Together, they forced it to behave with all the love and firmness of a father.
The door to the shed opened and the potter's wife brought in tall, sweating glasses of lemonade. The potter drank the sugary sunlight and smiled in contentment.
Alone, the small hands held the clay steady for a few more turns of the wheel before the bowl keeled over to one side like a sinking ship. The child looked pleadingly at the potter.
Reshaping the fallen clay into a firm ball, the potter replaced it on the wheel. He patted his son on the back and held his shoulders as it began to spin.
"You can make another," he told him gently, his voice filled with pride.
The potter was right. He would make another. And another.
He would make thousands.
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A Brief Note on Face Jugs
Faces have keen given to ceramic vessels throughout history. From Egyptian canobic jars to English toby mugs, face vessels have appeared across the centuries in a multitude of cultures. Though no one knows for certain why the first American face jugs were created, historians do know where these fascinating objects began to be produced with regularity.
In the western part of South Carolina, in a region called Edgefield, several potters created face jugs, also referred to as "ugly jugs" during the middle of the nineteenth century.
Many of these potters were African Americans. These jugs or bottles were turned in the regular manner, and then decorated with applied eyes and horizontal bits of teeth often made with unglazed porcelain. Over time, the subjects of these clay portraits have been lost to us, creating a sense of mystery around each nameless face vessel with its two eyes, two ears, a nose, a mouth, and rows of teeth. One thing is definitive, however, and that is that no two-face jugs are alike.
In the early part of the twentieth century, face jugs were not a common part of the southern potter's bread-and- butter sales. During the 1930s, several North Carolina potters began to produce face vessels to sell, but were still relying on their traditional utilitarian wares to support their families. Eventually, technological advancements allowed for the mass production of ceramic ware, and the individual potter either packed it in or found a new attraction to keep his customers returning. For some potters, this attraction was the face jug. Hoping to appeal to tourists, potters spent a great deal of extra time creating a lifelike face or at least one unique enough to catch the eye of a customer.
In the 1960s and 1970s, more and more southern potters began creating face jugs for the tourist trade. Though especially prolific in North Carolina and Georgia, potters throughout the United States made faces on jugs, cups, pitchers, vases, and a variety of other vessels. In the last few decades, those faces have gotten fancy too. Examples such as the female face, war-painted Native Americans, devils, Medusas, and even animal face vessels have been introduced into the mix. Some potters have also made two-faced jugs, with one side being a devil and the other an angel, a man and a woman, a happy and a sad face, or a two-faced, irreverent representation of the politician.
The face jug has been called "grotesque" in the past and it is true—many are a bit daunting with their pointed teeth, bleeding eyes, long fangs, or devil horns. But the face jug is an excellent example of how an art form can be created in a few workshops in one area in the country, and then slowly appear in other regions. For whatever reason that first American face vessel was made, whether for r
eligious or ritualistic purposes, as a gift, or simply as an artistic experiment, the face jug was born to be embraced by thousands of artists and collectors.
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About the Author
JB Stanley/Ellery Adams grew up on a beach near the Long Island Sound. Having spent her adult life in a series of landlocked towns, she cherishes her memories of open water, violent storms, and the smell of the sea. Ms. Adams has held many jobs including caterer, retail clerk, car salesperson, teacher, tutor, and tech writer, all the while penning poems, children’s books, and novels. She now writes full-time from her home in Virginia.
Also by J.B. Stanley
The Antiques & Collectibles Mysteries
A Killer Collection
Fatal Appraisal
A Deadly Dealer
The Supper Club Mysteries
Carbs and Cadavers
Fit to Die
Chili Con Corpses
Striffs and Swine
The Battered Body
Writing as Jennifer Stanley
The Hope Street Church Mysteries
Stirring Up Strife
The Path of the Wicked
The Way of the Guilty
Writing as Ellery Adams
The Books by the Bay Mysteries
A Killer Plot (2010)
A Deadly Cliché (2011)
The Last Word (2011)
The Charmed Pie Mysteries
Pies and Prejudice (2012)
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
A Killer Collection
A Killer Collection
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Interlude
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Interlude
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Interlude
A Brief Note on Face Jugs
About the Author