The Case of the Angry Auctioneer (Auction House Mystery Series Book 1)

by Sherry Blakeley

  Jasper did as she was told. She was obedient to a fault – a quality in addition to loyalty and caring too much about what other people think – that had helped imprison her in a flawed marriage for 15 too-long years.

  So with Cookie on speaker phone, riding shotgun as it were, and Jasper moving up close on street signs for her myopic eyes which would reveal the actual lettering when it was almost too late to matter. G-O-D-3-Z would become Grant St. at the very last second.

  Jasper zigzagged through the west side, where people were outdoors in their yards enjoying one of the first breaks from the long winter just winding down. She passed a Stop-N-go, a bright red Chicago style hot dog stand, Taco Jack’s, and a drycleaners with what looked like a large green jungle barely held in by the plate glass window on the front.

  “Sis! Sis, are you there?” Cookie’s voice interrupted her sightseeing. “You need to turn left at the next intersection! Are you in the left lane? Get in the left lane!”

  Jasper signaled, looked over her shoulder – for the rear view mirror had suffered too many off course reverses and was being held in a permanent unusable position by epoxy and duct tape – then jumped when the driver behind her honked. “Thank you!” She smiled into the mirror and waved. She made it fully into the lane just in time for the turn. She told Cookie, “The bridge! I’m back on the bridge!”

  Cookie laughed fondly. “Just so it’s the same bridge.” Later she could tease her sister about her lack of directional sense. Right now they shared a mission. “Okay. Now focus. This next part gets tricky.”

  Ten minutes later, Jasper glided steadily at 27 mph down Milwaukee Road. Cookie announced, “Prepare to turn right.”

  “I’m all about right turns.”

  Chapter 3

  Jasper turned onto Hickory Lane. A big white box van with Bid & Buy at Biggs! waited in the driveway of the second white house from the corner. Its tires actually straddled the narrow drive. Jasper hoped her new landlord didn’t mind a few ruts in the yard and boulevard of grass separating the property from the next door neighbor’s. She told Cookie that she had arrived, and they made plans to talk again later.

  She pulled in by the curb in front of the house. Things had been so tense and busy for her the past six weeks that Cookie had done the house hunting for her and found her an upper apartment in this nice old two-story in what she described as a peaceful neighborhood. This was Jasper’s first view of her new home. Taller than the single family houses that flanked it, the white sided Victorian with yews flanking the front steps and plain yard looked simple, without frills. Blank. The better, Jasper hoped, to make it her own. 320 Hickory Lane. 3 + 2 + 0 = 5. A good number for someone in transition, Cookie had told her, numerology being one of her side interests.

  “Are you asleep in there?” a man’s voice asked outside her window. He knocked sharply on the glass. Jimmy Biggs, a 65-year-old man of average height, stomped back toward the truck.

  He signaled Jasper out of her car with a choppy thumb jerk like a coach calling a player back to the bench.

  Jasper got out and hurried to comply.

  “Sorry I’m late.” She tried to kiss him on the cheek, but her stepfather moved out of reach.

  “It’s about time too. Where the hell have you been?” Jimmy was a barking dog of a man. Not especially tall. Maybe that’s why he’d developed into the tough guy he was. He radiated largeness – a largesse of energy that he shared with the world on a my way or the highway basis. He’d been grumpy and badgering for decades, and in spite of that, had built up a solid business reputation in the community and a good middle class income from the auction house he’d founded. His eyes were a watery blue behind glasses. He won every stare-down contest that Jasper had witnessed since he first came into her life as her mother’s husband. The twins, Jasper neé Candy and Cookie were six at the time.

  “I got a little turned around,” Jasper told her stepfather.

  “What else is new?” The two helpers smirked, then hid their smiles.

  Jimmy had aged certainly. Decades did that to a person. His face had fleshed out of that hungry dog look he used to have and his skin looked a little yellower than the last time Jasper remembered. His ever observant eyes looked slightly less piercing now behind their glasses, but Jasper bet he still didn’t miss much. He’d been sober for many years now, so his belly was still flat under the polo shirt he invariably wore. Maybe his hairline had receded a couple more inches than the last time she had seen him. Never call Jimmy Biggs bald. He was long-waisted with short legs, and Jasper knew he was vain about them. As soon as the weather warmed, he’d switch from long khakis to shorts as much to show off his muscular calves as for comfort. His sort of footwear varied from L.L. Bean sneakers to L. L. Bean boat shoes. Only an evening benefit auction would force him into the one expensive pair of dress blacks that he owned and a mismatched but professional looking brown suit jacket and tie. Jimmy Biggs had an in charge personality, to say the least. No doubt about it, Jimmy Biggs ruled as pack leader.

  “Where’s your key?” he asked Jasper.

  She handed over her key ring which contained some seven keys too many and Jimmy passed it along to one of the helpers.

  The dark-haired man introduced himself to Jasper as Esteban. Carrying along the souvenirs from past places at least made it easy to find her key ring. Finding the correct current key was a different matter. “It’s that one,” Jasper said.

  “You wanna unlock the door?” Esteban asked.

  “Go do it!” Jimmy ordered.

  “Sure, boss. But it is her place.”

  Jasper smiled at him and took back her keys. She put her hand out to the other man, fair-haired. “I’m Jasper.”

  “Tony. I thought your name was Candy?”

  “Jasper was my mother’s maiden name. I’m kind of tired of being called Candy.”

  “Not a candy ass anymore, huh?” Esteban joked.

  “Watch your fucking mouth,” Jimmy said. He turned to Jasper, “I gotta go. I’m looking at some real estate. These two are fine. A little rough around the edges. But they’re all right.”

  Esteban and Tony made faces behind his back, then sobered up fast when Jimmy shot them a look. Jasper decided it might be fun to have younger brothers types like these guys around.

  Jimmy strode to his black SUV which he’d parked behind the auction van.

  “Thanks, Jimmy!” Jasper called after him.

  He waved. He said, without turning around, “I’m glad you’re here.” He swung into the SUV and yelled out the open window at Jasper. “Come over here.” He handed her a $20 bill. “You can give it to the guys when they’re through. Don’t tell them it’s from me.”

  Jasper thanked him and started away. “

  “Be on time tomorrow!” he yelled after her. “Nine sharp. Make that 8:30.” He started out of the driveway, then backed up. “Wear something practical for God’s sake!” he yelled. Then he tore away.

  Jasper watched him go.

  “Let’s get moving,” Esteban said. “We can catch part of the game if this doesn’t take too long.”

  “Sorry. Sure.” Jasper hurried up the steps to the house and fumbled for the key to her new front door

  Jasper crossed the dark wood threshold. Inside, the entry way was pretty bare bones. The walls were chalk white, the carpet, a deep green, and the banister leading up to her apartment as well as the closed door, she understood, to the ground floor apartment, were painted dark brown. She heard a TV going behind the dark door. Some loud mouthed preacher. Oh, lord.

  Esteban and Tony were on her heels. So she climbed resolutely up the stairs. Three-quarters of the way up, a jut-out covered in plaster nearly grazed her head. “Low one,” Estaban said.

  They reached a small landing where the stairway made a sharp turn to the left for the last few steps. There was a second door here, with multi-paned glass.

  “You gonna be here by yourself?” Estaban asked.

  “But I hear it’s a nice safe
neighborhood,” Tony said.

  Jasper shivered a little. Put her key in the lock, and turned open the door to her new apartment. She stepped inside. It smelled a little dusty but not bad.

  She felt like whispering. But the men’s voices were loud and echoing in the empty apartment. She let them wander as she made her own way around to check out her new home.

  The bathroom with an old claw-foot tub and pedestal sink was just to the left and across the hall was the bedroom. Her room. It had a one door closet, but a deep one she was happy to discover. Two windows on adjacent walls that were letting in a good amount of afternoon light. And nothing else. She would need curtains, a bookshelf. A bed!

  Jimmy had sent over a few things from his last auction to tide her over until she could afford more on her own. She’d never in all her adult life been faced with decorating decisions on her own. She trembled a little. Not quite overwhelmed. Not quite excited. Something at a confusing point in between.

  Esteban and Tony were already removing the door from its hinges, and taking down the banisters on either side of the last short flight of steps by the time Jasper finished her tour of the apartment. There was a small living room and, through an arched doorway, another room whose windows looked down to the street and next door to the neighbor’s. The houses here stood a little closer than they had in Truman, but there would still be plenty of privacy. She wanted time and space to lick her wounds. To what use could she put this extra room? A library? She loved reading. A sewing room? A place to set up as an art studio? She’d always wanted to learn how to sew and paint.

  And the kitchen. An oddly arranged room with a two-part white sink from the 30s, one set of cupboards, an apartment sized gas range and a white refrigerator alongside. There was a nice area for a kitchen table and chairs. Why, she might even someday maybe if possible invite people or at least one person over for dinner. It could happen.

  Another door off the kitchen held steep steps that Jasper knew from her sister’s description led down to the basement laundry room. The couple living in the ground floor apartment owned the washer and dryer but maybe she could work out something, Cookie had said. Jasper didn’t want to negotiate with anybody. She would just as soon go to a laundromat for the time being so as to avoid any potential conflicts. There was one next to the auction house.

  The guys were efficient carrying up the furniture, banging about a bit on the narrow steps and cursing as they went. She could tell they were frustrated for a few seconds here and there and tried not to take it personally. They asked her did she want the sleeper sofa in the living room or the bedroom? Living room. Along with the TV and chest of drawers. She thought the TV might soothe her to sleep while she adjusted to living alone.

  She helped them carry up the dinette table and chairs plus two boxfuls of kitchenware and dishes. Then they put the door back on its hinges and screwed the banisters back in place alongside the stairs. Jasper walked outside with them.

  She thanked them profusely and shook their hands. “Here’s twenty,” she said.

  They stared at the single bill.

  “Oh, I’ve got something in the car for you,” she said. She ran over and brought back the plate of cookies from the church send-off.

  They exchanged glances with each other. Jasper read their minds. We gave up our afternoon off for this? “Wait, there’s more.” She fetched her purse and handed them each a $5 of her own. Tim would have given them a God Bless, no cash. “Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, this is great. This is great,” Esteban said.

  “You don’t have to,” Tony said and tried to hand her back the five.

  “No, no, it’s not much. But you guys were really helpful and very nice about it.”

  “Taco Jack’s, here we come!” Esteban said. They told her they’d see her tomorrow at the auction house. Then they pulled down the door on the back of the truck, climbed in, and rolled out of the driveway.

  There were ruts. There were definite ruts. But they weren’t too bad, Jasper told herself. She watched the guys drive away, waving as they went. Then she headed back to the house. It was time to start helping herself feel at home.

  Chapter 4

  As she started back up the steps to her place, the door to the ground floor apartment opened. A cloud of menthol cigarette smoke blew into the shared entryway.

  “I see you,” said the voice of a middle-aged woman. “Don’t think you can sneak on by without saying hi!” The voice held a teasing, sing-song quality.

  Jasper came back down to meet her new neighbor. She introduced herself.

  The woman said her name was Mrs. Margie O’Neil. She stepped into the entryway and closed the door behind her. Fifty-five, 65, 70 years old? Jasper couldn’t tell. Mrs. O’Neil had a plump, old-fashioned figure encased in a powder blue going to church dressy dress covered in a floral bib apron. She might have been younger than Jasper’s mother would have been if she had lived beyond her daughters’ childhood, but the clothes she wore reminded Jasper of small town life 25 years ago. Mrs. O’Neil fanned the air with her plump hand. “That’s my husband Mr. Dick O’Neil in there. He’s a chimney.” From her apron pocket, she extracted a spray can. She began misting the hallway with floral air freshener.

  Jasper felt like a mosquito under air raid attack. “Oh, please, please, you don’t have to do that! Not on my account.” She covered her hands and mouth with her hands.

  “I wouldn’t want our nice new neighbor complaining about smoke the way the last one did.” Mrs. O’Neil aimed a roguish spray Jasper’s direction and squawked in delight.

  “Could you stop now, Mrs. O’Neal? Please?” Jasper pleaded.

  The spraying petered out. Mrs. O’Neil shook the can. “All gone. I’ll pick up some more next time I’m out. That is, unless you want to buy the next round?”

  Jasper said she would try to remember.

  “Bye now.” The door closed, then reopened before Jasper could move. Mrs. O’Neil stuck her head out. She eyeballed Jasper’s long, chaste skirt. “We attend service every Sunday. You’re always welcome. Mr. O’Neil and I would just love that.”

  Jasper thanked her. The second the door closed, she dashed upstairs. She opened the bathroom window and both of the ones in the living room. Then she grabbed a sweater and padded downstairs and out the front door. It seemed like the perfect time to take a look around the neighborhood.

  The air outside was cooling with the approach of evening, and Jasper, quick to chill, wished she had a heavier wrap. But the air smelled so fresh after the menthol cigarette meets lilac stink back inside, that she didn’t mind. She’d just walk faster, that’s all. She hoped that if she met up with anyone, her own clothes didn’t reek with the foul blend. Pastor Tim always told her to windmill her arms, shake out her hands, do jumping jacks. None of that actually helped her icy hands warm up. But that didn’t stop his suggestions. She turned herself into a human pinwheel for him. She tried. She really had tried.

  She found tears coming to her eyes. She forced herself to focus on her new surroundings. There were indeed lots of trees here in Forest Grove. They still stood bare branched from the winter but they promised blossoms soon and lots of shade for the summer.

  Two joggers went by and nodded at her. A couple walking a Great Dane and a bulldog maneuvered by. She moved into the grass, but they were nice and pulled the dogs far from her. “Nice evening for a walk!” they said cheerfully.

  Jasper smiled back. “Yes! Isn’t it?” It was comforting, these little public exchanges. By the time she had passed the swing set on the length of lawn between sidewalk and the cemetery fence which was set well back from the road, and reached the gate to the cemetery, her loneliness had eased.

  She decided to walk a little ways into the cemetery. Forest Lawn it was called, according to the sign at the entrance that displayed a list of rules. Winter hours were 7 a.m. to 6 p.m., she noted. Nothing about springtime. She wondered how diligent the local police were in enforcing this. With a twinge of sl
ight guilt, she followed the red brick pathway inside. She liked the uneven feel beneath her feet of the old paving bricks. She admired the old granite markers and statues. “For Our Soldiers Dead” read the inscription on one that showed four men in Civil War uniforms. None of their backsides showed and they carried canteens and flagpoles to cover the fronts of their pants. Oh God, Jasper thought, have I started to get odd about sex already? Fifteen years of life next to Pastor Tim with little to no sex between them had finally caught up to her now that she was free of him.

  Jasper studied the headstones. Bliss, Key, Peet and Love, she read. Suzannah Reynolds had lived for only 14 days.

  Cemeteries did not sadden Jasper. She felt at home there, curious about the lives lived in other times, liked knowing that in Victorian days families would picnic in the park like settings.

  Forest Lawn had huge oaks growing and Jasper, squinting, could practically see a family in warm weather cottons sitting happily on a blanket. Jasper’s heart panged with Family Envy.

  Before she knew it, she had walked far down the first long brick road. A wave of tiredness washed over her. It had been a long day. She looked for a second gate she might not have noticed earlier but did not find one. Maybe she could climb the fence and shorten her route home. She peeked around but could see no living person. She giggled. She felt so naughty. Then she felt chagrinned at how this little thing was such a big deal to hesr. Her world, until this very day, had shrunk to such a small repressed size. She approached the fence. A chain link one. High enough to keep intruders from hopping over easily but not too tall to climb. In or out.