“Thanks. We’re okay,” Sean said.
“Go out to the truck and grab a contract,” Ted said.
“What do you think it’s going to bring?” Sean was asking Ted.
Jasper slowed her steps to hear Ted’s answer. “Not as much as you’re hoping, but more than you’ll get if you leave it where it is,” he said.
“I guess I’m okay with that.”
On the way back to the auction house, Jasper ventured a comment to Ted. She raised her voice to be heard over the rushing wind. “There’s something profoundly sad about that man,” she said.
Ted swerved the truck over to the gravel shoulder of the road.
Jasper braced herself against the dash and her door.
Ted said, “Hold on there, little lady.”
“What do you think I’m doing? Jeesh! You didn’t give me any choice.”
Ted gave her a stern look. “Listen. I’ll say this just once and you listen to me. Don’t mess with our clients.”
“Our clients, Ted? Do you mean your clients?” Jasper crossed her arms. “And I’m not messing with anybody, by the way. Unlike some people I know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jasper glared out her window at another empty field.
Ted jerked her arm back toward him. “Listen. You’re new in this business. You get involved with customers and clients, and things can get sticky before you know it.”
An evil feeling passed over Jasper. “Sticky, Ted? How sticky can they get?” Jasper was trembling. Sarcasm did that to her. Even her own.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from that artiste and anybody else along the way.”
“You’re the boss,” Jasper said.
“Watch your mouth.” Ted pulled back onto the road and sent up a cloud of gravel dust that sent Jasper into a sneezing fit.
Chapter 17
“Why don’t you girls just kick back in Jimmy’s place, and I’ll handle things up front.” Ted Phillips spoke to Jasper and Cookie who were standing near the entryway to the auction house, receiving hugs and handshakes from the motley mourners arriving for Jimmy’s memorial service. Although the funeral goers did not adhere to any unwritten dress code, some in overalls, others in their simple Sunday best of a variety of colors, they expressed sincere sympathy and exuded genuine grief over Jimmy’s death. Mary Clippert and her father Ray came through the line. They wore matching daughter and father funeral outfits: black slacks and blazers. Mary had added a hat decorated with red plastic cherries. She kept a firm hand on the small of her father’s back and nudged him along in line. She nodded at the twins, then said as if to Cookie alone, “Sorry for your loss.”
“It’s my sister’s loss too,” Cookie said loyally. She wore a deep purple caftan over a simple black dress. A bracelet of amethyst lilies fulfilled her daily ruffle requirement. Jasper swore she could see flames shooting out of Cookie’s bracelet.
“Of course,” Mary Clippert said with a nod toward Jasper. She moved off with her father shuffling along in front of her.
Cookie raised her eyebrows at Jasper who just shrugged.
Ted cut into line and said firmly, “Go on back. Let me handle things here.” He put a hand on each of their arms and pushed. Just a little.
“Is he kidding?” Cookie said directly into Jasper’s ear. “That sounded like an order.”
“We’re okay. But thank you very much.” Jasper said. She could feel the strength in those hands. But today she didn’t feel like taking orders. She stayed put, and after a moment, Ted walked away, slapping backs, shaking hands and greeting auction house customers as he went.
Jasper had chosen black everything: jewel-neck sweater, A-line skirt, and her best pumps with the practical heel height. Shopping in her semi-unpacked boxes for an outfit suitable for the memorial service proved easy since attending funerals had been a frequent duty throughout her time as a minister’s wife. Cookie had offered to loan her a strand of amethyst beads said to help her tune in. She declined the necklace but agreed to wear the small purple earrings. Tuning in was Cookie’s thing. Jasper would prefer to tune out.
“Oh, darling, what a tough time!” Edith and Ardith, the jewelry-buying sisters, surrounded Jasper with hugs. Even though they reeked of collectible My Sin perfume, they radiated real concern. “Your mother must have been a looker! You both look so nice.” Ardith said.
”And so attuned,” Edith added.
“We do what we can,” Jasper said. “You know my sister Cookie.”
“Indeed we do. The beautiful blonde fortune teller,” Ardith said.
Jasper expected her sister to object, but Cookie said only, “You are really kind.”
“We were just shocked to hear about J - your stepdad. And your sister here has been such a dear. She’s getting to be our favorite auctioneer. And you will be our favorite…psychic person, is that right?” The older ladies held looks of genuine interest on their similar friendly faces. “What do you call yourself again? The work you do.”
“Psychic medium,” Cookie said. “And when I say you are kind, trust me, you are really kind.”
‘Tell us more.”
Cookie reached into the pocket of her tunic and extracted a business card.
Jasper held onto her tense smile. “It’s a funeral,” she said.
Cookie hissed back, “This is an auction house.”
The line of mourners progressed. Red-faced Mr. Parker arrived with his arm tucked through an older woman's. “I just loved the bovine salt shakers that Rodney brought home from last week’s auction,” she enthused. “It’s too bad such a nice auction had to be ruined the way it was.”
“Sorry for your loss,” Rodney Parker said hurriedly. “Come on, Mother. Let’s find a good seat.”
“Near the lasagna.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Then came Glenn Relerford, dressed in a gray dress shirt and black slacks. He took her hand and, to her surprise, Jasper found that she was trembling. “You’ll be all right,” he said then turned to her sister. “Miss Cookie. My condolences.”
And more mourners. And more. They were mostly auction-goers since Jasper and Cookie had no other relatives, and Jimmy’s closest kin was some distant cousin out in North Platte. The Austrings were there, looking nervous and strained. Probably wondering whether they would still be able to get the Clippert house for their own, Jasper thought cynically. But they shook hands politely with the sisters and expressed their condolences, then moved on toward the back of the auction house. Cookie’s compatriots in the professional psychic world also came to show their support. They looked like everyday people and Jasper wouldn’t have realized who they were if Cookie hadn’t introduced them as members of her paranormal group.
When there was a lull, Jasper asked. “Aren’t Will and the kids coming?”
“Will’s away on business – Ohio again. Cody’s still in Mexico, and Kayla’s down in St. Louis with her boyfriend. I told them all they didn’t have to come.”
“Oh.” Jasper felt gloom descend upon her. She had been looking forward to being surrounded today by family, and right now Cookie’s was all she had.
“They send their love. You’ll see them all at Easter.
“That’s nice,” Jasper said. Cookie squeezed her into a cozy side hug, and Jasper snuffled up her suddenly runny nose.
A short while later, the twins made their way with arms around each other’s waists toward the main auction room where the service would be held.
“Ghost busters and auction types – such a combo,” Jasper said to Cookie.
“Not to mention some interested parties from the other side,” Cookie said.
“No more ghost talk, please.”
“If you can’t talk ghosts at a funeral, where can you then?” Country western music blared from the speakers. “Whose idea was this?” Cookie asked.
“Grace, I guess.” Jasper recognized “Your Cheatin’ Heart.” The girls paused to listen. A more tr
aditional song of mourning, “Amazing Grace” followed. Maybe Grace had let out all her steam with just the one mocking melody.
People reached out to pat them as they strolled by. Jasper shivered. “Is it all this touching? I’m all goose bumpy.”
“They are touching us, too,” Cookie said.
“They?”
“You know – other-siders.”
“Cut out the psychic-ier than thou stuff,” Jasper said.
“You’re as psychic as I am. You just don’t want to admit it. You know we have the same horoscope.”
“Horrorscope,” Jasper whispered back. The sisters giggled duplicate giggles then helped calm each other down.
They reached the front row of seats and took the places there that had been reserved for them by bidder numbers taped to the backs of the chairs, as was the custom of the auction house. Kelly and Grace sat on either side. Jasper looked around and waved. Cookie followed her example. “They’re bidding to us!” one man joked. A few people tittered nervously. Then the crowd quieted down.
Ted Phillips, up on the auction block, turned on the microphone. “Folks, I want to welcome you all here today,” he began. “Usually when I’m up here and you’re down there, we’ve got a sale going on. So I hope you’ll kind of excuse me if I get a little tongue tied.” He cleared his throat and mopped his forehead with a tissue they always kept stocked next to the clerk’s station.
Down front, Cookie gripped Jasper’s hand. “He’s here.”
“He who? “
“Jimmy.”
“Cookie, honey, you know we didn’t bring him here. He wouldn’t want to be seen helpless in a casket. I think he sold one once.” Jasper’s thoughts trailed off.
Ted droned on in the background while Cookie whispered urgently in Jasper’s ear. “I’m talking about his spirit, of course. Try closing your eyes. You might be able to tune in better.”
When Jasper blinked shut, all she got was a fuzzy screen like a TV when cable service gets interrupted. Maybe she had forgotten to pay her paranormal bill.
“You see him?” Cookie hissed.
“I got nothin.’”
Cookie stifled a laugh.
A woman sitting nearby said, “What’s the joke? I could use a good one. Ted’s a better auctioneer than he is a preacher.”
A man joined in, “And he’s not very good at auctioneering!” Random nervous laughter broke out.
Ted said from up on the auction block, “You just wait until next Wednesday, Carl. I’ll show you how this works.”
“What? You gonna kill me too?”
The laughter changed to gasps and shushes.
“Not funny, Carl,” Ted said. “Now getting back to the VIP of the day, Jimmy Biggs.” The crowd settled back into respectful languor.
Jasper whispered to Cookie, “So what is so funny?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do want to know, Cookie. What? Is Jimmy talking about me?”
“It’s not always about you.”
“I never think it’s about me. You’re not saying what, so I bet it is about me.”
“Later, Sis! You’re the one who didn’t want any ghost talk.”
“Now!”
“Later!”
Jasper slid her hand under Cookie’s thigh and pinched her.
“That hurt! Now you’re never going to find out.”
Jasper rested her head lightly against her sister’s shoulder. She knew how to beg like a soulful Labrador, a breed of which Cookie had always been fond. Cookie was smiling again. “All right, already. Jimmy said we ought to go up there behind Ted and goose him! Jimmy said it would liven up this party.”
“I goosed you sort of. And you sort of got mad at me.”
“That’s different. I’m your sister and you love me. What do you think?”
“What do I think? I work for the man. Well, okay, with the man. But it’s a lot like working for the man, and I think…” Jasper suddenly felt like throwing off the week’s trauma and tension. She clapped her hand over her mouth like a cork in a bottle of shaken champagne. She took Cookie’s hand and led her on a fast trot across the auction floor and out the swinging doors as if they were making a mad dash for the ladies’ room.
Ted broke off in mid-drone. “Folks, should I wait for the girls?”
Assorted voices in the crowd shouted out “No!” And, “Get on with it! You’re gonna be at this all day!”
“Amen!” a man said.
Ted resumed his monotone about Jimmy’s long but not long enough life as an auctioneer.
Jasper and Cookie hurried through the back storage room and eased open the door behind the auction block. With Jasper crouched in the lead and Cookie following close behind, they crept silently up the carpeted steps like two cops moving up on a suspect. They reached Ted’s khakis. Each one grabbed a pinchful of ass. “Goddammit!” Ted roared on mike. He whirled around. His face was scarlet. “You little devils! Like father, like daughters! Jesus H. Christ!” He tore off his headset and tripped down the steps. “Oh, man.”
The auction-memorial crowd broke into applause.
Jasper grabbed Cookie’s hand and they pushed themselves back out of Ted’s hurtling way. “You okay?” Jasper asked him.
“Hrrrmm,” he growled. “You’re in charge now, brat. Gonna get some ice.” He hobbled away.
Up on the auction block, Cookie whispered, “Speaking of Jesus Christ, here comes his worst disciple.”
A familiar man hurried toward the front. The Rev. Tim Rowe, dressed in a blue blazer, a black knit shirt, and his usual bulge-emphasizing jeans, strode toward the front. A small contingent of familiar-looking parishioners followed on his heels.
Jasper spoke quickly into the microphone. “We’re here today to say good-bye to our step-dad Jimmy Biggs. He was bigger than life.” She held the business end of the headset to Cookie’s mouth.
“Absolutely,” Cookie said.
“We all have a lot of memories about him – both good and not so good,” Jasper said.
Cookie snatched the microphone back. “We’re not here to judge. It’s all relative, isn’t it?”
“Amen, Sister!” shouted someone in the crowd.
“So, uh,” Jasper said, “let’s all remember the good things about Jimmy. His – help me here.”
Cookie said, “His bid-calling, his business acumen…”
“He had acumen up the wazoo,” said old Mrs. Parker. “When do we eat, kids?”
“So in conclusion,” Jasper said. “Let’s bid a fond farewell to Jimmy Biggs – “
“Who is here anyway,” Cookie said.
“We’ll never get rid of him,” Mrs. Parker said.
Jasper announced a few moments of silence. She hurried down to confront Rev. Tim.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked him.
“This is a religious event so I came to offer you religious support,” Tim said.
“This is more like an auction event, and I don’t need your support.”
“Keep your voice down, Candy.”
“Don’t call me Candy. My name’s Jasper.”
“Be that as it may, I’m still married to Candace Jasper Biggs Rowe. How would it look if I didn’t attend my own father-in-law’s memorial?”
“Ah ha! I knew you would be worrying about appearances at a time like this.”
“Somebody’s gotta think about the look of things at a formal affair.”
“Affair, Tim? Affair?”
The parishioners crowded in close. This was a field trip for them.
“Down front!” yelled Mr. Peters from the auction gallery. “We can’t see what’s going on!”
“Settle down, folks,” Ted said back on mike. “I don’t think they’re going to come to blows. You’re not going to hit him, are you, Jasper?”
“Don’t let them anywhere near that lasagna!” old Mrs. Peters yelled.
“Get him good, Jasper!” another of the regular auction-goers shoute
d.
Tim bent in close. “Can I talk to you alone for a second?”
His eyebrows were doing that caterpillars-traveling-uphill-thing against all odds. Jasper relented. She drew him back behind the auction block.
“Look,” Tim said. “You don’t really owe me anything even though it’s taken all I have to hold my head high in front of my congregation.”
“If this is what you wanted to say, you can leave now.”
“No, no look. Wrong approach. I just want to be able to take a moment to speak about Jimmy, to say something, you know, religious.”
“Why should I? Jimmy wasn’t exactly religious. And I’m not sure you’re the best spokesman for the benevolent universe.”
“I can’t stand any more public humiliation.”
“Why did you bring that mob along with you then?”
“They followed me.”
“Huh.”
Tim dropped to his knees. “Please.”
“Get up, get up. Jeepers.” Jasper felt that old familiar tug of wanting to save this pitiful man from himself. “All right already.”
He got to his feet.
“One prayer. One quick prayer. And not too much Jesus. Got it?”
“Thank you, thank you. I owe you.”
“You ain’t kiddin.’”
From up on the auction block, Rev. Tim intoned, “Oh, Lord, cast your gaze down upon those gathered today as we commemorate the life of your son, James Biggs…” It was actually respectful, Jasper thought, appreciating Tim’s decorum. Maybe Jimmy deserved something closer to a traditional memorial service after all. Many people in the audience bowed their heads in prayer.
As Tim continued, another figure entered the back of the auction house. Sean Solberg the artist made his way toward Jasper and Cookie. Handsome as ever, he looked casual but respectful in dark gray slacks and a navy blue shirt. With an irreverent twinkle in his eye, he whispered, “So when do we eat?”
Jasper shushed him with a smile, but her stomach gave a loud gurgle of anticipation.
“Amen,” Tim intoned.
The relieved crowd rushed the buffet. Old Mrs. Parker brandished her cane to keep the rival eaters at bay.
The Case of the Angry Auctioneer (Auction House Mystery Series Book 1) Page 13