Antiques foe, p.1
Antiques Foe, page 1
Contents
Cover
Also by Barbara Allan
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for Barbara Allan
About the Author
Dedication
Epigraph
Map
To: The Serenity Sentinel Obituary Department
Chapter One: Curveball
Chapter Two: Blindsided
Chapter Three: Full Court Press
Chapter Four: Long Shot
Chapter Five: Front Runner
Chapter Six: Raising the Bar
Chapter Seven: On the Ropes
Chapter Eight: Sudden Death
Chapter Nine: Dead Ringer
Chapter Ten: Pinch Hitter
Chapter Eleven: Home Stretch
Chapter Twelve: Down to the Wire
Chapter Thirteen: Time Out
Barbara Allan
Also by Barbara Allan
Trash ‘n’ Treasures mysteries
ANTIQUES ROADKILL
ANTIQUES MAUL
ANTIQUES FLEE MARKET
ANTIQUES BIZARRE
ANTIQUES KNOCK-OFF
ANTIQUES DISPOSAL
ANTIQUES CHOP
ANTIQUES CON
ANTIQUES SLAY RIDE (e-book)
ANTIQUES FRUITCAKE (e-book)
ANTIQUES SWAP
ANTIQUES ST. NICKED (e-book)
ANTIQUES FATE
ANTIQUES FRAME
ANTIQUES WANTED
ANTIQUES HO-HO-HOMICIDES
ANTIQUES RAVIN’
ANTIQUES FIRE SALE
ANTIQUES CARRY ON *
ANTIQUES LIQUIDATION *
* available from Severn House
ANTIQUES FOE
Barbara Allan
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First world edition published in Great Britain and the USA in 2023
by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd,
14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE.
This eBook edition first published in 2023 by Severn House,
an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd.
severnhouse.com
Copyright © Max Allan Collins and Barbara Collins, 2023
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The right of Max Allan Collins and Barbara Collins to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0962-7 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0963-4 (e-book)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
This eBook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland
Praise for Barbara Allan
“Humorous asides and loads of antique lore … Allan delivers the cozy goods”
Publishers Weekly on Antiques Liquidation
“Best for readers of cozy mysteries who enjoy small-town living, humor with a side of murder, and cute canine companions”
Library Journal on Antiques Liquidation
“Amusing mystery chockablock with antiques lore”
Kirkus Reviews on Antiques Liquidation
“Allan consistently entertains”
Publishers Weekly on Antiques Carry On
“Delightfully quirky … For those fond of feel-good cozies, Allan delivers”
Publishers Weekly on Antiques Fire Sale
“One of the best in Allan’s long-running series”
Kirkus Reviews on Antiques Ravin’
“This humorous cozy – with its well-drawn, quirky characters – is a hoot”
Booklist on Antiques Ravin’
About the author
Barbara Allan is the joint pseudonym of husband-and-wife mystery writers, Barbara and Max Allan Collins. Barbara is an acclaimed short-story writer, and Max is a multi-award-winning New York Times bestselling novelist and Mystery Writers of America Grand Master. Their previous collaborations have included one son, several short story collections, and twenty novels. They live in Muscatine, Iowa – their Serenity-esque hometown – in a house filled with trash and treasures.
www.barbaraallan.com
For our granddaughter
LUCY
in hopes she’ll read (and enjoy)
this one day.
Brandy’s quote:
Heat not a furnace for your foe
so hot that it do singe yourself.
— William Shakespeare
Mother’s quote:
Believe nothing you hear and only half of what you see.
— Edgar Allan Poe
To: The Serenity Sentinel Obituary Department
From: Vivian Jensen Borne
Staff note: letter received from Vivian the morning of her death. Edited for space consideration in print edition.
Vivian Jensen Borne came from humble beginnings, the daughter of Ernest and Esther Jensen of Hackensack, Minnesota. Born in the middle of the last century, Vivian was a lovely, if precocious, child who excelled at everything she did. (For more on childhood, visit unedited version at www.SerenitySentinel/obit.com.)
Vivian married Jonathan Borne, a world-renowned war correspondent and photographer, who preceded his much younger wife in death. Left to honor Vivian are two daughters, Peggy Sue Clark (Senator Edward) and Brandy Borne (soon to be Mrs Tony Cassato) (NOTE from VJB: Hope it’s all right to mention that!); grandson Jacob Bramhall (parents Brandy and ex-husband Roger); and goddaughter BeBe Richards (parents Tina and Kevin). Finally, a shout-out to Sushi, an adorable (if somewhat spoiled) shih tzu, who upon more than one occasion assisted Vivian in her celebrated sleuthing.
Vivian, along with Brandy, owned and operated Trash ‘n’ Treasures, a thriving antiques store in Serenity, which became the setting of the reality TV show Antiques Sleuths, on which collectors brought in unusual items to be identified by the duo. Although short-lived (one season), the popular series was cancelled when a key member of the film crew (who shan’t be named, else spoil the book Antiques Chop written by Vivian, with the assistance of Brandy) was cancelled himself (or herself!), shutting down production. Nonetheless the show left an indelible mark on the psyche of the viewing public, many of whom (including a TV Guide critic) claimed to have ‘never seen anything quite like it.’
Vivian is perhaps best known for her aforementioned sleuthing activities, having solved – with minor but appreciated assistance from daughter Brandy, grandson Jake, and bloodhound-in-spirit Sushi – over thirty murders in and around Serenity, which thrust her hometown of twenty-five thousand inhabitants into the pages of The Guinness Book of World Records (Most Unrelated Murders Per Capita), a point of pride for the acclaimed amateur criminologist. (For more on sleuthing visit www.SerenitySentinel/obit.com.)
For three productive months, Vivian was sheriff of Serenity County, taking early retirement (with bennies) after solving one of the most brutal series of murders in the history of the state of Iowa (or many states!) where, at an Edgar Allan Poe festival, a killer reenacted scenes from the works of the venerable author of horror (as chronicled in Antiques Ravin’). Vivian consistently denied there being any truth to the rumor that she was fired after taking liberties with legalities in solving the case, citing instead retiring for ‘personal reasons.’
Vivian, a staunch protector of historical architecture, founded the Serenity Historical Preservation Society after an entire downtown block of Victorian buildings in Serenity was leveled and turned into a vast parking lot. A photo of her having chained herself to the wrecking ball to stop the destruction appeared in an issue of Architectural Digest, back in the day, with the heading, ‘Lengths To Which We Cannot Endorse Going.’
Antiques dealer, sleuth, reality-show celebrity, former sheriff, preservationist, and reincarnate – whose past lives include Iras, handmaiden to Cleopatra, and the Egyptian queen’s asp handler (for more on past lives visit www.SerenitySentinel/obit.com) – Vivian Borne was truly one of a kind. But of all Vivian’s extensive accomplishments, treading the boards (theater, for the non-thespians among you) was her first love.
Vivian began her theatrical career at the tender age of three when she ran au natural onto the stage during a local production of Carousel, upstaging her mother, who was singing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone,’ the spunky child refusing to leave until she could join in. The duet performed by mother and daughter was perhaps the only time the emotional song brought tears of laughter to mingle with those of sadness in theatergoers’ eyes. (For more on childhood acting visit www.SerenitySentinel/obit.com.)
As a director, Vivian brought bold new innovations to her productions, incorporating pyrotechnics on stage long before rock groups thought to do so, and frequently using live animals on stage (never dead ones). While there were a few mishaps – such as the curtains igniting during the fireworks scene in You Can’t Take It With You, and a horse galloping off the stage into the orchestra pit in the Ascot scene in My Fair Lady – thankfully no one was hurt, even the horse (lawsuits were settled out of court to everyone’s satisfaction, and damaged curtains and dented musical instruments replaced by an insurance company who thereafter dropped the Serenity Playhouse from their coverage) (sore losers!).
While incarcerated in the county jail on a charge of first-degree murder (later dropped after the esteemed sleuth uncovered the killer’s true identity), Vivian organized a women’s theatrical group, the Serenity Jailbird Players, which put on plays for fellow inmates. The group became so popular it began performing in other prisons throughout Iowa, until two women in the troupe escaped while on tour at the Fort Dodge Correctional Facility, bringing an abrupt end to Vivian’s dream of expanding their Midwest circuit to the Big Time (Big Houses?) – Sing Sing, San Quentin, Folsom, and Leavenworth.
Modesty prevents Vivian from enumerating her many other accomplishments – and money, as this newspaper charges 50 cents a word for print (which at 968 words thus far equals $484). (Oh! Now it’s 976 words!) (Now it’s 981!) Therefore, Vivian Borne would like to bid a fond farewell not just to family but to any friends who ever did her a kindness, including those who did not make it onto her Christmas card list. While she would have preferred to stick around longer on this ol’ big blue marble, current circumstances have made that an impossibility, and she finds the only way to protect the ones she loves so dearly is to (reluctantly) take her own life.
Adieu! Who was it said, ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow?’ (Shakespeare, of course. And, now, Vivian Borne.)
P.S. But look for her in her next life. (For more post-scripts visit www.SerenitySentinel/obit.com.)
ONE
Curveball
Six days earlier …
On a cold, blustery, overcast Saturday morning in early December, Mother and I were working in Trash ‘n’ Treasures, our antiques shop, located in an old two-story clapboard house at the end of Main Street in Serenity, Iowa, at the rise of East Hill. We had purchased the house a few years ago after outgrowing several booths in an antiques mall.
Sushi, my brown-and-white shih tzu, was keeping a watchful eye trained in the event that either of her human caretakers should make a move toward the kitchen, where a pan of complimentary cookies cooled on the 1950s stove.
The house, with its wide front wooden porch and compact yard enclosed by a white picket fence, had been languishing on the market for decades due to a bit of unpleasantry that had taken place in the parlor nearly seventy years ago. Most buyers apparently had an aversion to sites of ax-murders, historic or otherwise. But not Mother (or, apparently, me).
When we first moved in, doors upstairs would sometimes suddenly slam shut – bang! – and the antique rocker in the parlor often got going on its own – creak, creak! After Mother and I solved the long-ago murder (Antiques Chop), however, these occurrences ceased, the ghost – or entity – finally finding peace. Anyway, I like to think so.
Each room was stocked to reflect its original purpose – kitchen antiques in the kitchen, bedroom sets in the bedrooms, linens in the linen closet, bath fixtures and paraphernalia in the bath, steamer trunks and old doors in the attic. Downstairs, formal furniture was arranged in the parlor, dining sets in the dining room, books in the library, and ‘mantiques’, such as beer signs, tools, and vintage pin-up calendars, in the basement. Even the knickknacks throughout the old place were arranged where one might expect to find them.
During business hours, the wafting aroma of freshly baked chocolate-chip, peanut butter, or oatmeal cookies (no raisins, please) would lure patrons to the kitchen, where they were welcome to sit at the yellow-and-white boomerang-print laminated mid-century table to partake of the free goodies, along with a cup of hot coffee – no purchase required, tips not encouraged, fresh gossip appreciated.
Customers often claimed that shopping at Trash ‘n’ Treasures gave them the vague sense of visiting an elderly relative – a grandmother, perhaps, or kindly old aunt. Only here you didn’t have to wait to inherit something that caught your eye; for the listed price (or maybe a haggled-over lower one), you could walk out with that treasure immediately.
I must add that whenever a patron mentioned the elderly relative theory, Mother bristled and stiffened and lifted her chin. ‘We prefer, here at Trash ‘n’ Treasures, to think of ourselves as a sort of time machine … a time machine with price tags.’
Right now, however, Mother was asking, ‘Where are the Christmas items?’ In her favorite emerald velour slacks-and top-set, blue eyes magnified by huge glasses, silver hair in a tidy bun, she stood in front of an empty glass curio cabinet in the entryway where we showcased our best seasonal offerings.
I was seated on a stool behind the nearby checkout counter, working on an inventory spreadsheet, wearing jeans and a black cashmere sweater, the latter having shrunk because I washed it to save money on dry-cleaning (and wore it as a reminder of my folly). Without taking my eyes off the monitor, I replied, ‘That box on the floor is all we have.’
Mother crossed to it, bent, her knees popping, pulled back the cardboard flaps, peered in, then asked irritably, ‘That’s it? Did the elves take a holiday?’
Did you know dogs could sigh? Sushi actually did, and – sensing an argument was coming and not cookies – retreated to her leopard-print bed on the floor behind me and curled up.
‘This elf,’ I said acidly, ‘told you months ago that we needed to stock up on more Christmas items. But did you listen? No, no, no! That rhymes with “ho, ho, ho,” incidentally.’
‘So, so, so,’ Mother said, rising with some difficulty, ‘we’re just going to have to bring some things from home, to pick up the slack.’
My eyes narrowed. ‘Such as?’
Her response had a lightness to it that couldn’t have been heavier. ‘Such as your collection of Paper Moon Christmas cards.’
She was referring to the greeting cards featuring air-brushed artwork created in the 1970s and ’80s by a wonderful but long-out-of-business LA greeting-card company. (Worth a Google.)
‘Not on your life!’ Those cards were getting harder and harder to find, especially unused. ‘What about your collection of holiday Annalee dolls?’ Which I found creepy, especially the elves. And as an elf myself, I spoke from experience.
Anyway, we had come to the point where we were glaring silently at each other.
Finally Mother spoke, in a spirit not of conciliation but reluctant compromise. ‘We will display both your cards and my dolls,’ she suggested, ‘to attract admirers … but put high prices on them so they won’t sell.’
That didn’t seem like a sound business practice, but at least would keep the peace, and – as she’d indicated – provide a nice display.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘We’ll offer both my items and yours at prices that we would be fools not to accept, if some fool was willing to pay it.’
‘And of course,’ she said, ‘we are nobody’s fools.’
No fooling, I thought.
Last year, Mother had sent me out on my own to seek yuletide stock. To teach her a lesson I brought back only kitschy items, like a framed Christmas tree fashioned from gaudy buttons glued onto green felt, and a wreath made of real fruitcake lacquered for posterity, and a tall green Styrofoam cone holding dozens of old toothpicks on which to stick little cooked weenies – the perfect centerpiece for a loopy holiday party. Instead of being disgusted, Mother arranged my curious finds in the curio along with a sign MERRY KITSCH-MAS! … and it all sold! So I ask you, who was the fool in that one?
