they hadn’t been such big sellers after all. All the complimentary coffee and tea things had been packed up in one box, and another had rolls of banner paper and templates to do the sign lettering.
I was beginning to think I was too late and that my next stop would have to be Dumpster diving, but then I flipped the top off a box and saw what looked like file-drawer dividers. When I pulled the box into the light, I saw they were monthly dividers. I randomly pulled a sheet from the middle and read at it.
Ramona Brooks had used a fountain pen to write up in her remarkable penmanship the description of a set of silver serving pieces and a bone china tea set. It listed the seller, the date the serving pieces had sold and the price. She’d written in the date she paid the consignee and gave back the tea set, which didn’t sell. Whoever had said she kept meticulous records was right. I sent out a silent thank-you.
All I had to do was locate the sheet for the Ratcliffe Estate heirlooms. Since the files were arranged chronologically rather than alphabetically, I thought I was going to have to go through the whole box. I tried to remember if there was any clue as to when the items had been in the store to narrow down my search. Hadn’t somebody said something about when the time changed? Hoping I was right, I thumbed through October. This was taking longer than I’d expected, and I was getting a little frantic as I ruffled through the pale green pages. And suddenly there it was.
As soon as I saw
“What’s your hurry?”
I slipped the sales sheet and the brochure behind my back and looked up, having already recognized the voice. “Patricia, what brings you here?”
“I stopped by the bookstore to drop off some autographed copies of my book. Adele was in quite a state. She said you were off getting something that proved who killed Drew Brooks. May I have it, please?”
I held the papers tighter. “I was mistaken—there wasn’t anything. I need to get back to the bookstore. The Milton Mindell event and all.” I started to take a step toward the door, but the overhead light reflected on something in Patricia’s hand.
“I don’t think so.” She raised her hand a little so there was no mistaking the small blue handgun.
“I thought Benjamin was antigun,” I said, looking at the compact but lethal weapon.
“He is—but I’m not. At least, for me. These days you’ve got to protect yourself.” She moved the gun a little closer. “Now hand me the paper.” When I didn’t comply, she looked annoyed. “Molly, Molly, Molly, why couldn’t you just mind your own business?”
“I don’t know what paper you’re talking about. I was looking for something I had put on layaway at the store.” I pointed at the yarn swift, but as I did the papers slid out of my hand and landed on the floor.
Patricia bent down quickly and scooped them up. When she looked at the copy Pixie had given me, Patricia nodded in an annoyed fashion. “So Dr. Bullard made a copy of the brochure. Well, it doesn’t matter anymore.” While she was distracted I tried to edge around her and head for the door, but she blocked me and pointed the gun at me.
“There wouldn’t have been any problem if that orthodontist hadn’t demanded a refund. How could you understand? You’ve never been a single parent wondering how you’re going to keep your children in private school.” She set the papers on the shelf and sighed. To my surprise she lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke.
“Yeah, I smoke, so go on, give me a lecture.” She took another drag. “I was working two jobs and selling off my jewelry, but it still wasn’t enough. I had to do something to get money for the kids’ tuition. At first I thought of crocheting some things and selling them.”
“But I thought you didn’t crochet.”
“Are you kidding? Me, queen of the crafter, not crochet? The hardest thing was pretending I was having trouble. It’s kind of like if you’re an opera singer and you have to sing bad. I was watching one of those antique shows on TV and noticed that who something had belonged to affected its value. That’s when I got the idea for Lady Ratcliffe. At first I thought I’d make the pieces myself, but it was too time consuming, even with my skill. I found a place online in China that would create items to my specifications. They attached machine-made motifs to a ready-made backing for pieces like the collar and used machine-made trim for the hankies. Once I got them, I washed them in weak tea and rinsed them in fabric softener to age them, and I was ready to go.
“I made up a whole story for Mrs. Brooks about how I was distantly related to Lord and Lady Ratcliffe and had some family heirlooms that I wanted to sell. I showed her the brochure I’d created. All I needed was a wig and a costume and I became Lady Ratcliffe. It’s amazing what you can do with a digital camera and a computer photo program. Once she read the story and saw the photo of Lady Ratcliffe wearing the Irish crochet collar, she believed the whole lot were real heirlooms. She didn’t even notice my resemblance to Lady Ratcliffe. If she had, I would have just said it was because we were distant family.
“I guess all the buyers believed the brochure, too, because the items sold. And I might add, nobody but that unpleasant orthodontist complained or tried to return their heirloom.”
I was trying to think of a way to get out of there. Between the gun and the confession about making fake antiques, I didn’t feel optimistic about the odds of her just taking the papers and leaving. I looked around the storage unit for some kind of help. If only I’d taken my cell phone.
Now that Patricia had started talking, she kept going. “When Bullard demanded the refund, Drew got curious and went through his aunt’s records. When he saw how many other pseudo heirlooms were in the batch and that none of them had come back, the greedy so-and-so got an idea. He gave Bullard the refund to get back the Irish crochet collar and handkerchief so he could use them to blackmail me. Can you believe he threatened to go to the media and tell them what I’d done if I didn’t keep providing him with fake antiques for his new Internet store?
“Benjamin would have dropped me like a bomb. I couldn’t let it come out. After struggling on my own with the kids I’d hit the jackpot with him. He’s rich, actually a nice guy, and he’s going to get elected. I couldn’t let that rat Drew ruin it for me.” She let out her breath. “It feels good to finally talk about it.” She looked at me and her eyes seemed kind of crazed, though she still didn’t have a hair out of place, nor a speck of lint on her black slacks. Black slacks? It must have been her slacks-covered legs that Kevin saw on the stairs.
“I didn’t intend to kill Drew, you know. I just wanted to knock him out so I could get the crocheted pieces. I figured that without the items there was nothing he could do. By the way, it may look easy to knock somebody out, but it isn’t. I had to smack him a whole bunch of times. How was I supposed to know he’d fall in the soup?”
Apparently when she’d heard Trina coming up the stairs, Patricia had slipped into Kevin’s office. Well, now I knew how the handkerchief got there and how the lacy piece had ended up hanging off the drawer handle. Patricia had ripped the collar as she made a hasty exit. She didn’t seem to care that Detective Heather had the hanky now, since the only thing that could connect her with the fake heirloom was the paper in her hand and me. I felt a strong uh-oh go off in my head. Maybe she didn’t plan for either the papers or me to get out of there.
She dropped the cigarette and stamped it out, reached in her purse and pulled out a huge roll of silver duct tape with a cutting edge attached. “You have no idea how many things you can do with this stuff. I never go anywhere without it—I’m doing a whole chapter on it in my next hints book.” She secured the roll under her gun arm and pulled a long piece off with her free hand, snapping it off against the sharp edge. She wrapped it around my wrist and then pulled it against the other one, binding them together. “You can roll it up and use it for shoelaces or hair ties and even do an emergency repair on a hem.”
She ripped off another piece and kneeled in front of me. She put the gun down and quickly tried to wrap the tape around my ankles. Seeing the gun on the floor, I attempted to kick it away. She grabbed it back and pointed it at my head.
“I don’t want to shoot you, but I will. Although, I think I’ve come up with a better all-around solution.” She surveyed the small space crammed with stuff. “This place is a fire trap.” Having secured my legs together, she dropped the gun in her purse and stood.
I hadn’t realized she’d cut another piece of tape until she was about to stick it over my mouth. I felt light- headed at the prospect and thought by talking I might be able to keep her from doing it.
“Before you do that, I’d like to ask you a question.” I was using as many words as possible since as long as I was talking I didn’t think she’d slap the tape on me. “The question is—well, maybe it’s actually a couple of
