money, merely to point out how easy it was to fool even the experts, and you can believe him or not.' Ursula's stern expression made her own prejudice clear. 'It's in the Ford Museum in Michigan. I don't know if it's next to a real one, but they do have it on display with a note tel ing the real story—that it was stil a tree in 1969.”
Earl was off and running again. 'Furniture can become an antique over night—a little ink spil ed in a drawer or table and chair legs rubbed with a brick on the bottoms to simulate wear. Old furniture isn't that difficult to duplicate for a master furniture builder. You can age wood by just throwing it into the woods for a winter, and period nails are available—people col ect those, too! But legitimate reproductions are marked as such, and they command a lot of money!'
“Yet not as much as originals,' Sam said.
“There are stil bargains to be had,' Jil asserted emphatical y.
“I know'—Sam laughed—'just look at what my wife carts home!”
Before they got back on the question of pie again Pix had noticed Sam's eye turning in that direction—she squeezed in her last question. 'Who's doing the faking mostly, and what kind of crime is it?'
“To answer your first question, we'd like to find out.
Some of the rings have been broken up and they've included dealers, but it's also people who know nothing about antiques, except for the ones they're duplicating. It's a business to them, just not a legal one. Which answers the next part: Sel ing fakes is larceny. Transporting them across state lines is not a federal offense, however a phone cal to set up the transport is—fraud by wire—and we got some guys that way. I guess I get pretty worked up about the whole business, because people come to Maine trusting that they'l find some nice old things here and instead they get burned by a few selfish, crooked individuals. And we haven't even talked about al the traffic in stolen antiques!'
“But we have talked enough about this business for one night. I for one want dessert.' Jil jumped up and headed for the table with a seeming determination for pie that brooked no opposition.
“Sure, honey, I want pie, too.' Earl joined her and Pix could hear him asking, 'Now what's going on? What did I ...
' The rest of his remarks were inaudible, as was Jil 's reply, but what al could see was that this time she did shake his arm away.
Pix and her mother looked at each other. Ursula raised one eyebrow. Even Sam, normal y oblivious to the ins and outs of the relationships about him—his own was enough to keep track of—noticed and said, 'I thought those two were an item. They don't seem very chummy tonight.'
“A lovers' quarrel—or more like a spat,' Ursula said.
“I expect they'l iron things out. You and Pix do.”
“Oh, come on, Mother, Sam and I never fight.”
“Then you probably should.”
It was hard to get around Mother.
With one accord, they al started walking toward the dessert table, discreetly waiting for Jil and Earl to get theirs and disappear in the darkness. At least, Pix thought Jil got a piece of pie. In the dim light, it was hard to see.
“Did I hear you talking about antiques as I passed a while ago?' asked a voice at Pix's elbow. It was the Bainbridge's guest, Norman, and he was returning for seconds, or maybe thirds, judging from the crumbs that lingered on what Pix assumed was his normal y impeccable mouth.
“I'm Norman Osgood, by the way. I came with Adelaide and Rebecca Bainbridge.”
The Mil ers introduced themselves in turn and while doing so, Pix reflected that it was never Rebecca and Adelaide, always the other way around. Was it Pix and Sam Mil er? Or Sam and Pix? She thought they were getting roughly equal time.
“We were talking about antiques, or rather, fake antiques.'
“Fakes. So unpleasant when one has been burned. I'm in the antique business myself and have been total y tricked on several occasions—once by a nice Russian lady from New Jersey who one would have sworn was directly related to the Romanovs, but in fact, al her trinkets might as wel have been prizes from a penny arcade. Has one of you come across such artifice lately?”
Pix wondered whether it was her imagination at work again, but his query seemed to be couched in a rather probing tone. Why was he so interested? Merely because it was his business?
“No—at least not to our knowledge,' she added. 'But al of us are interested in antiques and we like to know what to guard against.'
“Stick to reputable dealers and beware of bargains, that's my advice,' Norman said.
Pix thought of her quilt with a twinge. It was too gorgeous. It had to be real. The pile had been in a dusty corner with more than a few cobwebs, but the whole barn had been like that.
“Of course, one does sometimes come across a steal.
But that's pretty rare these days.'
“What kind of antiques do you sel ?' Pix asked. 'Early American furniture, some European; paintings before 1900; and clocks. I adore clocks.'
“My mother was just tel ing us about the Pilgrim chair hoax. You must have heard about it.'
“Oh, indeed. Such a scandal. Now I must rejoin my lovely hostesses. I believe Adelaide is getting tired. It's been quite a day.”
Pix watched his elegant back retreat into the darkness.
Up close, she could see some extremely attractive muscles of the rippling variety under his thin silk shirt. The man kept himself in good shape. It was hard to say whether he knew the story of the hoax or not. A real dealer would, no doubt.
And he was a real dealer, wasn't he?
“It has been quite a day,' Sam said contentedly, tucking into an enormous slab of strawberry-rhubarb pie. 'I wouldn't miss this clambake for the world. Thank goodness we had a sensible jury.'
“Obviously, since they found in favor of your client.”
“That's what sensible means—and they did it quickly.”
Pix looked at her own pie. She real y wasn't hungry, but she began to eat it in a mechanical fashion that became less so as her taste buds awoke. It had been quite a day, and night. There had been that scene with the Athertons, then the talk with Earl and his tiff with Jil . She looked about the beach at the shadowy figures. Then there were al the things that might have gone on at the party that she didn't even know about.
“Let's get Samantha and start packing up ourselves. I want to check on the dogs.' Dusty, Artie, and Henry tended to run amok at gatherings like this and so had regretful y been left at home. 'I don't know why having this much fun should be so tiring, but it is,' she added.
Sam nodded. 'Something about the combination of sand, sun, and beer, I think. Where is Samantha, by the way?'
“I saw her with a group of kids by the bonfire a while ago. She was eating her lobster. I think I can stil make her out. They're al singing old Everly Brothers songs with John Eggleston. That man has talents we've never suspected.'
“I'l make them sing A Real Nice Clambake.' Louise always likes that. I think that Carousel was the sum total of her knowledge about Maine before she arrived here. It must have been a shock to find out that bait smel ed and people didn't dance on the wharf.”
Sam went off down the beach in the direction of the fire and Pix started to assemble the stuff they'd brought. She knew the Fraziers hired some of the local kids to help clean up each year, so she didn't feel she had to stay any longer.
Ursula cal ed out to her as she was making the first trip to the car.
“Pix, are you leaving? May I beg a ride? Then I won't have to trouble the Moores'
“Of course you can have a ride. I was planning to look for you. Sam is getting Samantha and they'l start back in his car.' As she spoke, husband and daughter came up the path with the rest of the Mil ers' belongings. Sam's song suggestion had been successful and he was singing along from afar: 'The vittles we et were good, you bet! The company was the same.' His energetic performance contrasted with his daughter's lagging footsteps. She wasn't joining in, not even at her favorite part: 'Fitten fer an angel's choir!' Pix was immediately concerned.
“Samantha, are you al right? You look a little wan. I hope you haven't picked up something from one of the
