A Hole in One: A Glass Dolphin Mystery by Judy Penz Sheluk

Author:Judy Penz Sheluk
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery;crime;glass dolphin series;amateur sleuths;women sleuths;suspense thriller;set in Canada
Publisher: Barking Rain Press
Published: 2018-03-06T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

Arabella and Emily stopped in Collingwood on the way home to take in a bit of the Elvis Festival. “These would be perfect for Betsy,” Arabella said, holding up a pair of olive green potholders. The potholders had an image of a young Elvis doing the twist in black pants and a tight tee shirt, along with an “authentic” recipe for fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

Emily laughed. “Just as long as she doesn’t add fried PB and banana to the Noose’s menu.”

Arabella laughed, even though a part of her really wanted to try the recipe. She loved peanut butter and had been known to eat it by the tablespoon right out of the jar. She justified her mini-addiction by only eating all natural, no sugar added peanut butter. Surely Elvis used the kind with added sugar, which made her version healthier. Didn’t it?

The drive back was uneventful, although traffic heading in the other direction to cottage country was slow and solid. It was typical for a summer Friday night with folks trying to escape the city for the Muskokas and beyond.

They arrived at the Glass Dolphin shortly after seven to find Caitie waiting inside for them. She set aside a book on antique clocks and pointed to an empty wooden shelf.

“I sold the black marble clock,” she said, a big grin on her face. “The one made in France.”

Arabella had to admit she was surprised. It wasn’t like clocks were flying off the shelves these days, and the marble clock had gilt pillars, which made it more ornate than was currently in fashion. It was also something you’d never sell online. It weighed a ton.

“That’s fantastic,” Emily said. “Who was the customer?”

“His name was Windsor Scott,” Caitie said. “He told me that he’d been in here before and had bought a couple of things, and that’s when he noticed the clock.”

“I remember him,” Arabella said. “He bought some end tables and a kid’s rocking chair, a lot different than a marble shelf clock.” She wondered what Windsor Scott’s home looked like and what he did for a living. Caitie interrupted her thoughts.

“He said he’d been thinking about it ever since he saw it. I found your book on French marble clocks and we read about it together, and then I searched the Internet and we did some price comparisons. We found a clock that was almost identical—at least from the pictures, but that was in the UK. Mr. Scott felt that your sticker price of five hundred and fifty dollars was fair, but asked if there was any flexibility. I told him I could knock off twenty-five dollars without calling you. Next thing you know, he was pulling out his wallet. He even paid cash.”

It was a good sale, Arabella thought, and much needed.

Caitie might dye her hair odd colors—today she had it streaked with neon pink—and her wardrobe was an eclectic mix of cowboy boots, black jeans, rock band tee shirts, and a flurry of colorful scarves.

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