Buckeye Hunter (A Susan Hunter Mystery Book 7) by Maddie Cochere

Author:Maddie Cochere [Cochere, Maddie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Breezy Books
Published: 2015-01-31T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

“Hey, lady, be careful with that. If you break it, you buy it.”

I looked up to see a large man wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and jeans walk into the vendor space. He was fully covered with tattoos with the exception of his face. Every morning, I heard him give the same warning to anyone who perused his wares. Now it was my turn.

I smiled and said, “I won’t break it.”

The small white clown figurine in my hand was one I had as a child. She wore a light pink suit with a matching hat. Darker pink dotted her cheeks and nose. She was slightly bent over and holding on to a white ball that was almost as big as she was. The memory associated with the clown made me smile.

When I was five, Dad wanted to take me to the circus. I refused to go, because I was afraid of the clowns. He came home from work a few days later with the little figurine. She was so sweet and precious, I loved her as much as I loved my dolls. When Dad wanted to go to the circus the following weekend, I tucked the little figurine into my coat pocket and took her with us. It turned out, I loved the clowns, and the special outing with Dad was still one of my fondest memories. The little clown was lost many years later, and it warmed my heart to see her again. I was going to buy her for Lizzie, but I knew I really wanted her for me.

“How much?” I asked.

“Hmmm,” he mused loudly. “They sell on eBay for seven bucks. How ‘bout you give me five.”

I wasn’t a haggler, so I pulled out a five dollar bill and paid the man. He quickly turned to another woman who was handling his wares and issued his warning to her.

The last space before I made a complete circuit back to A. B. Investigations and the snack bar belonged to a small, elderly woman selling housewares. She had quite a few shot glasses mixed in with the drinking glasses, but none of them were from Buxley. It looked like our little collection from the places Darby and I had visited together would remain small.

I heard him laugh. He and Arnie were looking at something on Darby’s laptop.

Darby told me he dashed into the flea market yesterday to get coffee before going to Estelle’s to play bridge, and Arnie had called down the counter and asked what he did for a living. Darby promised to show him this morning, and the two of them had been poring over websites for the past forty-five minutes.

I sat on the stool next to Darby, set the little clown on the counter, and asked, “Why are there always so many people in here this early in the morning?”

“Most of the early birds are antique dealers and other flea people,” Arnie said. “They’re looking for a deal and want to check out the new stuff first thing in the morning.

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