The Christmas Collector by Kristina McMorris

Author:Kristina McMorris
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-09-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

The house was empty.

Scanning the family room, Jenna stared at the half-filled boxes, the countless items needing to be inventoried and tagged. According to Terrence’s voice mail, he’d taken the crew home, uncomfortable working today with the client’s health in jeopardy.

In the industry, he was one of the compassionate ones. Plenty of liquidators would have charged through without a thought. The longer you’re in the business, the more hardened you’re supposed to get. It’s about sales, not people. Simplifying, not complicating. Purging, not collecting. It’s about getting the job done—which clearly wasn’t happening. Two weeks from the estate sale, and thanks to the holidays, they were barely making a dent.

No question, Terrence had made the right decision. But that didn’t stop Jenna’s frustration from mounting. She snagged a dried-up potted plant she’d meant to toss earlier and dropped it into a black trash bag. From a nearby cabinet she yanked out a stack of games. Their cardboard containers were disintegrating from use. No point checking for missing pieces. Parcheesi, Hangman, Battleship, chess. One after the other, she dumped them all. A deck of Skip-Bo cards spilled over the floor.

She groaned. “Perfect.”

On her knees, she snatched them by the handful. She pitched them into the bag, faster and harder with each scoop. This was her own fault; she’d let the job get too personal. Estelle’s shoe box, which she’d brought in from her trunk, would be next on the list. She’d sell what she could and toss the rest.

Out with the clutter, she reminded herself. Life was easier without it. Her exchange today with Reece Porter had only confirmed that.

The guy had sent her emotions into a jumbled spiral, and why? Fact was, she barely knew him. He’d certainly never denied having a girlfriend. Nonetheless, a feeling of betrayal swelled inside. Worse yet, of being no better than her father’s mistress.

The thought was irrational. Just like the tears building behind her eyes. Pushing them down, she reached under the sofa to gather the stray cards. A 9 was just beyond her reach, like so many other things these days.

Lying on her side, she stretched out her arm. Almost . . . had it . . .

The doorbell chimed. Reflexively, her finger flicked the card away. Jenna fumed as the bell rang again. Her parked van likely boosted the caller’s hope in summoning a person. Soon, persistence would lead to an annoying series of knocks.

Jenna marched toward the entry and swung open the door. “Yes?”

An elderly man stood under the portico, out of the rain. He wore a damp trench coat over his suit and navy bow tie, a fedora hat shielding his eyes. His silver mustache was narrow and neatly trimmed.

“Pardon me, miss. I hope I’m not bothering you.” He spoke with such tenderness Jenna swiftly reined in her emotions.

“Not at all. What can I do for you?”

“I saw an ad for the estate sale with this address. Said it was for the Porters.”

She should have guessed. Estates with well-known owners tended to attract sneak peeks.

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