8 Antiques Con Read Online Free Page B

we returned to our suite—Mother having made countless new friends, me having gone through three plates at the salad bar—I was so full and so tired, I just flopped on the couch, not bothering to unfold the bed, still in my dress and cardi.
    I don’t know how long I’d been asleep, when something woke me. The room was dark, as was Mother’s bedroom, though I could hear her snoring behind the closed door, like a sea storm roaring behind a shut porthole. That was probably the noise I’d heard, I thought, and rolled over.
    I felt around for Sushi, but she wasn’t with me, having deemed a soft bed with Mother more appealing than a cramped couch with her mistress.
    As I lay curled up with my head on one of the small davenport pillows, my eyes accustomed to the dark, it seemed to me as if something or someone was coming through the wall directly across the room!
    I froze as a figure moved stealthily toward the bedroom.
    The intruder had not seen me, apparently not expecting anyone to be camped out on the couch . . . which gave me an advantage.
    I grabbed my rape whistle off the coffee table, stuck it in my mouth, and blew.
    The shrill, eardrum-splitting sound startled our uninvited guest, who stumbled into the dinette set, toppling a chair.
    Suddenly the door to the bedroom flew open and Mother, in red flannel pj’s, came rushing out, crying, “ Rape! Rape! ” at the top of her voice. And Sushi was not far behind, yapping for all she was worth.
    The intruder fled back through the wall, which I realized held a connecting door to the next room. And there was a little “click” as it was being locked from the other side.
    How had our side gotten unlocked?
    “Quick, dear,” she said. “We can catch him.”
    I shook my head. “No! I’m in no mood for a struggle. Anyway, he’s gone by now. And I think you’ll find that the room next door is empty.”
    “You’re no fun,” she said poutily. “But surely those whistles, our yelling, will result in help arriving unbidden!”
    “You’re in Manhattan,” I reminded her, and a siren underscored my point. “Anyway, this is what you get by letting everyone under the sun know we’ve got that Superman drawing in our room. The first thing tomorrow, we’re putting that thing in the hotel’s safe!”
    “I suppose you’re right,” Mother replied sheepishly. “But we should call security.”
    “In the morning. Go back to sleep. He won’t be back. If it makes you feel better, I’ll leave the lights on out here.”
    “Very well,” Mother said disappointedly. “But I still think, with a little effort, we might well have caught him.”
    “Good night , Mother,” I said with finality.
    She shuffled into the bedroom, making a decidedly untheatrical exit. For her.
    And I went back to the couch—after making doubly sure our side of the door was locked and had a chair propped under the knob.
    But I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.
    Because there was something I hadn’t told Mother about our intruder—and the reason I didn’t want us running after him.
    When she had opened the door coming to my rescue, the light from the bathroom caught the glint of metal in his hand.
    In the shape of what seemed to be a knife.
     
    A Trash ‘n’ Treasures Tip
     
    Comics conventions are not just about selling or buying funny books. You’ll find at these fun functions a wide array of pop-culture memorabilia and collectibles: cartoon figurines, autographed photos, original comic artwork, and even clothing. I’m looking for a set of Shmoo salt and pepper shakers, because I think they’re so darn cute! The Shmoo was a famous critter in the Li’l Abner comic strip. But Mother finds them repellent, insisting they are “phallic symbols with eyes, dear.”

Chapter Three
Con Seat
    T he following morning, a cool, overcast Thursday, judging by the view from our suite, Mother and I left Sushi behind and headed to the security office to report last night’s break-in.
    Mother was once again