Shadows at the Fair Read Online Free Page B

and checked the way the earrings hung. Just right. She curtsied to the cracked mirror, threw her jeans and shirt into the garment bag she’d brought, and headed for the door.
    She ran directly into Gussie. “Maggie—you look terrific, by the way; I love the pin—you won’t believe what I just saw. Stroll—slowly, don’t make a big deal about it—down the aisle near Vince’s desk. And don’t stop to flirt with any admirers along the way.”
    Maggie laughed. “Small chance! Do I look that great?”
    “Just go! I’ll meet you back at the booths. Ritual sherry in ten minutes, okay?”
    “You got it. My turn to tote. I’ve got the bottle and glasses in my van.” Maggie again started for the door. “And I’ll check out Vince’s area on the way.”
    What could Vince be up to?

Chapter 5
    Tenth Commandment, wood engraving by noted American artist Winslow Homer (1836–1910). Published by Harper’s Weekly, March 12, 1870. Single page. Woman kneeling in church pew while peeking at elegant gentleman, who is looking back at her. Price: $250.
    Maggie hoisted her red canvas garment bag over her shoulder and headed toward the Show Management desk. What could Vince be doing? She’d seen Vince and his women before. She’d seen the coffee turn to something a little stronger about this time of day—or earlier. She’d seen Vince throw dealers out whose merchandise didn’t pass his vetting as genuine antiques, and she’d seen dealers begging for a day’s leeway on paying booth rent because times were rough. How much more exciting could Show Management get?
    Gussie said to be subtle, so Maggie walked through the adjoining aisle first, checking out the competition. Dealers this year were displaying more oak and pine furniture; one dealer she didn’t remember from previous years featured early posters. She wondered if he was replacing one of the dealers who had died and shivered as she passed the booth.
    She paused in front of an exhibit of country pine furniture. That pumpkin pine mirror over the dry sink would look just right in her front hall above the small bureau she used for the gloves and hats and miscellaneous whatevers that were always filling the drawers. Maggie pulled a tape measure out of her skirt pocket. Thirteen inches by eighteen. Perfect.
    They were asking $350, which was a little high for pine, but it was late-eighteenth-century pumpkin pine, that rare and slightly orange shade of pine that increased a piece of furniture’s “country feeling,” and its price. A dealer’s discount would bring it down a bit.
    No one was around. Maggie noted the name and location of the dealer. Booth 3-04. I don’t believe they really call their business Pine Away, she thought. She grimaced as she left a note that Maggie Summer in booth 2–23 was interested in the mirror—would they quote a dealer’s price?
    She started toward her booth, focusing on the mirror, and then remembered—“Check out Show Management”—and turned around. I must be losing my memory!
    She heard voices from Show Management before she could see the booth.
    “Susan, we’ve been over this a thousand times, and this is not the moment.”
    “I don’t know why! Vince, I’m tired of playing all these games. I’m tired, period. I set up my own booth, and then play gofer for you all day, and suddenly you’re too tired to do anything for me. You promised I could have it back for the show. I’ve got a customer coming in to see it!”
    “The reception is going to start in an hour. You need to get cleaned up, and so do I. We can talk after the reception. Right now I have to go shave and begin acting like a host, and you have to act more like the lady you’re obviously not.”
    Maggie turned the corner just in time to see Susan Findley land a well-aimed palm on Vince Thompson’s cheek. Maggie ducked back into the adjoining aisle before either of them could spot her.
    Well! Gussie was right. That certainly was an interesting spectacle. Where