Tarnished and Torn Read Online Free Page A

like to be with their owners at all times, and treated with respect, as you said.” She nodded, studying me. “Where you from?”
    “Texas originally. I’ve traveled a lot, though. Haven’t been back for a while.”
    “You still talk funny.”
    “So I’ve been told.” I’d been working on losing my twang, but it was stubborn. Still, given Griselda’s own accent it seemed like a pot-calling-the-kettle-black accusation. “You have some lovely items. My shop, Aunt Cora’s Closet, specializes in vintage clothing. I’m here hoping to score some nice vintage stuff today. But your prices . . .”
    “What’s wrong with ’em?”
    “Nothing. These are lovely pieces.” I gestured to the antique brooches laid out enticingly on the paisley brocade covering cheap card tables. “I was just wondering whether you might consider a wholesale rate—”
    “This
is
wholesale.”
    “Maybe a bulk rate?”
    “You’re a bargainer, huh?” Her eyes flickered to a point over my shoulder again. “Tell you what. You come back at the end of the day, once the hungry crowds have been through, and maybe I’ll make you a deal. Don’t like to pack all this stuff back up. If I’ve got a bunch on my hands at the end of the show, we can talk then.”
    She looked at me just a mite too intensely. Was she trying to telegraph that she wanted to see me later?
    “But I can’t guarantee you’ll get much at that point,” Griselda added. “Just the dregs. You might want to pick out a few choice pieces now.”
    Who is the bargainer now?
I smiled, trying to shake off my suspicions. Surely Griselda was just a businesswoman keeping an eye on the crowd, trying to sell her inventory at the highest possible price.
    “Where’s this shop of yours?”
    I handed her my business card. She returned the favor and passed me a bright purple, shiny one with sparkles.
    “Hey, you’re on Haight Street? Lily Ivory?” she said, her eyes again shifting slightly. She lowered her voice. “I’m staying at a bed-and-breakfast right over there—the, uh, Morning House. You know this place?”
    “I think I’ve walked past it. The Haight’s a great neighborhood, isn’t it?”
    “Sure. Maybe I should come see your store. I—” She cut herself off when Johannes appeared with two more boxes. One was noticeably battered, and
Mull
had been written in black magic marker on the side.
    “Why do you bring this one?” Griselda chastised him. “It’s junk, says so right there on the side.”
    “You want I put it back?”
    “
Dummer Junge
 . . .
Ja
, put it—” Griselda stopped midanswer and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “Unless you’d like to buy it. Give you a good price. Good stuff here.”
    “You just said it was junk.”
    “Junk
jewelry.
This not the same as
junk
. There is a place for rhinestones, no?” She flapped my business card in my direction. “Vintage—this means old and used, no?”
    “I prefer to think of my inventory as classic.”
    She gave a dismissive wave. “You say you’re looking for inexpensive items for your shop. There are some good pieces here.”
    Johannes held out the box, tilting it toward me. Griselda opened one of the top flaps so I could take a peek at the contents: a jumble of snarled chains and medallions, rings, and beads. When I reached out to touch, she yanked it back out of reach.
    “Fifty dollars for the box, so I don’t have to take it home.”
    “Thirty.”
    She frowned, then gave me a reluctant, crooked smile.
    “Forty, and I’ll throw in the piece you were looking at with the opals. I think it likes you.”
    “Thirty-five.” I had learned never to accept the first counteroffer.
    “Thirty-seven fifty.”
    “Deal.”
    Griselda snatched the bills I held out, and Johannes handed me the box.
    It was heavy. Luckily the muscles in my arms and back were toned from the hours I spent every week laundering recently acquired vintage clothing. Nothing like hand washing, twisting, and hanging