The Cane Mutiny Read Online Free

barely old enough to qualify as antiques, doesn’t mean I’m ignorant about other areas in this business. Take this seemingly plain walking stick. Did you know that it’s also a pistol?”
    â€œGet out of town! You’re joking, aren’t you?”
    â€œNo. Look.” My buddy turned the handle until I heard a click, and then gently pulled it back, slowly revealing the barrel of a pistol.
    â€œWell, I’ll be dippity-doodled. How did you know to do that?”
    â€œEd’s granddaddy had one of these. Said he got it from his daddy who fought a duel over a woman in downtown Charlotte. He won, by the way.”
    â€œHow romantic,” I said, dripping enough sarcasm to ruin my four hundred dollar Bob Ellis shoes.
    â€œActually, it was. You see, the guy Ed’s great-great-granddaddy killed was a carpetbagger. The man had made a pass at Ed’s ancestor’s wife. Great-Great-Granddaddy Crawford had already lost his first wife from cholera during the War ofNorthern Aggression. He said that while he had no regrets in laying down his wife for his country, he’d be damned if he did it again for a Yankee.”
    â€œWynnell, that’s an old joke.”
    â€œMaybe. Anyway, this pistol—” She set the weapon down gently. “Abby, what’s in that barrel?”
    The barrel was one of the items in the locked storage shed. It, the canes, a broken space heater, two lawn chairs in need of reweaving, a painting of dubious quality, and boxes of old magazines, dried-up pens, balls of string, and assorted junk too useless even to remember: that’s what I’d received for my winning two thousand dollar bid.
    â€œIt’s part of a locked trunk sale. That’s where I got the canes.”
    â€œAbby, how come nobody ever tells me about these sales? I’m a dealer too. Why is it I’m always left out of the loop?”
    The truth is that my buddy is not intentionally being left out of anything. She is privy to the same newsletters and sale information that I am; she just chooses not to pay attention. Some days, like today, she doesn’t even open her shop, although she can ill afford not to do so.
    â€œWynnell, who’s minding the store?”
    â€œEd.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œIt was your idea, Abby, remember? You said I should ask him to help because he was bored with retirement. Well, I did, and he loves it. Not only that, but he’s better at it than I ever was. So, now guess who’s retired? Unofficially, of course. Anyway, that’s why I’m here—to see if you want to go to lunch later.”
    â€œThat, and to ask me to intercede on your behalf with C.J.”
    â€œYou know me too well.” She walked over to the barrel, which had a padlock on top. “Just how do these locked trunk sales work, Abby? I mean, this isn’t exactly a trunk.”
    â€œTouché. Well, I can’t speak for all locked trunk sales, but this one advertised that the contents of a storage shed were being sold sight unseen. Apparently the person renting the facility was many years behind in the payments. Anyway, we submitted bids on slips of paper, like at a silent auction, and then the five highest bids were put in a drum—the kind they use at bingo games—and the one pulled was the winner. I won, of course. Wynnell, it was in the Post and Courier. ”
    She ignored my last comment. “Abby, if you didn’t know what you’d be bidding on, why did you even go to this sale?”
    â€œBecause I thought it would be fun. And it was a chance to meet other bargain hunters.”
    â€œOther gamblers, if you ask me. Not you, of course.”
    â€œOf course.”
    Wynnell tapped on the barrel with her knuckles. “When are you going to open this, Abby?”
    â€œJust as soon as I get the time to call a locksmith, or get Greg out here with his toolbox. But in any case, I’m not expecting to find a