The Ming and I Read Online Free Page B

They’ve only been open to the public that long.”
    It was time to resume my subscription to The Herald , Rock Hill’s newspaper. I had let it lapse becauseof the way its book editor treated local authors. But it was clear now that Mama was no longer a reliable conduit of hometown information. The time had come to sacrifice principle for knowledge.
    “Hmm, let’s see,” I mused, no doubt running my fingers through my short dark hair. “Ms. Troyan had only lived in the area for two years, correct?”
    “Correct.”
    “And already she was volunteering as a docent at a privately owned historical foundation. That can only mean one thing.”
    “What?” Greg is both handsome and smart, but he’s not brilliant.
    “She had—”
    “Money?”
    “To the contrary. She might well have been dirt poor.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “That’s because you don’t know life in a small southern town.”
    Greg was born and raised in Atlanta, and had spent all his adult life in Charlotte. Both places are booming metropolises as far as I’m concerned. Thanks to the recent rust belt invasion, Rock Hill may now be pushing fifty thousand people, but it is essentially a small town at heart.
    Greg crossed his long legs at the knee. “Enlighten me.”
    “I’m talking about position, dear. Breeding. Dollars to doughnuts Ms. Troyan has a lineage that would make a Daughter of the Confederacy turn green with envy.”
    He chuckled. “I don’t think so. Not in this case. She was originally from Indiana, remember? Fort Wayne, to be exact.”
    “Her parents, then, or grandparents. In Rock Hill it’s not what you have, but who you know. And believe me, Ms. Troyan had some connection tosomeone on the Upstate Preservation Foundation.”
    He had the temerity to laugh. “Maybe, but I still say it’s money. Off the record, Abby, this old gal was loaded. She and her husband owned FarmTec Incorporated, the largest manufacturer of combines and tractors in the Midwest.”
    I gasped. “Oh! Then she could easily have afforded that Ming.”
    “What mink? She was wearing a rather plain brown dress.”
    “Did I say ‘mink’?” I asked with all the innocence of a babe.
    The Wedgwood blue eyes locked on mine. “Out with it, Abby.”
    I took my foot out of my mouth. Fortunately it is only a size four, and I’ve had a lot of practice. Besides, I was going to tell him anyway—sooner or later.
    Greg remained remarkably calm during my brief account of the day’s highlight, but as soon as I was finished, he exploded like a badly made firecracker. After a few minutes of banging and popping he settled down to a sporadic sizzle and became relatively coherent.
    “Damn it, Abby! Goddamn it to hell. Withholding information is an obstruction of justice. You could get in big trouble for this. You know that, don’t you?”
    My heart was pounding. I hadn’t meant to obstruct justice, and I certainly hadn’t meant to tick Greg off. All I had wanted was a little time to appreciate the Ming that had magically appeared in my shop.
    “We don’t know that the Ming was hers,” I said quietly.
    “But you said you saw her carry it into your shop.”
    I swallowed. “I said I saw her carry an ugly grayvase into the shop. The Ming is definitely neither ugly nor gray. So we can’t be entirely, one hundred percent sure it’s the same vase, can we?”
    Greg rolled his eyes in exasperation. It was the first time I had seen the Wedgwood blues put to such poor use.
    “Where is the damn thing now?”
    I jumped up hotly. “I didn’t sell the damn thing, for Pete’s sake, if that’s what you’re driving at. You want it? You’ve got it. Just follow me—in your own damn car!”
    I snatched my key ring off the hook by the front door, but purposefully left my purse behind. If Greg wanted to ticket me for speeding and not having a driver’s license on my person, so be it. But if that was the case, he could count on never having one of Mama’s home-cooked