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spoke up. “Do you have any reason to think the egg is not legitimate?”
    Ashland shrugged. “No…but what proof is there that the ugly old thing is authentic, really, other than my aunt’s recollections?”
    Mother shrugged. “Then let the buyer beware, I say.”
    “That’s not good enough,” Ashland said flatly. “If my aunt, and her estate, can’t be protected, then I’m against this.”
    I asked, “Is there someone with expertise who could examine the egg? Someone willing to authenticate it, and put his reputation on the line?”
    Ashland stoked his chin with one hand. “There was a expert from Chicago, who appraised the egg some years ago—for insurance purposes. In fact, he wanted to buy it.”
    “Well then, there’s our answer,” Mother said brightly. “If he could draw up a new appraisal, I’m sure that would give your aunt the necessary legal coverage.”
    Ashland was nodding slowly. “Perhaps. I’ll try to contact him. It was a long time ago.”
    With that, we left a somewhat appeased Clifford Ashland, who went back in as we walked to my car.
    I had a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with morning sickness. No one had yet mentioned other obvious pitfalls in auctioning off such a valuable and rare item—little things, like crowd control and police security….
    Had Mother finally bitten off more than she could chew? Was she about to meet her Waterloo? And why was I rhyming all of a sudden?
    I looked at Mother, seated next to me in the car. Her face was placid.
    As usual she left the worrying to me!
    “Chop chop, dear!” Mother said. “So little time, and so much to do. And detour signs be darned, take us into the downtown.”
    If she could throw caution to the wind, why shouldn’t I?
    “All right,” I said, starting the car, “but you’re paying for any tickets we get.”
    “After this auction,” Mother said, “we’ll be the most popular women in town. Any minor offenses we might commit in the meantime will be forgiven. After all, we are the Borne girls, who brought relief to our fellow citizens, all in the form of an antique egg.”
    “Right,” I said, and pulled out. “Just don’t forget what happened to Humpty Dumpty.”
    A Trash ‘n’ Treasures Tip
    At a church bazaar, the best way to get first crack at antiques and collectibles is to help unpack and set up the merchandise. When Mother does this, the other attendees are guaranteed a major discovery: there’s nothing good left.

Chapter Two
Mother Lays an Egg
    S uppose I awoke some night to find the Angel of Death hovering near the foot of my bed, and should he/she/it say, “Brandy Borne, you have the choice of either coming with me now, or reliving one more day…but it must be the day of the church bazaar!” And I would shout unequivocally, “Take me now, please! ”
    Before that excruciatingly long Saturday had ended, sickness and death would fill the air, and as for our fabled Fabergé egg…well, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself….
    The morning of the bazaar began benignly enough: the weather beautiful, breezy, and bright—a “perfect ten” on the scale of a Midwestern day.
    Mother had been up since at least four A.M. ; even with two pillows over my head, I’d been able to hear her downstairs, below my bedroom, clomping around like a circus fat lady in galoshes. Finally, at six, unable to fall back asleep, I surrendered to crawl out of bed and hit the shower. Sushi, who usually slept on top of the covers, gave me an “ I’m not getting up yet” look with her spooky white orbs, and underscored her point by burrowing under the sheets.
    At first, the warm water pelting my skin felt fine, like ahundred massaging fingers…but then it seemed like a hundred little needles were pricking me, and I quickly got out of the shower and put on a soft white robe.
    In the kitchen, Mother had thoughtfully made a cheese and broccoli quiche, but the smell of it—along with the aroma of strong