A Penny Urned: A Den of Antiquity Mystery by Tamar Myers

By Tamar Myers

Pickled...Then Potted

All that continues to be of Lula Mae Wiggins-who drowned in a tub of inexpensive champagne on New Year's Eve-now sits in an alleged Etruscan urn in Savannah, Georgia. additional north, on the Den of Antiquity vintage store in Charlotte, North Carolina, plucky owner Abigail Timberlake is astonished to benefit that she is the only inheitor of the Wiggins property. past due Aunt Lula Mae was once, in any case, as far-off a relative as relations can get.

Arriving in picturesque Savannah, Abby makes a number of startling discoveries. First, that Lula Mae's ultimate resting pot is extra American affordable than Italian old. And moment, that there has been a truly useful 1793 one-cent piece taped to the interior lid. might be a coin assortment worthy thousands is hidden one of the deceased's worldly possessions-making Lula's passoing extra suspicious than orginally surmised. With the unusual visual appeal of a voodoo preistess coupled with the stressful disappearance of a enjoyed one-and with nasty kin skeletons tumbling from the timber like acorns-Abby must locate her penny auntie's killer p.d.q...or she'll be as much as her ashes in critical trouble!

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No doubt she rolled her eyes. “Yes, ma’am. ” “Somehow I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Mama said primly. ” The second the back door closed, I jumped out. Diamond was nowhere to be seen. I even made Mama get out, which was almost as hard as giving Dmitri a bath. “N-n-no,” Mama said, her teeth chattering. ” “Of course not, dear. ” “Maybe we hallucinated. ” “Been there, done that,’ Mama said dryly. ” “She was too clear. Distinct, I guess you’d say. ” “Mama! ” My petite progenitress patted her pearls, which gleamed in the light of the rising moon.

Anyway, I should think it would be worth several hundred thousand. ” Who knew that insulting a relative could be so lucrative? My brother, Toy, ever the suckup, had yet to inherit a thing. I, on the other hand, had already inherited an antique shop from an aunt and now a house. “Well, well, well,” I said, feeling both exhilarated and guilty. “I suppose I should drive down to Savannah. ” Mama smiled. “They do, but that wouldn’t be a problem in any case. J. ” I turned to my young friend. J. is a big gal, a natural dishwater blonde with an expressive face.

She was a Yankee from Ohio,” he added, almost as a confession. ” He flipped open a manila folder. “As you know, your aunt, Miss Lula Mae Wiggins, left her entire estate to you. It—” “Excuse me, sir. I hate to be picky, but Lula Mae was not my aunt. She was some sort of a cousin. Second or third, I think. ’ ” He shook his head carefully and slowly, so as not to disturb his coiffure. “No, ma’am. ” “Where? ” Dewayne Kimbro passed me photocopies of several handwritten pages. ” I read the first paragraph.

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