A Deadly Grind Read Free

his seventies, was recognizable as a “character,” and he prided himself on it. He wore a pinstripe suit with a string tie, a black bowler hat and handmade spats. When he walked, he did so with a cane, but it was pure affectation, for he was as vigorous as a thirty-year-old.
    Was bidding on the box of vintage Pyrex cookware and the collection of old cookbooks worth facing Joel and Heidi? Joel, who had hurt her by leaving so suddenly? Heidi, who as a svelte twenty-seven-year-old was a few years younger and quite a few pounds lighter than Jaymie?
    What hurt so much about their pairing, Jaymie supposed, was not knowing. Had she done something to make Joel fall out of love with her? Why hadn’t he talked to her before leaving? Still . . . it had been six months since Joel moved out of her home and directly into the arms and house of his new girlfriend, Heidi. It was past time that Jaymie moved on, too. She tilted her chin up and decided; Joel Anderson was
not
going to chase her away from this auction.
    She walked along the porch to the steps, descended and strolled across the soft, thick grass in step with a tall, elegantly dressed woman who appeared out of her element at a farmhouse estate auction. But maybe the woman was after the same Royal Crown Derby china as Becca; Jaymie hoped not. Her sneakers soaked from the dew that was already beginning to dampen the grass, Jaymie squeaked on and joined the crowd in front of the auctioneer’s stage. Lesley finished his speech with a flourish of his cane, saying no one would be allowed to dally or delay, rudeness or bullying would not be tolerated, and his decision would be the final and binding one in any dispute. He played fair, and expected them to do so, too. It was a sizable crowd, some seated on chairs near the stage but most milling about behind and around the chairs.
    As the sun descended behind the pines that lined the farm laneway, a fresh breeze rustled through the green spring leaves and blush-pink blossoms of the stately plum just behind the auctioneer’s trailer stage. The enormous tree was long past the age of bearing good fruit but still bloomed and grew vigorously, shedding a last shower of pastel petals as a vigorous breeze swayed the branches.
    Lesley, as stalwart as the noble plum tree, began the bidding, using the assorted box lots to get the crowd focused and going. This was the time to get some stuff cheap, and Jaymie pushed through toward the front, picking a spot among those standing to the left of the stage. She glanced around and instantly caught sight of Joel, his arm around Heidi, standing on the other side of the seating area, but Jaymie took a deep breath and ignored him.
    She was going to bid on a box of assorted cookbooks, and another box lot of vintage cookware that had some nice-condition Pyrex glass refrigerator dishes, melamine dishes and a few random cooking tools, as well as some odds and ends. She and Becca, by previous arrangement, ignored each other. It was too easy to get distracted by chatting while the auction was going on, so they stood several yards apart, Becca waiting patiently for the lots she was interested in, referring to her notes and the photos on her digital camera.
    Lesley had his youngest grandson, a boy of about eleven, hoist the box of cookbooks up. “Lookee here, now,” Lesley said. “A whole carton of cookbooks! Food’s the same no matter the century, so snap ’em up and get into the kitchen. And I’m not just talking to you ladies,” he finished, with a saucy wink.
    He started the bidding at an optimistic ten dollars, but Jaymie held back, waiting and watching. No one bid.
    “C’mon folks! Whatta we got here . . . let’s see.” He reached in and flipped through some of the cookbooks, rattling off titles, but the crowd was getting restless, so he restarted the bidding at a buck. Jaymie stuck up her hand. Someone else halfheartedly bid two, but when Jaymie went to three dollars the other person dropped out. She