Mysteries of Holt House - A Mystery Read Free

money.”
    We continued walking and browsing, and my
mind was working double-time. The more I thought about it, the less wild and
crazy my idea felt.
    “I get it,” Sharon said suddenly. “But you
don’t even know if this house is for sale.”
    “You’re quick, I’ll give you that. And,
yes, I do. I talked to the auctioneer while you were looking at the glassware
on the porch. It goes up for auction next week.”
    “I think you’ve lost your mind. This place
is huge .”
    “I’ll explain what I have in mind later.
Right now let’s find seats before the auction begins.”
    We sat down and only waited a few minutes
before the auctioneer called for attention. First he auctioned off the smaller
items. Sharon bought a collection of miniature tea cups and saucers, a couple
of figurines and a set of bone china, mentioning that she didn’t really need
the china but liked the pattern.
    “I didn’t realize auctioneers really talk
that fast,” I whispered. “I thought that was a joke. I’m not sure if I can keep
up with things. I may need your help me when the painting comes up.”
    “Sure.” Sharon pulled her wallet out of
her purse, checking to see how much cash she’d brought with her.
    I glanced around and noticed again that
there hadn’t been a very good turnout for the auction. I wouldn’t have much
competition when the bidding on the furniture began. My attention was brought
back when I heard the auctioneer describing the painting of Mrs. Holt. He kept
glancing at me.
    “I want that painting,” I whispered.
    “I know, I know.”
    “We’ll start the bidding at fifty dollars.
Do I hear fifty dollars?” The auctioneer kept his eyes on me.
    I raised my hand.
    “Fifty dollars, fifty dollars. Do I hear
seventy-five?”
    Someone in the back raised their hand.
    “Seventy-five, seventy-five, seventy-five.
Do I hear one hundred?”
    I raised my hand again. I was surprised to
find that I could actually understand the man.
    “I have one hundred dollars. Let’s hear
one hundred fifty. One-fifty, one-fifty, do I hear one-fifty?”
    The person in the back raised their hand
again. Sharon twisted around and looked over her shoulder to see who was
bidding against me.
    “It’s the lady with the little girl,” she
whispered.
    “Okay,” the auctioneer said. “It’s one
hundred fifty dollars. Do I hear two hundred? Two hundred, two hundred, two
hundred.” His attitude and face told me he hadn’t expected to get much for the
painting. I raised my hand with determination.
    “I’ve got two hundred dollars. How about
two-fifty? Do I hear two hundred fifty?” It had become quiet, and he was
speaking slower now. “How about two-fifty? Do I hear two hundred fifty
dollars?”
    “Aw, come on.” A man in the back spoke
loudly. “Let her have it.”
    I waited, but the woman didn’t raise her
hand.
    “Sold! To the lady in the painting.” The
auctioneer smiled.
    I felt my face turn warm and knew I was
blushing. There were a few laughs and snickers in the audience.
    There were more paintings auctioned off. I
bought a few of them, and then the furniture came up. The competitiveness of the
auction caused a type of excitement I’d never felt before. I could understand
how people might get carried away and buy things they didn’t really need or
want. I had the feeling that bidding at an auction could be addictive.
    I turned to Sharon. “This is great. A
person could really get hooked on this auction thing.”
    “It is kind of fun, isn’t it.” Sharon
threw her hand in the air and waved it, bidding on a lamp.
    I bought most of the furniture. There were
a few disgruntled people in the crowd, a few of them antique dealers, but I
didn’t care. I knew what I wanted to do and I was happy. I collected my
paintings and approached the auctioneer to see if Sharon and I could talk him
into giving us a tour of the house.
    “My friend and I wondered if we could
explore the house while we’re out here,” I said, when I got