A Penny Urned: A Den of Antiquity Mystery by Tamar Myers
By Tamar Myers
All that continues to be of Lula Mae Wiggins-who drowned in a bath of inexpensive champagne on New Year's Eve-now sits in an alleged Etruscan urn in Savannah, Georgia. extra north, on the Den of Antiquity vintage store in Charlotte, North Carolina, plucky owner Abigail Timberlake is astonished to profit that she is the only real inheitor of the Wiggins property. overdue Aunt Lula Mae was once, in spite of everything, as far-off a relative as family members 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 really necessary 1793 one-cent piece taped to the interior lid. maybe a coin assortment worthy hundreds of 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 irritating disappearance of a enjoyed one-and with nasty relatives skeletons tumbling from the bushes like acorns-Abby must locate her penny auntie's killer p.d.q...or she'll be as much as her ashes in severe trouble!
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Additional resources for A Penny Urned: A Den of Antiquity Mystery
Besides, I had a gut feeling that nothing good could come out of acquiring the estate of a cousin I barely knew—not when she drowned in a bathtub full of champagne. Cheap champagne. “And we’re taking Dmitri,” I said firmly, referring to the one male I’m used to having around on a daily basis. They nodded again, and the die was cast. 2 mitri is my cat, not my boyfriend. Greg Washburn is my boyfriend—well, off and on. Lately more on than off. You already know that I’m Abigail Timberlake. You might not know that I’m forty-eight years old and not ashamed to admit it.
Ashley recoiled. ” “Make that an urn,” I said. “A fancy Italian urn,” Mama said. “One that could be worth a lot of money. ” Ashley smiled. I could tell from years of parenting experience that she was struggling not to roll her eyes. ” Ashley’s face was suddenly very earnest. Mama’s chin tilted in triumph. “Like I said, she drowned in champagne. ” “Yes, ma’am. Y’all’s cousin. It was in all the papers. ” “Right! ” Ashley shook her head. She would have been a plain girl had it not been for the thick strawberry-blond tresses that swirled now in front of her face.
I especially liked the character who kept those flies glued to little strings. ” We said nothing. J. scratched her head. “Although come to think of it, it wasn’t flies Uncle Festus kept on strings but pigeons. And he didn’t glue the strings on the birds but made little harnesses for them and tied the strings to the harnesses and then to his belt. Must have had a hundred of them tied on there at one time, because one day a pack of dogs came running through Uncle Festus’s yard and scared the flock.