Baroque and Desperate: A Den of Antiquity Mystery by Tamar Myers

By Tamar Myers

In a Treasure-Laden Mansion

Unflappable and inventive, Abigail Timberlake, old broker and proprietor of Charlotte, North Carolina's Den of Antiquity, will depend on her wisdom and savvy to authenitcate the proof from the fakes by way of both curios or humans. Her services makes Abby valuable to incredibly good-looking Tradd Maxwell Burton, prosperous scion of the popular Latham family members. He wishes her to figure out the main necessary merchandise within the Latham mansion after which break up the proceeds of it together with her. A treasure hunt in an antique-filled manor? All Abby can say is "let the video games begin."

It's tricky to maintain Help

Accompanied via her most sensible female friend, C.J., Abby arrives on the property and is met with cool reserve, if no downright rudeness, from the contributors of the Latham extended family. attempting to perform Tradd's request, Abby unearths that she may perhaps reduce the loved ones pressure with a knife. yet somebody has overwhelmed her to it through stabbing a maid to loss of life with an historic kris. abruptly all eyes are on C.J., whose fingerprints take place to be everywhere in the homicide weapon. it is as much as Abby to exploit her knack for detecting forgeries to reveal the pretend alibi of the true killer.

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Frowned. ” I said through gritted teeth. “My Aunt Calmia was born and raised in Shelby. ” BAROQUE AND DESPERATE / 53 I gagged. Tradd gallantly patted my back. When I was quite through trying to bring up the remains of Mama’s lunch, our hostess spoke again. “The rules of this weekend’s event are quite simple”—she paused, allowing the black buttons to settle on us briefly—“you see, my dears, my grandchildren and I are very fond of games. ” “Yes, Grandmother,” Edith said. “That last one was Edith’s doing,” Mrs.

It looks larger than it is. ” I prayed that my sigh of relief wasn’t audible. I had assumed Tradd knew better than to presume upon my good character. Just because I am a divorcée, does not make me a tramp. J. ” I glared at her. ” “But, of course, you can’t help it, Abby. ” Tradd pretended to ignore our tiff and gallantly opened our doors. “Well, ladies, shall we disembark? J. and I tumbled eagerly out of the car. It felt good to stand again—although frankly, I was the only one who didn’t need to stretch his or her legs.

Hey, yourself,” she replied. Tradd ushered us past Flora without introductions. The entrance hall ran almost the full length of the house, and was as wide as my living room at home. Pairs of narrow, straight-backed mahogany benches flanking the walls faced each other. Above them hung portraits of ancestors who seemed more angry than inbred. A trio of threadbare carpets, lying end to end, were the only ornamentation. I guessed from the uncommon use of bottle green that they were Kazak rugs from Turkey.

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