By Tamar Myers

Pickled...Then Potted

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. 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. overdue Aunt Lula Mae was once, in spite of everything, as far away a relative as relatives 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 worthwhile 1793 one-cent piece taped to the interior lid. maybe 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 bushes 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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Sample text

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. Not trusting my eyes, nor the effects of one glass of champagne, I reread it. It read the same. I, Lula Mae Wiggins, being of sound body and mind, do hereby leave my entire estate, and all my worldly belongings, to my niece Abigail Louise Wiggins Timberlake, daughter of my late brother, Clarence Rufus Wiggins III, originally of Atlanta.

He was still wearing the same suit, by the way. I could tell by a fleck of orange on his left lapel. He may have been wearing the same blue shirt, but I can’t swear to it. His sparse hair was still plastered to his pate, and he was still wearing bottle-thick glasses. Yup, it was definitely the same man. ” he asked almost casually. His breath smelled of curry. “Yes, sir. I’m here to see Mr. Kimbro. A Mr. ” We shook hands. “We sort of met yesterday,” I said. He said nothing. Perhaps his eyes were asking for more, and I just couldn’t see it through the thick lenses.

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. ” I leaned against the cool metal trunk of my car. ” “It. Our one experience. ” She paused, and her pearls got a good workout. Thank heavens for the moon, because if the string had broken, we’d have had a devil of a time finding them in the sand. ” “I think it was 1971.

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