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“I brake for flea markets?” Daisy laughs. “I love it when that happens. Look at it, Spencer.”
“Yes, it’s a guitar.” I lift the lightweight instrument, turning it in my hands. The lack of scars on the body tells me it was owned by someone who didn’t play for long. “Dated 1962… Slab fingerboard. That’s the year they changed it, yes?”
“Do you play?” Daisy’s eyes are wide as she looks up at me.
“No, but the slab fingerboard makes it a very rare piece—and it’s in mint condition.”
“Are you ready?” Heather leans forward, nearly bursting with excitement.
“How much?” Daisy grabs her hands.
“Twenty grand!”
Daisy looks from Heather to me. “I don’t know what that means. Is it good?”
“It’s better than good.” My eyebrow arches. “Nice work, Olsen. You’ll easily get sixty for it at auction.”
“I know!” She throws up her hands, bouncing on her toes.
Daisy makes a whistling noise and the women high-five like two cheerleaders at a home game. I leave them celebrating to inspect the next item, a three-foot bronze sculpture of a young woman, topless in a flowing skirt.
“This is a gorgeous piece.” Turning it to the side, I see it’s an Edward Onslow Ford sculpture. “Date?”
“1887.”
Daisy joins me, gushing. “Just look at the movement in the skirt. So detailed, all the way down to the ruffles.”
“It’s distinctive of the artist.” I muse, stepping around the table.
“I brought this one just for you, Spence. I knew you’d love it. Found it at an estate sale—the woman’s grandmother had bought it in Germany in the forties.”
“How could someone part with this?” Daisy shakes her head.
My eyebrow arches. “How much?”
“Ten.” She waits, clasping her hands in front of her mouth as if she’s anticipating my surprise.
I give. “You’ll easily get twenty thousand at auction.”
She claps, crying, “I know!” again.
Lifting my chin, I nod. “Grafton is very lucky to have you.”
“What’s this? A compliment from the great Spencer Carrollton? Am I dreaming?” Her dark eyes dance, and I shake my head.
These girls.
Sorry, these women.
Antiques dealers should not squeal like kids in a candy store, they should be composed, dignified… Still, I like working with smart people, and these two are rising stars.
/> Daisy traces her finger over the signature etched into the base of the sculpture. “She’s so beautiful. I want her for myself.”
Resting the tip of her pinky finger in the dancer’s cupped hand, she tilts her head to the side, as if she’s pirouetting with the statue in her mind.
Heather watches her with a grin. “She’ll be in your shop until the auction. Maybe I can put a bug in someone’s ear.”
Our photographer steps around the items, taking pictures from every angle, and we continue on to a lighthouse clock under glass worth several thousand and a gorgeous Persian rug worth only a few.
