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“It is?” Mike asked, surprised. “I thought there was a big demand for period antiques right now, especially ones with a history like John’s.”
“There was. It’s gone now. It was a fad. Buying habits change quickly in antiques,” the boy added offhandedly. “I’m going to get breakfast. Can I bring you something?” he asked his father.
“A bear claw and black coffee, please,” Mike told him. “Take the cash out of the drawer for it,” he added with a chuckle, because his son was already dipping into the register.
“Be back in a minute or two,” Gary promised, waving several twenty-dollar bills.
Meadow’s eyebrows arched. She wondered what sort of bear claw cost almost a hundred dollars.
Mike noticed where her attention was and drew a conclusion. He laughed. “Yes, he took several twenties out of the register, you noticed? He needs to gas up that big Ford Expedition he’s driving,” Mike told her. He shook his head. “Gas is through the roof. Costs almost seventy dollars to fill it up with premium.”
Meadow, who drove an economy SUV and put regular gas in it, was surprised. But she just laughed. “Why does he run such an expensive vehicle?”
“He does most of the hauling for me,” he explained. “I bought him the SUV for that purpose. We had a pickup truck, but when it’s raining, or snowing, even a tarp doesn’t keep out some of the wetness. Antiques are delicate.”
“I see.” She smiled and went back to the photo, dragging as much information out of him as she could for her report.
When he finished, she shook hands again. “Thanks very much for your help. It goes without saying, if anyone tries to sell a lamp like this to you . . .”
“I’ll phone you at once,” he agreed.
She reached in her purse and hesitated. “I don’t have business cards yet, but you can reach me at the sheriff’s office in the courthouse.”
“I have that number,” he told her. “And I’ll call you.”
“Thanks very much. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, as well.”
When she went back to her car, there was still no sign of the son who’d gone to get breakfast for his father.
* * *
She gave the information to Jeff. “He knows a lot about antiques,” she said.
He nodded. “He’s our local expert. He does appraisals as well.”
“I met his son.”
He made a face. “Gary. He’s nothing like his dad. He never could hold down a job, and he tried to be a lot of things, including a truck driver.” He shook his head. “If his dad hadn’t helped him out, he’d probably be living in a shelter somewhere. He doesn’t like work, but he loves money. Bad combination.”
“I’ve seen it lead to trouble,” she commented.
“He was in juvy a couple of times for petty theft,” Jeff commented, referring to juvenile hall, where people under age were placed when charged with crimes.
“What did you think of him?” Jeff asked unexpectedly.
She grimaced. “He didn’t make a great impression on me.”
“His dad’s been in the antique business most of his life. He does know the business, and he makes a good living.”
“Good luck to him. I don’t think he’ll find many things that valuable around here,” she sighed.
“You might be surprised,” he commented. “Dal Blake has a small table that was used to sign the surrender at Appomattox,” he said. “It’s worth a fortune. Dal’s careful to keep his doors locked. He inherited it from his grandmother.”
“Wow,” she commented. “That’s really an heirloom.”
“Yes, it is,” Jeff agreed. He laughed. “But we really don’t have many thefts in this community. We’ve been lucky.”
