Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 49, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2004

Obviously nothing interesting would be around for long. I began working the room. The goods were an odd mix. A K-Mart card table, particle-board serving trays, the kind of crapola Lurch would own. But some of the pieces were much older. A previous tenant, maybe.

I zeroed in on a 1920 Starck Victrola in the corner. Beat Ted Sorenson to it by a step. A little rough, but the motor still worked and there were spare needles in the cup. Perfect for a restorer. No price on it, or on anything else.

I glanced the question at the biker.

“Pick what you want, we’ll settle up at the end, okay? Don’t worry, I’ll make it work. Got no choice.”

Fair enough. I found a few more things, a painted bookcase, possibly Roycroft but more likely a copy; a child’s school slate; and a pair of Bean Patrolman handcuffs. I was almost ready to check out when I spotted a pop case of what looked like file cards. A closer look proved a lot more interesting. Three-inch plastic disks ringed with thumbnail-sized slides. View-Master reels, very early from the look of them. They weren’t even labeled.

“I noticed those.” The short, dark woman was at my shoulder. “What are they?”

“Slide reels, probably for a View-Master, the little binocular type viewers that give a 3-D effect?”

“Oh, I remember them. TV cartoon slides, right?”

“Only the ones made after 1960. Before that they had all kinds of things on them, street scenes, travelogues, even old movie stills. I’m not sure what these are, they aren’t labeled, but I know a dealer who loves this stuff.”

“You’re Stuart Kenyon, aren’t you? From Stu’s Nothing New?”

“That’s right. I’m sorry, should I know you?”

“Not yet. I’m Karla Frantzis. Clara Pattakos is my cousin. Clara’s Classic Collectibles? I’m buying Clara’s business.”

“Welcome to the asylum. How do you like it so far?”

“I love antiques and love managing the shop but I’ve got a lot to learn. Thanks for the tip on View-Master slides. Next time I’ll beat you to them.”

“No good deed goes unpunished.”

A quick smile transformed her face from interesting to... even more interesting. A good smile. “Ain’t it the truth,” she said. “Any other free tips?”

“That little box of glass slides? They’re negatives for a stereopticon, the View-Masters of the nineteenth century. I don’t carry them myself but I know Clara has a few. Don’t pay more than twenty bucks for the lot.”

“Thanks, I won’t. I’ll let you get back to scrounging. See you around, Stu’s Nothing New.”

Parking the case of stereopticon negatives with her stash, Karla returned to the stack of LPs she’d been sorting through. I finished my hunt without finding anything else worthwhile. I waved Lurch over to my little hoard. He was jumpy as a cricket on a hotplate, eyes shifting restlessly. Worried, or wired on uppers. Maybe both.

“These are the things I’m interested in. How much?”

“Man, I got no clue what this crap’s worth. What’ll you gimme for it?”

I did some mental arithmetic. “Thirty-five bucks for the Victrola, ten each for the bookcase and cuffs, five each for the drum and the slateboard. This box of reels might be worth a hundred or nothing at all. I’ll gamble a twenty on them. I make it... eighty-five bucks total.”

“That old record player ought to be worth more than a lousy thirty-five.”

“To a collector, maybe. Not to me.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, scowling. “You sure you don’t want nothing else? It’s all gotta go tonight.”

“Is there anything I haven’t seen? In the basement? Or maybe the garage?”

“The what?”

“The garage. Any old tools or—”

“Forget the damn garage!” he snapped. “Just gimme my money and clear the hell out!”

His reaction caught me by surprise. Lurch definitely needed to tweak his medication. But I let it pass. “No problem.” I counted out the cash. Several dealers glanced up at the edge in Lurch’s tone, gazelles startled by a lion’s cough.

“I’ll give you a hand carrying it out, Stu,” Ted Sorenson offered. The others went back to browsing. It would take more than a growl to drive them off. That’s why lions stay sleek.

Ted and I lugged the heavy Starck Victrola out to my van and eased it carefully inside. Lurch followed us out, glowering from the porch.

“Our host seems a bit jumpy,” Ted said. “Maybe he’s been seeing Potter’s ghost.”

“Who?”

“Jerome Potter. He used to have a photography studio in this house. It was a beautiful home then. I had all my school pictures taken here. Most kids did back in the day. Potter committed suicide in... can’t recall. Thirty-odd years ago. Hanged himself here. Somewhere upstairs, I think. A real shocker at the time. Rich guy comes back to his hometown just to kill himself.”

“Back from where?”

“I don’t know. He’d been away a few years. Maybe Florida. My memory’s not what it used to be.”

“Mine either,” I smiled.

“No, I guess not,” he said, glancing quickly at the half-moon scar on my forehead. “Sorry, Stu, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Forget it. I already have. Thanks for the help, Ted.”