Promise Canyon (Virgin River #13)(49)

Ten

In the early fall, when the pumpkins were still green and the Halloween costumes hadn't yet been sewn, when the Valley High School football team was practicing for their homecoming performance, when the leaves on the trees that stood dwarfed under sequoias had barely started to color, the biggest item of interest in Virgin River was Hope McCrea's house.

The Presbyterian Women got the job of sorting, cleaning up and organizing, but half the town wanted in that house out of sheer curiosity. Of course, either Jack, Preacher, Paul or Mike Valenzuela stood like sentries at the door making sure whoever showed up worked. Those who wanted to satisfy their curiosity about what Hope left behind had to pitch in. Noah turned out to be a better tour guide than sentry, but he wasn't afraid of work himself.

Since the town meeting, the friendly neighbors of Virgin River were a lot less cordial toward Jack than they had been before he'd been named Hope's executor. They were a little surly, in fact, and there was the occasional snide comment. "That a new shirt, Jack?" "I notice the truck has new tires...you didn't get a low-interest loan for those, did you?"

And Jack, being Jack, responded in his ever-patient way with comebacks like, "Wanna bite me, Lou?" and "Up yours, Hugh."

It was fair to say that certain relationships were strained these days. As for Jack, the usually helpful, loyal friend was just a mite put out with his neighbors.

This spirit of Open House lasted only a few days before it had to be shut down, and not because of Jack. Hope had been a collector of sorts and no one was sure of the value of some of the things she had rat-holed away. The women found odd and interesting items they just didn't know how to handle. There was a huge wardrobe stuffed with old china pieces, mismatched, some even cracked and chipped. She had a shoe box full of odd-looking, colorful stones, for example. There was an attic full of paintings, oils and watercolors, protected with cheap grocery store plastic wrap. This was art that Mel and Paige agreed they would have let go in a garage sale but then Preacher looked up the name of one artist on the Internet and informed them his paintings had actual value. It wasn't a Van Gogh, but it was probably worth a few grand--the artist was a Northern Californian watercolor impressionist from the Depression era. They found an old spiral notebook stuffed with crinkly paper that held odd, illegible signatures. She'd had first editions of popular novels, some of them signed. There were ancient photos, postcards and very retro jewelry. Hope had never worn jewelry that anyone could remember. There was an entire closet full of what appeared to be old teapots. Hope left behind tons of silver flatware and no one could remember a time she'd ever had a guest to dinner. And that didn't even include odd pieces of well-built furniture that the women suspected were valuable antiques.

Even though Mel had a nagging feeling that some of this old stuff was valuable, she had no experience with this sort of thing. Mel was good with five-star chefs, designer clothing and posh vacation spots--at least in her past life, before moving to Virgin River and marrying the owner of a bar.

But Muriel St. Claire, a local who had restored her hundred-year-old farmhouse, spent weekends antiquing and scouring the mountain and forest towns for "finds." In her house she had period paintings, tintype photos, refurbished fixtures, dated needlework and antique furniture. So Mel called her.

"I've spent every weekend off I've had for forty years going to estate sales," Muriel said. "Plus, I'm addicted to the Antiques Roadshow. I'll be right over."

Muriel must have flown around the mountain curves, she arrived so quickly. She wore her usual jeans, boots and hat, but as always she looked stunning. Muriel was a retired, or at least semiretired, Oscar-nominated actress who looked a good ten years younger than she was, and she could look elegant in a sack. On this afternoon, with a flush high on her cheeks, she burst into Hope's, found Mel and some other women in an upstairs bedroom stacked to the ceiling with miscellaneous stuff, and said, "Show me!"

It took Muriel two full days of plowing through pots, dishes, documents, little rocks, art, furniture and weird things--like ball caps from every professional ball team in the country--before she said, "I don't think this stuff is going to Christie's, but there's definitely money here. Not in everything, but generally speaking."

"How do you know?" Mel asked her.

"I can smell it."

"Like the colorful rocks?" Mel said expectantly. "Are they gems?"

"I wouldn't know," Muriel said. "But that wardrobe full of china? Antique Belleek. Very expensive Irish china. And the teapots? I recognize a couple of English sterling pieces, which tells me there's lots of hidden value there."

"Hundreds?" Mel asked hopefully.

"Thousands," Muriel said. "If I know my antiques at all."

One of the advantages of going to garage sales, estate sales and auctions as a hobby, Muriel was armed with business cards from consultants and appraisers from all over the place. The experts in this particular area seemed a reasonable place to start, but there was no evidence that Hope, who'd been computer savvy and obviously liked eBay, had been committed to Northern California.

And nothing could bring appraisers and consultants for estate sales and auctions running like the name Muriel St. Claire.

"We're going to start getting company right away," she informed Mel and some of the other ladies. "The thing to do is let them appraise the value of this stuff, run up the numbers, and then negotiate fees. It's possible much of this stuff--the art, for example, china and small antique pieces--will have to be moved to San Francisco for the best price. Or some of this could be purchased outright by an auction company that chooses to make it part of a moving sale or auction. Advertising will be necessary. Oh, this is very exciting! Benedict Compton of the San Francisco Pavilion Auction company--the president, thank you very much--is coming himself." Muriel rubbed her hands together and laughed.