Death of a Rug Lord (Avon Mystery) by Tamar Myers

By Tamar Myers

Company is not booming for antiques broker Abigail Timberlake Washburn. a neighborhood rug shop is luring away her buyers with its rock-bottom costs. desirous to try out the contest, Abby is thrilled to discover a worthwhile Persian amid the cut-rate carpets—and surprised whilst Gwendolyn Spears, the store's beleaguered proprietor, begs her to take it domestic! Abby feels greater than a bit to blame approximately getting this kind of good deal . . . in particular while Gwendolyn is located lifeless the following morning. Investigating the brutal homicide, Abby quickly discovers that the prized Orientals of Charleston's society dames are not anything greater than reasonable fakes . . . and harmful thief will do something to drag the rug out from below her.

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I told her I’d just come out of this room and it was empty, and she accused me of calling her a liar. She’s going to barge in here at any second. ” “He is. I know his parents; his daddy is my pastor. ” The hard part was getting Rob to believe he could fit through the access hole. I finally got him to imagine it as a rabbit hole in reverse, and me as Alice, but not with a second to spare. ” Mama shouted, “There’s no place else you could be. Big Larry,” she said to her gentle giant, “if you scoot that chair over .

But he’s conning us—he’s conning Mama. That accent! ” I was born and raised in Rock Hill, South Carolina, up in the Piedmont. Rob was born and raised in Charlotte, not thirty miles from me, and this was all the way back in the days when Charlotte still had a recognizable Southern accent. Neither of us, however, talked like we had a mouth full of marbles. “It is pretty bad,” Rob agreed. ” “He didn’t—not to me. I never gave him a chance. ” 30 D E AT H O F A R U G L O R D “Thank you. Is Bob hurt because I invited you to fill in for Greg, instead of him?

I glanced desperately around for places to hide; there were none. Unless. As it was the third floor, a small trapdoor in the ceiling gave access to electrical and cable wires, but it was doubtful Rob could squeeze through the opening. And even though it was pleasant outside, we would be so close to the roof that we’d undoubtedly steam to our deaths within a few minutes. If not literally, we would at least look as if we had been steamed, which for some of us is just as bad. My heart skipped three beats as the door opened just enough to allow Mrs.

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