Read Aunt Dimity and the Lost Prince for Free Online Page B

something astounding.”
    “Like a skull with three eyeholes,” Rob said proudly, holding up his drawing.
    “Or a skull with
fangs
,” said Will, putting the finishing touch on his masterpiece of the macabre.
    The conversation went downhill from there, with Bree, Will, and Rob vying with one
     another to come up with the most outlandish item a bargain hunter might find at a
     thrift store. I’m sorry to say it, but their suggestions made a sackful of used diapers
     seem deeply desirable.
    •   •   •
    Bree and I delivered Will and Rob to Morningside School on Monday morning, then drove
     to Upper Deeping’s main square, where Aunt Dimity’s Attic was located, nestled comfortably
     between a bank and a bookstore. I left the Rover in the parking lot behind the shop,
     unlocked the back door, and ushered Bree into the storage and sorting room, where
     we found Florence Cheeseman, the shop manager, already hard at work.
    Florence was a petite, gray-haired dynamo with an eye for bargains, an ear for gossip,
     and an old-fashioned work ethic. She was always the first to arrive at the shop and
     the last to leave and she made the most of the time in between. Even so, she refused
     to accept a paycheck, grumbling irritably: “If I needed the money, I wouldn’t work
     as a volunteer in a charity shop, would I?” Florence had dressed for the day in a
     bulky black turtleneck, a pair of designer jeans, and gigantic hoop earrings that
     glinted in the overhead light.
    “I’ve brought reinforcements, Florence,” I said. “My friend Bree Pym is from New Zealand,
     but she lives near Finch.”
    “What in heaven’s name have you done to your hair, girl?” Florence exclaimed, staring
     at Bree. “You look like a fireworks display.”
    “Just thought I’d brighten things up a bit,” said Bree, unfazed.
    “You’re obviously mad,” Florence declared, shaking Bree’s proffered hand, “but you’re
     welcome all the same. Our neighbors have been busy over the weekend, Lori.”
    She gestured to four cardboard boxes and five trash bags piled on the large oblong
     table that occupied the middle of the room. “I found these in the doorway when I arrived.
     Heaven knows what horrors await us.” She pulled a box toward her. “At least nothing’s
     squirming. You may find it hard to believe, Bree, but someone once left us a snake.”
    “We found a good home for it,” I put in.
    “You didn’t take it back to the cottage with you?” Bree asked mischievously.
    “Certainly not,” I said, adding loftily, “Dimity the snake is now living in Cheltenham
     with an eminent herpetologist.”
    “Sounds ideal,” said Bree. “I’ll bet Will and Rob would love to visit the happy couple.”
     Before I could threaten her with grievous bodily harm should she ever so much as mention
     the herpetologist to my sons, Bree stepped up to the table. “Enough small talk, ladies.
     I’m here to work. What’s the drill?”
    I pointed to my right. “Stand at the end of the table. Open a bag or a box and sort
     through the contents. Put the unspeakably filthy, the hopelessly irreparable, and
     the utterly useless items in the appropriate recycling bins and leave the rest on
     the table. Florence or I will take it from there.”
    “If you have any questions, ask,” Florence added, examining a chipped china cow. “And
     try not to dawdle. We open at ten o’clock, which leaves us just over an hour to get
     through this mess.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Bree snapped off a salute, grabbed a cardboard box, and marched with
     it to the end of the table.
    I moved to the opposite end, dragged a trash bag toward me, opened it, and saw that
     it was filled with children’s clothing.
    “Have a nice weekend?” Florence asked, turning her attention to a dented brass candlestick.
    “Very nice,” I replied. “Bree and I took the boys to Skeaping Manor on Saturday.”
    “Skeaping Manor isn’t my idea of
nice
,” Florence said, grimacing.