Read Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2) for Free Online

promise of a scorching day ahead. School
was out, and summer was in full swing. Greenville and the other towns
surrounding Shamrock Lake were filling up with visitors and holiday-makers.
Hopefully many of them would come to the yard sale, eager to part with their
money.
    The community yard sale was being held at
the county fairgrounds just outside Greenville. When Emma arrived, attendants directed
her to the stall that the local business association had hired. It was nothing
fancy, just a couple of fold-out plastic tables, a camp chair, and an umbrella
to keep off the worst of the sun. Other stall holders had already arrived, and
everyone was busy setting up before the hordes arrived.
    With the help of a teenager volunteer, Emma
carted her boxes from her car to the stall. Then she began to arrange her stock
on the tables, organizing them by type and price bracket. She had sole
discretion on pricing. Some items, like kitchen appliances, were easy to value,
while others, like paintings, were more subjective. Not wanting to be left with
a lot of unsold merchandise at the end of the day, she set her prices competitively,
with the aim of reducing them as the day wore on. She was still putting out
wares when the gates to the general public were opened, and eager bargain
hunters descended on the yard sale like seagulls swooping on a dropped French
fry. The early birds were voracious shoppers.
    “This bowl has a crack in it.”
    “You’re kidding. You want how much?”
    “If you throw in the silver spoons, I’ll
give you ten bucks.”
    Emma tied the rather hideous fanny pack for
holding money around her waist, got out her receipt book, and set to work. An
hour of brisk trade went by, and she was pleased and relieved to see the goods selling
at a steady rate. The tables weren’t large enough to hold all her stock, and
she had several more boxes underneath waiting to be unpacked.
    She was dealing with a pair of customers, a
mother-daughter combo, when Faye Seymour arrived at the stall. In beige slacks,
loose cotton shirt, and sturdy walking shoes, with an enormous shopping bag
slung over her arm, she was dressed for some serious shopping.
    “Don’t mind me,” she said loudly to Emma.
“I’m just browsing.”
    Emma nodded before returning her attention
to her customers. The mother and daughter began to ask questions about a crock
pot. Not being much of a cook herself, Emma tried to answer as best she could.
As she talked to her customers, she couldn’t help noticing what Faye was doing.
The woman was rifling through several boxes where Emma had placed smaller items
that might otherwise have gotten lost. Faye picked up a cut glass perfume
bottle, spritzed it on her wrist, then dropped it into her shopping bag.
    Emma’s eyes widened. Had she witnessed Faye
stealing a perfume bottle?
    “What if it doesn’t work?” the mother asked
as she peered into the crock pot.
    “I’m sorry, can you excuse me for one
moment?” Sucking in her stomach, Emma moved over to Faye, who was sifting
through another box. “Faye,” she said in a low voice, “did you just put a
perfume bottle in your bag?” She nodded toward the plastic, yellow-and-green bag
hanging from Faye’s arm.
    Faye’s lips pursed into an indignant knot.
“I did. You don’t have any shopping baskets, do you?” she said accusingly.
    “Um, no, I don’t.”
    “Well, there you are, then.”
    Emma had no option but to return to the
mother and daughter customers. As the sharp-eyed mother continued to haggle
over the crock pot, Faye worked her way through all the boxes of small items on
the table.
    “I’m sorry, I can’t give you any
guarantees,” Emma finally said to the mother. “This is an unpowered stall. If
you can find an electrical outlet somewhere, you’re welcome to test the crock
pot, but otherwise all goods are sold as is. No exceptions.”
    “Well!” The mother plunked the crock pot
back on the table and jerked her head at her daughter. “Come on,