Fortunately for Jefferson, he knew what the remaining two ex-Mrs. Ridgways looked like… and he was more than happy delegating them to Officer Ames.

The gravel under his tires tightened up as the truck approached Yoder’s Antiques. It was a tiny building, the old Brown residence until the locals drove those negros out of town three years ago, and it had sat vacant since. Now the front window served as a display case for the week’s featured products, and sure enough, a sign was tacked to the front door.

“Back soon,” said the sign.

“My eye,” said Jefferson.

The door was unlocked, so he let himself in. The room was tidy enough, with shelves throughout. An impressive collection of iron sewing machines and hand-painted dollhouses. An old typewriter. A dilapidated china cabinet. Everything labeled with a little green price sticker.

Maybe Jefferson had made a mistake.

And then he heard a voice, faint, below him. The basement door was wide open, and the steps leading down were smeared with bright red blood.