Around ten a.m., I parked in the lot of Addamsville Antiques, housed in a converted factory downtown. I hopped out of my CR-V and pondered its cargo. Somehow, I would have to wrestle that two-piece Roseville jardinière up to the second floor where I now leased Booth 17.

My choices: Go around front and bring each fifteen-pound section up the long staircase separately? Or go in the back way and use the building’s spooky old freight elevator?

A grilled security gate covered the elevator’s door, and at this hour it also was secured with a padlock on a thick chain. Fred, the building’s owner, had said he would arrive late, so Kaye, the Arts & Crafts vendor, would open up.

The same Kaye who yesterday had accused me of trying to steal one of her pieces.

The only other car in our lot, a white Lexus sedan, looked like something she would drive. Much as I dreaded it, after our argument the day before, I’d probably have to face her one-on-one.

Strangely, the front door also remained locked. It had an electronic keypad, but I’d never been given the code. I rang the bell and knocked, with no answer.

I called the antique center’s land line. From the front stoop, I heard it ring on the sales desk inside. Then Fred responded…in a recorded message, giving the hours of operation.

Almost ten-thirty, though, and not a soul here!

While I lingered in confusion, a deep-blue Mercedes coupe swung into the parking lot. Natty, silver-haired Adrian Marcus hopped out, in an impressive show of energy for a guy over fifty and not much taller than me.

I explained my problem.

“I can get us in.” He joined me on the front porch, punched a few numbers on the keypad, and the door yielded

Marcus and I entered with cautious steps, but nothing around the front sales counter seemed amiss. He found Kaye’s cell number in a Rolodex and called her. After four unanswered rings, he pocketed his phone again with a shrug.

At the foot of the stairs, he and I split the weight of my planter, the bowl and its stand. We carried these up the long flight and re-assembled the piece toward the rear of my booth.

Marcus then glanced toward the second-floor landing of the pulley elevator. “We’ll still need to get this lift back in action, though.”

He slid back the door that covered the entrance to the shaft, revealing only bare brick walls. The lift had to be far below us, in the basement.

By the dim light, I could see through the gaps between the old boards. “It looks like there’s something inside the car.”

“Something dark green,” Marcus agreed. “Probably just an old tarp.”

He re-dialed one of the phone numbers. A ringtone, some classical piece, echoed from the depths of the soot-stained shaft.

Feeling dizzy, and not just from vertigo, I backed away from the edge of the platform.

Marcus stepped onto a narrow ledge equipped with the old pulley. Grabbed one of the vertical ropes and began to raise the elevator.

Once its interior came into view, we saw that he had been wrong about the green fabric. Not a discarded tarp, but a long, flowy jacket of some kind.

Still draped over the sprawled body of a woman.

“Oh, no!” I breathed.

At least we had solved part of that morning’s mystery. We had found Kaye Burrell.

Vintage Villainy – A Vintage by Vivian Mystery, Book 1
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Release: March 2025
Format: Digital, Print
Purchase Link

Vivian Joyce scores a booth at Addamsville Antiques, hoping a presence in the two-story, converted factory will boost her vintage décor business. As one of the youngest vendors, in her late thirties, Viv aims to get along well with everyone. When long-timer Kaye Burrell accuses Viv of sneaking a valuable vase from Kaye’s booth into her own display, the center’s owner Jeff points out that it might just have been a mix-up. One morning soon afterward, Kaye’s bludgeoned body is found in the building’s old freight elevator. The police question Viv, Jeff, and other vendors who recently clashed with Kaye. They also consider that she might have surprised a would-be thief who had “inside” help.

Meanwhile, designers from the Addamsville Playhouse visit the antiques center looking for 1940s décor and costumes. Viv offers to lend her wares, even before she finds out that the comedy, Murder Most Noir, will star her unrequited college crush, Ed Kiernan. He’s recently back from California, where he shot just one season of a TV cop series, and at first doesn’t even recognize Viv as a tech who worked on their college plays, eighteen years ago. They reconnect, though, while discussing the murder at the antiques center. Viv wants to clear her name and those of her fellow vendors; Ed, typecast by now as a detective, jumps at the chance to investigate a real homicide. But will these two eager amateurs end up over their heads in danger?

About the author
Eileen Watkins is also the author of the Cat Groomer Mystery series. For most of her career, she has worked for daily newspapers, writing and editing stories on fine art, architecture, interior design, and home improvement. She has also published paranormal mystery and suspense novels. A confirmed “Jersey Girl,” she prefers older houses, has always shared her home with at least one cat, and makes frequent visits to the nearest riding stable. She is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and the Cat Writers Association.