Dean didn't turn around to view the next potential treasure but loaded his arms with two boxes-a "bloody" axe, grotesque mask, assorted bric-a-brac-and crossed to his vehicle. The top was still off, allowing additional room, but he still felt three or four trips lay ahead. "What's in the trunks?" he asked when he returned between loads. The large lockers were cumbersome and heavy.
"They're the most exciting!" the women babbled in unison.
"We don't know what's in them! They're all locked and sealed!" Paulette added. "Only ten dollars each! We all bought one! It'll be like a party when we open them back at Bird Song!" She waved her hand around the crowd. There were several more trunks in evidence. "They sold like homemade ice cream on a summer day. Everyone loves a mystery!"
It took five trips by the time the auction was finished and the last of the purchased junk was dumped at Bird Song. Dean figured the trunks sold for about a dime a pound. His back was aching by the time he hauled the last chest to the patio behind the inn where the raiders could divvy the spoils. The grand opening was attended with party-like anticipation by everyone staying at the inn.
Fred attempted to pick the lock, as no keys were provided, but the audience became restless and impatient. The Indiana sisters told him to just break open their trunk-they were only interested in the contents. Their small car didn't have room to haul the container across the prairie.
The heightened anticipation sunk like an iron blimp when the first trunk was opened. It contained only stained and wrinkled sheets. "Costumes," the lady said, disappointment like empty socks at Christmas ringing in her voice. "We should have guessed." The other four trunks displayed like goods-a moth-eaten gorilla suit, two bloody collections of dresses, and an outfit Dean supposed Frankenstein wore when he went out for a little nightlife. Only the Wolfman was missing. All the costumes reeked of mothballs, except the sweaty gorilla, which needed them the most.
Cynthia politely suggested leaving the smelly collection outside and no one objected. They washed away their disappointment with cold beer and dove into the rest of their treasures. Ooh's and aah's rang around the small patio as various goodies were presented for general perusal. Westlake was like a kid at his birthday party. He couldn't wait to list his rusty tins, copper mugs, and brass candle sticks on an Internet auction site. With Fred's approval, he dashed up to the old man's room to fire up his computer and do so. Fred wouldn't be far behind to list his laundry basket of mismatched plates and bric-a-brac.