The Thief's Tale (1.6)

By Lee Murray

Award-winning short story by Lee Murray:
Whitney is a thief. A good one. Like a mosquito she comes in quietly, first anaesthetising, then feeding, and finally leaving before her prey know any better. It’s a strategy which has worked for her 22 times in the past. But when she lands in Refuge, an estate sale opens the door to other possibilities. Cover art by Will Jacques, all Profits to charity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Murray
• Release date: Dec 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311808073

Lee Murray

Lee Murray writes fiction for children and adults for which she has been lucky enough to win some literary prizes. She is currently working on various projects, one of which she hopes will be bigger than hobbits. Lee wishes she were edgier than she actually is—a fantasy which recurs whenever she is folding the washing. She lives with her family in New Zealand.

Book preview

Prologue

There is a (fictitious?) town called Refuge, unlike any other, yet like so many. The people of Refuge have stories to make your hair curl. Oh, and they are hungry to share their stories with you.

If you enjoyed this, and to find out more about the people and places of Refuge, please read the other ‘Tales from Refuge’ which you can download here.

All author profits go to charity. https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/22669

The Thief’s Tale

Whitney ran a finger along the polished edge of the Queen Anne table. With seating for eight, it was walnut with maple marquetry and nicely turned legs. Worth about twelve thousand, possibly less with that small scratch. Pity it was too big to stuff under her blouse. She snorted and opposite her, the two men examining a marble-topped commode looked up, one placing a proprietary hand in the small of the other’s back. She should probably keep an eye on them; see what they checked out. It might be a stereotype, but gays had a nose for what sold. In any case, Whitney wasn’t looking for furniture today. The Sèvres platter in the centre of the table might have done the trick, if it wasn’t so likely to be missed. What she needed was something smaller, expensive, and different. She gave the couple a smile and continued her browsing.

Quite a few people had arrived. She’d expected that. Estate sales tend to bring out the vultures, although judging from the glut of sweat pants, the neighbours had come for a look-see too, curious about what the old gal had squirreled away in this mock Georgian manor of hers. Locals in The Blue Frog rumoured her late husband had been big in canning. Whitney clucked her tongue. Apparently, there was money in canning.

She scanned the objets d’art on the sideboard, and caught a glint of sunlight. There were some solid investment pieces amongst this lot. There was a pair of vintage Lladro figurines. A shimmering brass and wood puzzle box in a glass dome; too well-protected. A curious shell, cast in bronze, from which a woman’s torso emerged, and a head that looked half-human and half-fish. Earlier, a squat ugly man, wearing too many coats and a large hat had peered at the shell through dark sunglasses, and