Title Page Dedication Page Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight About the Author Other Den of Antiquity Mysteries by Tamar Myers Copyright Notice About the Publisher NIGHTMARE IN SHINING ARMOR A Den of Antiquity Mystery Contents 1 It isn’t every day that a headless woman rings my… 1 2 “You do?” 6 3 There was a white stallion in my foyer. It wasn’t… 16 4 “Out with it, you two!” 24 5 I’m not proud of what I did. But as I… 35 6 “Abby, don’t you have a burglar alarm?” 46 7 The paramedics were the first to arrive, followed only seconds… 52 8 Greg and Wynnell were in the kitchen sipping hot chocolate… 67 9 “Who?” I demanded. “Y’all know something, don’t you? Is it… 76 10 You can’t get any lower, if you ask me, than… 83 11 I stared at the strange packet. It appeared to be… 95 12 The Rob-Bobs, bless their hearts, were exceedingly understanding when I… 104 13 In front of me was the Rob- Bob’s salon. I don’t… 44 14 “It was your ex-husband. Buford Timberlake.” 123 15 Forget the crinolines. I would have grabbed Mama by her… 135 16 Iturned and stared. Had I not had a vision check… 148 17 Ed Crawford answered the door on the first ring. He… 156 18 Igasped. “Who were they?” 167 19 “If that stupid sheep’s eaten my bush—” 178 20 My first reaction was to tense up when I saw… 187 21 “Oh my God, you didn’t quit, did you? You’re having… 196 22 “Ibeg your pardon!” 207 23 The traffic gods were with me and it took me… 218 24 “Well, it seems that woman received an anonymous call from… 231 25 Try that as your opening line sometime. It is a… 242 26 I bought a silk animal print scarf at Dillard’s for… 255 27 “If I may sit.” Both my ankle and head were… 264 28 “I still can’t believe you’re moving to Charleston,” Wynnell said… 274 About the Author Other Books by Tamar Myers Cover Copyright About the Publisher 1 t isn’t every day that a headless woman rings my doorbell. You can be sure, therefore, that I examined this one closely. She was about five feet, six inches tall, sans head, which she held in her right hand. Her severed neck was abnormally large, especially considering the fact that there was a bit of it still attached to her noggin. I peered harder. Yup, there were two eyeholes about five inches down. “Wynnell!” I cried delightedly. “I’m so glad you’re early. I can use all the help I can get. The caterer got sick at the last minute, and although I have all the food, it needs assembling.” The bloody stump blinked. “How did you know it was me?” “Because you’re my best friend. I’d recognize you no matter what you wore.” It would not have been kind of me to mention that it was Wynnell’s bushy eyebrows poking through the vision slits that had tipped me off. My buddy sighed and stepped over the threshold. Then, really seeing me for the first time, she gasped. 1 “Abby! How did you do it?” “Do what?” I said with a coy smile. “You’re a foot taller. At least!” “Am I?” I smoothed a portion of my antebellum skirt, which, suspended as it was by hoops and crinolines, puffed in all directions like an organza igloo. Incidentally, I wasn’t alone under all that material. My yellow tomcat, Dmitri, had been tickling my ankles with his tail ever since I’d gotten dressed. “Abby, tell me, or I’m going to peek.” “No need,” I said and hoisted my hemline. Dmitri took one look at my headless visitor, hissed, and shot out of the room like there was a pack of dogs in pursuit. Wynnell laughed and peered more closely. “Stilts?” “Greg made them. I’ve been practicing all week.” Perhaps I should explain that I am normally only four feet, nine inches tall. My fiancé, Greg, is just over six feet. We would have made an odd Scarlett and Rhett without my wooden appendages. This not to say we make an odd couple in real life, but you know what I mean. Besides, if the hooped skirt gave me the opportunity to experience the rarefied strata to which the rest of you folks are accustomed, why not go for it? “How do you manage to keep your balance?” Wynnell asked, as she bumped against the hall console. “I don’t always,” I said, remembering my bruised right knee. “I can balance about as well as you can see. But I can’t walk at all in this dress without the stilts, so I’m stuck until the party’s over. You, however, are another story. Why don’t set your head down on that console, take off your mask, and help me in the kitchen?” “Be glad to.” Wynnell whipped off her rubber neck. “You’d be surprised how hot it is under here.” I patted my voluminous skirt. “Fifteen yards of fabric is no cool breeze.” Wynnell nodded. Her hair was damp with dew—we Southern women do not sweat—and her face the color of a radish. “So what do you want me to do first?” “Stir the punch. And taste the bowl on the left to see if it needs more pizzazz.” “Champagne?” “Vodka. I want this party to rock.” “Abby, you’re so bad. What will your mama say?” “She gave me the recipe.” “Speaking of her, did you find out what she plans to wear tonight?” I shook my head. “Her lips are sealed tighter than a clam at low tide. All she would say is that I was in for a big surprise.” Wynnell frowned, her damp brows fusing like giant spiders. “Doesn’t that make you nervous?” “You bet it does. Last year she came as Mother Teresa—but that was during her