Usually when an email came from Technical Services -- aka the tech guy -- he’d delete it automatically. Things were slow that day so he clicked on it just for something to do. Instead of gobbledygook about a new upgrade to some mysterious acronym, he read:
“I feel funny about doing this but I’m sending this spam to help out my aunt, really my great-aunt. She’s having a sale this Saturday morning and without getting maudlin I’d really appreciate it if people would show up for it. She’s not selling junk either. She’s collected a lot of good stuff over the years without really trying. So if you got nothing to do this Saturday morning, I’d really appreciate it if you could come by and give her a chance. Here’s the address -- 21 Acacia Blvd.
"Sorry again about the spam.”
He didn’t know why but he jotted down the address on the packet of Prevacid he always carried in his front pocket.
That Saturday morning he found himself wakeful and tense. He got up and grabbed the ever-decreasing paper from his porch.
The headline said something about a prison hospital that cost millions but sat vacant. So what else was new. Then he remembered the sale announced in the tech guy’s spam. He was still on the same packet of Prevacid so he had the address.
He was glad to see a good turnout. So many cars were parked on both sides of Acacia he had to pull into an alley for a space. He spotted the tech guy holding up what looked to be a Hummel figure and discussing it with a surprisingly young and glamorous woman.
An elderly woman with close-cropped hair sat behind a table stacked with books. She immediately...