Tesla's Attic (9781423155126) Read Online Free Page B

just an instant before they had been willing to shell out whatever money they had for whatever they could get.
    Caitlin, coming up beside Nick, breathed a deep, shuddering breath. “I feel better now.”
    â€œI guess you don’t really want that tape recorder, do you.”
    Caitlin looked down, a bit guiltily. “Actually, I still want it,” she said, “just…not quite as much as before.”
    Nick nodded, reached into the box of cash, and pulled out a twenty. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “I made enough money anyway. You can have it for free.”
    Reluctantly, Caitlin took the bill, clearly disturbed by the whole experience. “Thanks,” she said. “It’s too big to walk home with. I’ll come back with my mom later.”
    â€œMaybe,” suggested Nick, “when you come over, you could stay for dinner.”
    But Caitlin gave him an awkward, apologetic grin. “Maybe I’ll just get the tape recorder.”
    â€œRight,” said Nick, trying to hide both his embarrassment and disappointment. “Well, thanks for stopping by.”
    And then she was gone, just like that, along with everyone else who no longer had any interest in the junk on the table. Last to go was the man who hit the tree, as there were pieces of his front bumper he had to throw into the trunk before struggling to drive off with a wilting air bag in his lap.
    Well, at least Nick could console himself with an incredibly fat wallet, even if somehow it felt like the money wasn’t really his. That it had been stolen by unintentional trickery.
    â€œWow,” said his dad, coming out of the house to see the flotsam and jetsam spread out on the table. “That turned out well!”
    â€œYeah,” said Nick, “surprisingly well.”
    â€œThen can we get something to eat?” Danny asked. “I’m starving.”
    â€œYou two go—my treat,” Nick said, handing his father a few bills from the toolbox. “Just bring me back something. I’ll stay and clean up this mess.”
    As his dad and brother drove off, Nick brought the tall stage light into the house, then went back outside with a large trash bag. But before he began tossing the remaining junk, one last car pulled up the long driveway, a pearlescent-white SUV that seemed to be dry in spite of the rain. Some kind of optical illusion, Nick figured.
    As a flash of lightning ripped across the sky, all four doors opened simultaneously. Four men stepped out, all tall and each dressed in a pastel color—cream, pale green, teal, lavender—as if they had been on their way to an Easter parade. In one smooth move that almost seemed choreographed, the four men opened umbrellas.
    They walked up to the picnic table and stood around Nick, who tried not to feel, or at least not to show that he felt, intimidated.
    â€œSo sorry we’re late,” said the tallest of the four. “We only heard about this at the last minute.”
    One of the others held up a copy of the flyer and read aloud, “‘Antiques, Vintage Toys, Furniture, Tons of Cool Stuff.’”
    The tallest guy wore a vanilla-colored three-piece suit, while the others had on slacks and crisp shirts. Due to a trick of the light, perhaps, or the contrast between the pastel shades and the gloomy weather, their clothes almost seemed to be glowing.
    â€œâ€˜Tons of cool stuff,’” the man in the vanilla suit repeated, then he flashed and held a cheery, soulless smile that creeped Nick out. “Sadly, I imagine no one showed up in this storm.”
    The other three men laughed at that, as though he had just cracked a joke that Nick didn’t get.
    â€œMaybe,” the vanilla suit went on as he reached under his jacket and pulled out his wallet, “we can still make the day pay off for you.”
    â€œActually…” Nick hesitated, enjoying this moment. “We sold practically