Jobs for the Wife

         I awoke on Sunday morning to hear dragging noises downstairs. Still half asleep, I slowly rose, and went downstairs to see what was the matter. The dragging noise continued, and I followed them into our den, where my wife, named Audrey, was moving furniture around. A framed paint was leaning against the wall, - Audrey was an art historian and worked at the local museum.
         "Oh, there you are Robert, you sleepy-head," she said.
         "What're you doing," I asked, though it was plainly obvious.
         "I'm rearranging furniture, silly."
         "...Oh"
         "I'm just about done. I've picked up a wall clock that I want to hang over there," she said, pointing to the left wall, "and I went down to the florist while you were off in la-la land so I could get some flowers to spruce up the place! It's all coming together."
         "So your done, then?" I asked. Everything was where it should be, it seemed.
         "Well...no." I tilted my head. What was missing? But then I turned around to the back of the den and I saw a blank wall. I knew my wife would not like that, and it was because of this that the room was not finished. "You know how I always tell you I want a roll top desk? I've made some room for it today, and because you slept all morning, I want you to go get me one."
         "You know I don't have the money for that," I said.
         "Cheap...so cheap," she said shaking her head, "but that's why I love you. Luckily for both of us it's Town Wide Tagsale Day. Didn't you see in the newspaper?" I shook my head, " ...Obviously not."
         "So you want me to go get you a roll top desk from a tagsale?"
         "Do I even have to answer that?" she said, and walked away to go reposition a picture frame on the wall.

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         Thirty minutes later, my brother and I were driving down the main street of our town in my brother's truck. My car wouldn't hold the type of desk that we were in search of, so I called my brother, Frank, to help.
         "That wife of yours is something else," Frank said.
         "I know, but if I wanted something, she'd do it for we in a heartbeat, same as I did."
         "So where are we going?" Frank asked, tossing the conversation to the side.
         I looked at the map, and yelled, "Stop! Turn here," and Frank turned onto Grove Ave. Frank's question was lost in the heat of the moment.
         "Oh my god, Robert," he sighed, "tell me before we turn.
         "Sorry," I said.
         As we trundled in the old truck over the old roads, shady trees blocked out the sunlight above us. Suddenly the darkness receded and an opulent, marble mansion appeared to our left. A sprawling front lawn led up to the home, and a gravel driveway took us up to a three-car garage. Frank parked near a trimmed hedge and his rusty old bucket he called a truck was stark in comparison to our lavish surroundings. We stepped out of the car.
         "Where's the valet?" Frank joked.
         "Oh, cut it out."
         We followed the driveway up to the front door and I noticed that there was a Porsche and a BMW parked nearby.
         "Are we even going to be able to pay for what we need?" Frank asked.
         "Well it's a tag sale so hopefully it's cheap enough."
         "We entered the foyer to be greeted my a young woman.
         "Welcome to the Bonatti estate sale," she said. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"
         "Well we're looking for a roll top desk. Nothing too fancy, though."
         "You're in luck. Here, come with me," and she started walking off. She led us through a kitchen with marble countertops and cherry cabinets, through a living room, and finally into an office. Near the back wall sat a roll top desk. It was a bit shabby, with fat disproportionate legs and faded stain. But it was a roll top desk so I would get it.
         "How much for it?"
         "Forty dollars, please."
         That seemed like a lot, but I didn't feel like driving around for hours, so I handed over the money, and Frank and I carried the desk out.

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         My wife was not pleased with the desk. She said it looked ugly and needed a new paint job. She said she'd keep it, though ("you went out of your way to get it, even if it is shabby"), so that night he gave it a nice dark stain.
         I walked in and I saw her on the floor like she was dead, stain spilled over the floor like blood, and a rolled up piece of paper on the floor next to her body.. Was she dead? No - and what was that rolled up piece of paper? I shook her and she snapped awake, and quickly stood up. But before suddenly her eyes closed and she tipped over and passed out. What was with her?
         I propped her up so she was more comfortable, and then I went over to the paper and unfurled it. It was a painting: with a three people playing instruments. Audrey had come to, and was crawling over to me.
         "It's world famous," she whispered, "worth millions! A piece by Vermeer. It's been missing for almost three decades."
         "What? Where'd you find it?" I asked.
         "There was a hiding space in the legs of the desk. No wonder the legs were so hideous. They were a hiding a stolen painting worth millions."
         She ran up to me and kissed me on the lips. "So we're rich," I asked, "Vermeer's pretty famous, right?"
         "Yes, incredibly, and we could be rich, but we're returning it immediately to the museum."
         So with that, Audrey rolled up the painting and brought it inside. The next day, she told me to find a way to get rid of the desk - it's worthless, she said.