"You could say that," he said, grateful for Richard's hasty departure from that still raw topic.
Adam laughed aloud as the cookie jar came into view. He had wandered around his share of flea markets and yard sales to know there was a market for this sort of thing, and he found himself, true to his typical practicality, wondering if it might be worth something. But his host hardly seemed the McCoy collecting type, and in context this seemed more an item procured for its kitsch value - and for humor's sake, perhaps - than for its actual monetary worth. It had done its job in that, Adam thought. Delicately he put Mr. T's scalped mohawk atop his kiln-fired head, casting a needlessly dramatic look of appraisal around the kitchen. After a moment he decided on just the place for it: A position of prominence atop the counter, placed where guests entering the kitchen would immediately be greeted - or pitied, however the case may be - by the hollow bust.
"Any other surprises like that lying around?" he asked.