A Fatal Appraisal (11 page)

Molly gave her statement first, describing how Victoria had
asked them to search for her husband, as he’d never returned to the hotel the
night before. She also gave Officer Combs the details of Frank's illness and
explained how he was constantly plagued by allergy attacks. Blushing with
embarrassment, she mumbled her way through the part of her account in which
she’d spied Frank's bloated hands, felt the oppressive heat of the sun robbing
her lungs of oxygen, and, to her utter mortification, fainted.

Grabbing Molly's hand, Garrett quickly took over the
narrative. He relayed that he saw Molly crumple to the ground so he carried her
into the shade and used his cell phone to call 911.

"I tried the door on Frank's car before I called,"
Garrett added. "I didn't think he was alive, but I gave it a go
anyway."

"So his wife, Victoria Sterling, is inside the science
museum right now?" Officer Combs asked. "Will you take me to
her?"

"Certainly." Garrett nodded. "However, I
think it would be prudent if I fetched her and brought her into one of the
staff offices so she can hear the news in private."

"Of course," Combs agreed pleasantly, and then
turned to his men. "Finish going over the car and I'll be right
back."

Molly watched the other officers as they began to examine
the interior of the car.

"You
do
think it was an accident, right?"
she asked Officer Combs.

He glanced at her briefly, his hazel eyes intelligent and
calculating. "I’m sure there’s a reasonable medical explanation, but we're
just covering the bases. We always examine the scene around every suspicious
death. And I only  use that term because we don’t know the cause yet."

"Do you think whatever killed him happened
swiftly?" Molly asked as they headed for the museum.

"What makes you ask that?" Combs asked as one
eyebrow rose in a tawny arc.

Molly glanced at him in surprise. "Because he didn't
even have the energy to take his hands off the steering wheel!"

~~~~~

Thc noise inside the museum was deafening. Hundreds of
excited collectors talked to their neighbors in line as they clutched plastic
bags or carefully balanced treasure-laden cardboard boxes in their arms.
Walking past groups of impatient people, Molly's eye spotted bright flashes of
hooked rugs, brass lamps, shimmering crystal, and the warm glow of pottery as
she and Garrett led Officer Combs deeper into the museum where the head
appraiser's niches were located.

"I'm going to need names and permanent addresses for
the whole crew," Officer Combs said to Garrett as they arrived at one of
the museum's staff offices which had been emptied for the use of
Hidden
Treasures
.

"I'd better fetch Guy. He's the producer." Garrett
tinned to Molly. "You'll have to bring Victoria here. She'll be filming
now, so think of something to get her away without alarming her in front of the
others."

"What should I say?" Molly asked, panicking. How
could she be expected to make up some silly excuse to pull Victoria away from
filming when the woman's husband was dead?

"You'll think of something," Garrett said kindly
and rushed off. Combs was no help either. He simply shrugged and disappeared
into the office to wait.

"Lord help me," Molly mumbled as she headed down
the lane of screened booths. She found Victoria in the midst of filming an
introduction for Patrice. A round woman in her fifties whose proud face beamed
into the camera sat next to Patrice behind a small, velvet-covered card table.
Their attention was fixed upon a jade green Lalique vase with two macaw heads
jutting out of each side.

Victoria introduced the owner as Mrs. Claudia Zimmerman and
then gestured gracefully toward the iridescent object on the table. The camera
moved away from her face and zoomed in on the vase.

"Zis is a rare vase," Patrice intoned nasally in
his fake but convincing French accent. "See zee beautiful plumage, non?
Only ninety-nine pieces were made in each color. Zis vase is a limited edition
and is in
absolutely
perfect condition." He turned to the beaming
owner. "What do you sink zis is worth?"

"Oh." The woman's eyelashes fluttered theatrically
for the camera. "I have no earthly idea."

"Zee current market is verry, verry good for zis piece
right now. And I see you have zee original box. Bien. What do you think of this
vase being worth, oh ... say ... how about a leettle guess?"

'Two thousand dollars?" The woman flushed.

Patrice puffed out his bony chest and stroked his elfin chin
thoughtfully. "No!" he shouted dramatically as the woman jumped in
her seat. "How about
eleven
thousand dollars?"

 "Oh, my stars!" the woman cooed, hugging Patrice
as if he had just saved her life. The camera turned its eye back to Victoria
who promised another fabulous find awaiting the viewers after the following
commercial messages.

Molly touched Victoria on the sleeve as the cameramen headed
farther up the aisle. "Excuse me, Victoria. Can I speak to you for a
moment?"

"Did you find Frank?" Her face showed genuine
concern.

Molly began to walk up the aisle away from Patrice's booth.
"Um ... can you come with me to the staff office for a second? Garrett
needs to see you."

Victoria followed her into the next booth and then stopped.
She stared intently at Molly and refused to budge. "You
did
find
him. What's wrong? Tell me!"

"He's ..." Molly quickly looked away, her cheeks
growing warm with discomfort. What could she say? "Please, just come with
me and you'll hear everything. This isn’t a good place for…"

Victoria grabbed Molly’s arm. "He's dead, isn't
he?" she asked in a whisper. "I can see it in your face."

To her frustration, Molly's eyes grew watery with tears. She
covered Victoria’s hand with her own. “I’m so sorry.”

Outwardly, Victoria remained composed. Only her eyes
betrayed that she was trying to digest the news that her husband was dead.
"How?" she finally asked in a very soft voice.

Molly took her by the arm and began to steer her toward the
office. "I honestly don't know. There's a policeman waiting who will
explain everything to you." Molly opened the office door and Combs jumped
to his feet.

Molly turned to Victoria. "Can I get you anything?"

Victoria shook her head and Molly closed the door quietly.

Wandering toward the cafeteria, Molly decided she would have
a long coffee break and collect herself before interviewing members of the
public. She was too shaken to talk about family heirlooms or any other antique
in the face of Frank’s demise.

The cafeteria was crowded and noisy. The multitude of loud
voices combined with the clattering of flatware was too much and Molly realized
she was desperately in need of some quiet. After paying for her selections, she
made her way to a bench outside the museum entrance where she watched the line
of anxious collectors shuffle forward in agonizing slowness. After taking a few
sips of creamy coffee and a healthy bite of a chocolate almond bear claw, Molly
felt herself beginning to relax.

Just as she was brushing crumbs from her lap, Garrett walked
out of the front door and joined her on the bench.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, looking at her in
a way that made her feel like she was the only person around.

"Better, thanks. How’s Victoria?"

"Not so great. She feels guilty about not phoning the
police last night, but she didn't suspect anything was
that
wrong."
Garrett's eyes rested on the throng of people baking beneath the late morning
sun. "It's no secret that theirs was not a love match, but they had a
comfortable if somewhat unconventional partnership. I think she's a bit
overwhelmed over facing the future without him."

Molly stood, dropped her coffee cup in the trash bin, and
callously thought that Victoria would probably marry again as soon as possible.
Women like her needed a man in order to define themselves. "What will
happen with the show?"

"Oh, the show
will
go on. Guy and Victoria
decided not to inform the crew until today’s segment has been wrapped.
Victoria's gone with Officer Combs to give the police a formal statement, but
she says she'll be fine to carry on as host for the rest of the show. Bet she
can do it, too; the old girl's tough," Garrett said with sudden
admiration. "What will you do with the rest of your day?"

"Interview some of these dedicated collectors,"
Molly replied. "Then I meet my friend Lex, the auctioneer, and my mother
over at the townhouse—" Molly abruptly stopped. "Do you think I
should still go ahead with the auction arrangements?"

"Absolutely." Garrett nodded. "Victoria won't
care for any of that stuff. She'd rather have the cash, I'm sure. And it’s what
Frank wanted."

Molly couldn't help prying further. "Did Officer Combs
say when the authorities would know the cause of death?"

 Garrett looked at her closely. "By tonight or tomorrow
morning. Why?'

"Just wondering," Molly said as a memory flooded
her mind. She excused herself and quickly made her way over to Frank's booth.
Frank had been healthy until he’d examined that desk. Not long after that he
had become congested, weak, and pale. What if that material they had found on
the desk was to blame? It wouldn't affect her because Molly had no allergies.
She could roll in a field of ragweed, cat dander, and dust and remain
impervious to all of the above, but Frank was ultra-sensitive to allergens.

Pulling aside one of the white screens, Molly gazed at the
slant-front desk as it sat in the dark, its warm colors dulled by shadow and
its pigeonholes gaping like black teeth from inside its empty room. She pulled
a small flashlight from her bag and aimed the beam into the pigeonholes. There
were no traces of the black powdery material both she and Frank had touched the
day before. Even the piece of false drawer front had been completely cleaned.
The desk smelled strongly of fresh furniture wax.

Molly switched off her flashlight and backed nervously out
of the booth, making sure that no one was watching her leave. She proceeded
with her interviews with only a portion of her consciousness. Normally, her
full attention would have been devoted to a pencil drawing signed by Picasso or
a walking stick carved with skulls that held a hidden, but fully functional,
miniature pistol within its wooden handle.

Jotting down names and captions for her photographs, Molly
kept seeing an image of the black powder smeared on Frank's face.

Later, as she walked over to Strawberry Street to meet Lex
and Clara at the townhouse, her mind focused on one thought that buzzed inside
her head like a fly caught between the window screen and the glass.

The black powder was purposely put there, and then just as
intentionally removed, she mused. That newly polished desk exhibited all the
signs of destroyed evidence. It had been polished before Frank and Molly examined
it, so why polish it again? There was only one explanation. The person who
cleaned it needed to make certain that not a trace of black powder was left
behind.

And that person was a murderer.

~~~~~~~~~~

"We've got the French! We've got the French!"
Thomas's young apprentice, William screamed. "It's all over town. They 're
our allies now!"

"That is fortunate indeed," answered a
mellifluous voice from Thomas's doorway.

A tall young woman with blond hair and intelligent blue
eyes stepped into the shop. A maid trailed behind her, giggling nervously.

Thomas recognized the pretty young woman immediately.
"Miss Tarling." Thomas bowed low and hid his stained hands behind his
back. "I remember you. I saw you in your father's carriage outside Samuel
Chauncey's shop in Williamsburg."

"I remember that well." The blue eyes flashed
coquettishly and Thomas felt his neck grow warm. "I am here on an errand
from my father. He wishes to commission a new dining table and chairs. He does
a great deal of entertaining and our current table has proved insufficient in
size as our house in Williamsburg was much smaller. Will you come out and
measure the room?"

"Certainly. Right now if you should desire it,
miss."

Miss Tarling issued a grateful curtsy and waited for
Thomas outside. They walked several blocks in comfortable silence before the
young lady glanced sideways at Thomas and began to speak. "My name is
Elizabeth, but most people call me Elspeth. I don't know anyone here. We only
just arrived last week. My father says that the Rappahannock River will make
trading easier and allow him to get"—she lowered her voice to a conspiring
whisper—"essential messages to our commanders in the north."

Thomas almost tripped in surprise. Perhaps old Samuel Chauncey
had been right. Men could fight the war for freedom in different ways. Luckily,
his lack of grace went unnoticed by Elspeth. She paused before the wrought iron
gate surrounding a large brick house and waited while Thomas swung it open for
her.

Inside the front hallway Thomas admired the scrolled
carving on the stairway banisters and marveled at the size of the dining room.
It would take a large table indeed to fill such an impressive space.

Thomas caught Elspeth watching him in one of the room's
enormous gilt mirrors and quickly looked away.

"I made your father's desk," he murmured,
uncomfortable beneath her frank gaze. "I hope he has found it
satisfactory."

"Truly? You are the maker?" Her face lit up
with interest and a trace of mischief. "Well then, let me show you how it
has fared."

Elspeth led Thomas to a masculine room filled with books
and maps. His eyes fell on the slant-front desk and he longed to open the lid
and see how Captain Tarling had utilized the drawers and pigeonholes Thomas had
so meticulously crafted.