A Fatal Appraisal (21 page)

Molly knew that she could eliminate Lex, Clara, and herself
as possible murderers. That left Garrett Victoria, Jessica, Borris, Tony,
Patrice, Lindsey, and Alicia. Unless two of them were working together, Molly
did not think any of the women had the strength to pull Alexandra's body into
the air and secure the woman's dead weight to Lee's statue. Even though
Alexandra probably weighed a mere 120 pounds, that still was a formidable
weight for another woman to lift.

Molly was just beginning to create a column named
"motive" next to the name of each appraiser when the phone rang,
scattering her thoughts completely.

"Hello?" she answered crossly, not bothering to
mask her annoyance over being interrupted. How could she become a famous
heroine if she had no time to think?

"Molly?" a familiar voice asked.

Molly's heart skipped two beats. "Matt? Is that
you?"

"God, Molly. I've been trying to reach you for days!
Didn't you get my number in Ohio?"

"No. That new receptionist, Britanni, said you didn't
leave it for me," Molly said, disliking the whiny, defensive tone that had
crept into her voice.

Matt groaned. "Of course I did. And the number
she
gave me for
you
is completely wrong. I've been waking up this poor old
man night after night. He's ready to kill me."

Molly laughed, relief flooding through her that Matt had not
forgotten about her. "It is
so
good to hear your voice. Things are
really crazy up here."

"So I've heard," Matt said somberly. "I
talked to Clayton yesterday about the death of Frank Sterling. Are you
okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Molly reassured him. "In
fact, there was another murder last night." She went on to describe the
group dinner, how Alexandra had been strangled, and how she, Molly, had been of
invaluable assistance to the Richmond police force. This last bit was slightly
exaggerated, but Molly could never resist an opportunity to make herself look
good in front of Matt.

Matt was worried. "So there have been no arrests?"

"Not yet."

"Molly, I don't like this. Don't stick your nose into
this one. Let the police find the murderer. In fact why don't you come home?
The show's over now anyway, right?"

Molly squeezed the receiver affectionately. She loved it
that Matt was fretting over her. Just the way he said "home" seemed
like he was really saying she should return to him.

 Maybe their relationship could really become official once
she was back in North Carolina. Shaking away rosy visions of Matt sweeping her
feather-light body into his arms and swinging her around like a top, Molly
replied, "It's sweet of you to worry about me, Matt, but everything's
fine. And the police need all the help they can get. Now, tell me what's going
on with you. What happened with your brother?"

"Don't try to change the subject. Johnny got into a car
accident and his leg was broken. I went to Ohio to help him home from the
hospital and to stock his fridge and stuff. His girlfriend's taking next week
off of work, so I’ll be back in Durham tomorrow."

"Maybe we'll finally get to spend some time
together," Molly said hopefully.

"Only if you promise to stay out of this mess, Molly.
What's the name of this bed-and-breakfast you're in?"

"The Traveller, after Lee's famous horse. Why?"

"I just want to set that Britanni straight when I get
back to the office on Monday," Matt replied sternly.

"I think she saw your picture on the staff wall and
developed an instant crush on you," Molly teased. "Can't say that I
blame her."

Matt's tone softened. "Look Molly. Come home tomorrow.
I'll take you out wherever you want to go."

Molly was highly tempted by the tender pleading in Matt's
voice. "We'll see. This is a huge story, Matt. Swanson would string me up
like a set of Christmas lights if I left now."

Matt uttered a defeated sigh. "You're probably right.
Just be careful, please. I'm going to call you tomorrow night as soon as I get
in." He paused. "I miss you, Molly."

Molly felt warmth flow through her face. "I miss you,
too," she whispered, smiling. After she hung up, she practically bounced
off the bed and grabbed the pad of paper listing the names of the appraisers.
It was time to do some sleuthing, but first, she needed to discover the secret
Jessica had been keeping. She looked at her watch. It was time for tea.
Hopefully, Borris and Jessica were back from being questioned and Clara would
be available as well. Her mother would help Molly straighten out her theories
by playing devil's advocate to everything she said.

Barreling down the stairs with an utter lack of decorum,
Molly arrived in the dining room to the welcome sight of her mother's crown of
thick brown hair, her head bent over an antique furniture reference guide. She
also recognized the tantalizing aroma of warm bread pudding.

Clara looked up from her book. "You sounded like a herd
of elephants just now. Where's the fire?"

"No fire, but if that's bread pudding with vanilla
custard sauce then my day has just improved significantly," Molly said,
pouring herself a cup of tea.

"What's going on around here, anyway?" Clara
demanded. "Jessica and Borris came straight in the front door and then
locked themselves in the parlor. They've been in there almost an hour and I
can't hear a word they're saying." She frowned in annoyance. "I can't
stand it! Would you put down that spoon and go do some snooping."

Molly grinned at her mother. "And people wonder where I
get my nosiness from? I’ll go in a minute." she said spooning a generous
portion of bread pudding loaded with plump raisins on her plate, "I
haven't had any lunch today, so don't be shocked at how much of this I eat.
Plus, I need the energy. You and I have a murder to solve."

"I thought Randy was already in jail." Clara
asked, nonplussed.

"He is, for the first murder. There's been another one.
Now be quiet so I can fill you in on all the details."

"Oh boy," Clara closed her book and took a swallow
of tea. "I can see that cocktail time is going to start a little early
today."

~~~~~~~~~~

I have gone through almost trackless forest, over rugged
roads, or crumbling doorways; I have gone on the spur of a moment of notice of
a sale or of any division of an estate, the breaking up of a home, or the
division of property.

—Paul Burroughs,
Southern Antiques

Strong afternoon sunlight slanted into the front parlor
of the quiet bed-and-breakfast. The bookshelves flanking the fireplace were
loaded with antique reference guides, mostly about porcelain collecting, and a
dozen binders filled with pristine back issues of
Southern Living
. A
pair of sterling Tiffany candlesticks holding cranberry-colored beeswax candles
stood proudly on the mantel and an array of glass paperweights lined the space
between the candlesticks. Occasionally, a shard of sunlight would catch a
splinter of cobalt or emerald green within one of the paperweights and the
color would soar outside of its casement, like a ghost rising from a coffin.

Seated in a wingback chair, Jessica was staring forlornly at
her folded hands. Across the room in a matching chair, Borris gazed emptily at
the intricate patterns of the crimson and navy blue wool Caucasian rug. He
traced the ochre border of diamonds with his left foot as if deep in thought.
Finally, he stood, glancing briefly toward the bay windows and out onto the
street beyond, before wordlessly leaving the room.

As the French doors dividing the parlor from the hall
opened, Molly and Clara watched Borris expectantly. He glanced at them briefly,
sorrowfully, his stately face mottled with red patches where he had dragged his
hands roughly across the skin. With an expression of anger mixed with
confusion, Borris opened his mouth as if to speak, then abruptly turned and
burst through the front door. He slammed it so hard behind him that the glass
panes rattled.

Mrs. Hewell scurried into the hall from the kitchen.
"Hello?" she called as she approached. "Here for tea?" She
stopped as she noticed Molly and Clara already seated in the dining room.
"Oh good! I was worried the bread pudding would go cold."

"It's absolutely delicious," Molly quickly assured
her.

"And where is the charming Englishman and that
delightful couple who usually join you? Busy at work?" Mrs. Hewell looked
around.

Trying to distract Mrs. Hewell before she spotted Jessica
sitting forlornly in the parlor, Clara jumped up and said, "Oh, I would
just love to know more about your collection of sterling tea strainers. I
snooped around your kitchen yesterday and saw them hanging above the sink.
Where on earth did you find them all?"

Mrs. Hewell beamed. "Each one has its own story. I'd
love to tell you about them, my dear. Come along with me."

Confident that Mrs. Hewell would be tied up for longer than
Clara might like, Molly made her way quietly into the parlor.

"How did it go?" she asked Jessica softly.

"Well, now he thinks I'm a total schmuck, but what else
could
he think?" Jessica looked up. Tears swam in her eyes but she
refused to let them fall. "I didn't tell the detective the whole truth
this morning, so I'll have to go back in now."

"Would you like me to come along?" Molly asked,
gazing at her friend anxiously.

 Jessica's shoulders sagged in resignation. "Thanks. I
could use the company."

"I'd better let them know we're coming," Molly
said. "Let me go upstairs and get my keys. I'll call Robeson and then take
you down to the station."

"I'll be here." Jessica leaned back in her chair
and closed her eyes. "It's time to face the music."

~~~~~

You believe that you’re an unintentional accessory in Ms.
Lincoln's death?" Robeson asked calmly. From his chair set back in the
corner of the room, Combs stared at Jessica like a hungry wolf that’s suddenly
happened upon a wounded sheep.

"Yes, Detective," Jessica said, taking a swig of
water from the plastic bottle she always seemed to have with her. "But I
need to start from the beginning in order to explain all of this. And it's a
long story."

"We've got all the time in the world," Robeson
replied casually. "You just tell us what you came here to tell us. However
you need to do it is up to you."

"Thank you," Jessica nodded in gratitude.

"It all started with me and Saul, my ex-husband. We met
back in college. He was studying business and I was trying out all different
branches of the arts, but I found my real passion when I took a class in
metallurgy. Seems I had a natural, god-given gift for jewelry-making. In fact,
I sold so much of it during the last two years of college, that I was able to
save enough money to pay for graduate school.

"The summer after our college graduation, Saul and I
got married. Boy, I thought our future was so neatly mapped out. Saul got an
MBA and I began to make a name for myself as a jeweler by creating copies of
famous pieces of historical jewelry, mostly antiquities. I could copy anything
from an Egyptian necklace to a pair of Byzantine earrings. Of course, my
jewelry was much more affordable. Saul worked as an investment banker, but it
wasn't long before he quit and we opened a jewelry store featuring my work as
well as all of the other regular stuff, like watches and engagement rings. We
also carried antique furniture and some old art.

"We were living in Atlanta then. Everything was going
great. I gave birth to beautiful twin boys named Jacob and James. Over the next
two or three years, our store, Rosen Jewelry & Antiques, made so much money
that we opened a second store, and then a third. It was this success that was
to spell the end of my marriage. You see, Saul hired a retired jewelry
appraiser to run our third store, but this man didn't want to work weekends, so
Saul also hired a ditzy blonde named Barbara to cover those hours. She seemed
honest, reliable, and even had some retail experience, but she knew nothing
about jewelry. Saul said he had a good feeling about her, so he hired her
anyway.

"Good feeling? Ha! He
felt
her all right.
Apparently, they had an affair through the entire second half of our
marriage—that would be eight years. When I began to grow increasingly
suspicious, Saul started to plan his escape. He transferred all kinds of funds
to secret accounts and put everything he could in his own name, from our new
house, to cars, to the third store—you name it. I was too busy designing
jewelry and raising our sons to bother too much about the financial side. Oy
vey! Would I come to regret that!

"The day after the twins graduated from junior high, we
threw them a huge party. It was the last time they would ever see their father.
The next day, Sunday, Saul got up before everyone else, put a suitcase in the
car, and disappeared. Every dime in our accounts, including the trust set up
for the boys' college funds, was gone. Even the money in the store tills was
taken, along with the entire inventory of three shops. Of course, Barbara was
gone, too.

'To make a longer story a little less long, let me say that
I hired a private investigator who eventually found Saul sunning himself at a
mansion in Coconut Grove, Florida. My P.I. served Saul with a lawsuit and
divorce papers at the same time. Little good either one did me. Saul died two
days later from a heart attack. Personally, I think an angel struck Saul down
with some invisible lightning, but believe it or not, his death left me even
worse off than before. He left everything to Barbara, who’d given birth to a
baby girl shortly after they moved to Florida. I am
still
contesting
Saul's will."

Jessica took a big breath, and then exhaled slowly as if
releasing some of the anger she had gathered in the telling of her tale.
"My boys are hard workers. They helped me stay afloat with one store until
I was invited to join
Hidden Treasures
. I bought a duplex in Charlotte
and my mother moved in with us. Jacob and James, they took part- time jobs
instead of playing sports or dating or doing all the things high school boys
should be able to do. Both of them are going to apply to N.C. State this spring,
but even with financial aid, I'm not making enough to send them both. The
damned lawyers... they've been sucking me dry for years ..."