Dolled Up for Murder (16 page)

Lorna covered her mouth.

“Which brings us to the point,” Ellis said. “We want to mark the bills. We have to assume the kidnapper will check to make certain the money is intact before releasing Eric. Leaving the currency in place offers the best chance of the exchange going smoothly.”

“You mean just let the money go?” Jamie asked, shocked.

“We would hope and expect to recover it all within minutes of the transfer.”

Jamie shook her head. “That's too risky.”

“Jamie,” Lorna said on the verge of tears.

Jamie swiveled to face her sister. “No,” she told her. She turned back to Ellis. “My sister is the rescue-the-wounded-bird type. I'm the practical one.”

“But a man's life—” I said, breaking off as Ellis squeezed my shoulder, signaling that I should keep quiet.

“Let's come back to that in a moment,” he said. “I have another question. Who knows about the currency?”

“No one.”

“Someone must,” Ellis stated. “Someone who's going to a lot of trouble to get it.”

Jamie pressed her lips together. “The only person besides us who knew about it was Alice, but she's dead.”

Ellis crossed his legs, balancing his ankle on his knee. “Your mom told you she'd confided in Alice?”

Lorna shook her head.

“Not exactly,” Jamie said. “One day, while Mom and Alice were, well, I guess you'd say playing with the dolls, Alice discovered one of the caches. My mother had gone into the kitchen to make tea. When she came back with the tray, she found Alice counting the currency. Alice had found the trick latch that opened up Chatty Cathy's chest piece and removed the money Mom had hidden inside the cavity.” Jamie took a deep breath. “Mom wasn't concerned. Alice and she were old friends … best friends … a friend Mom had safely confided in for years. Plus, Alice was rich. There was no reason to think there was any risk that she'd steal the money. As far as we know, Mom's instincts were right. Obviously Alice didn't kidnap Eric.”

“You knew Alice well,” Ellis said. “If you had to guess, who do you think she might have told?”

“I couldn't venture a guess,” Jamie said smoothly, but my eyes were on Lorna's face.

Lorna's eyes had opened wide, and her mouth formed a little circle. Maybe Jamie wouldn't venture a guess, but I was willing to bet that Lorna had plenty of ideas.

“What do you think, Lorna?” I asked, jumping in. I smiled, hoping to rob my question of significance, trying to ease Lorna into talking more openly.

Lorna sent a panicky glance at her sister. Her hands grasped the twisted purse strap so hard her knuckles turned white. “I don't know.”

“I know you don't,” Ellis asked, leaning back, apparently relaxed and unconcerned, “but what do you think? Unsubstantiated guesses are welcome.”

“Just that Alice and her son were very close.”

“Randall,” Ellis said. “You're close to him, too, aren't you?”

Lorna nodded. “We both are. Were. Randall's a wonderful man.”

“What about Darleen, his wife?” I asked.

“I don't know her well,” Lorna said in a different tone. Describing Randall as wonderful had sounded sincere; saying she didn't know Darleen well had sounded polite. Her purse strap snapped. “Oh! I broke it. I'm sorry, Jamie.”

“It's all right, Lorna,” Jamie said, patting her hand. “The cobbler will be able to fix it.”

“Might Alice have confided in anyone besides Randall?” Ellis asked.

Lorna shook her head. “I don't know.”

Ellis turned to Jamie. “Do you have any ideas? As I said, any thoughts are welcome. Gossip included.”

“I couldn't venture a guess.” Jamie turned to Lorna. “Our families were close when we were growing up, but Lorna and I have lived in Tomball, outside of Houston, for almost ten years now. Other than Christmas cards and dinner during an occasional visit, we haven't been in touch with any of the Michaels since then.”

“Because of Darleen?” he asked.

Jamie snorted. “Let's just say his marriage didn't motivate us to stay in touch.”

“Thank you,” Ellis said. “Back to marking the money. The marks are invisible and won't affect the value of the currency.”

“What if the kidnapper escapes?” Jamie asked. “Then our money is gone.”

“We can make copies,” I said, forcing myself to stay focused on the task at hand and directing my comment to Ellis. I didn't trust myself to look at Jamie. Letting her see my contempt wouldn't help my case and might hurt it. We still needed her cooperation—I hoped she'd let me use the Chatty Cathys. The kidnapper might not know which dolls contained the money, but he might have heard that three Chatty Cathy dolls were part of the collection. Everything had to appear as he expected it to appear, Chatty Cathys included. “I have a super high-end color copier at my place.”

“Good enough to fool someone who might know what the real stuff looks like?”

I nodded. “Yes. The paper will be the issue. I'll call Barry and get some suggestions.” I glanced at my cell phone. It was eleven thirty-five. “If we have time. The kidnapper said he'll send the instructions later today, which might mean anytime from soon to midnight. Can we use your Chatty Cathy dolls?” I asked Jamie, forcing myself to smile. “I won't have time to track others down.”

“Why do you need them?” Jamie asked. “The kidnapper demanded the dolls Josie bought from us, isn't that right? That sale didn't include the Chatty Cathys.”

“You're right,” I agreed, carefully keeping my tone neutral. “We're dealing with three distinct batches of dolls. The first batch includes the ones Eric had in the van. The second batch includes the ones I have in my safe. The third batch is the Chatty Cathy dolls in your possession. I included the Chatty Cathys in the
Seacoast Star
article listing to cover all bases. At this point, we have to assume the kidnapper thinks they're actually in the second batch.”

“Maybe that's why he tried to break in,” Lorna said, her eyes showing panic. “To steal the Chatty Cathy dolls.” She looked at Ellis. “You asked us about that man who tried to get past Eric.”

Ellis nodded. “Yes, but if that's the kidnapper, he probably was after all the dolls. At that point, it's unlikely he knew that Eric had packed them up. Still, it raises a good question. You might reconsider keeping that much currency at home.”

Jamie nodded. “We will.”

“I'd recommend sending the currency out for appraisal after I make the copies,” I said. “We should confirm what we have, and in my opinion, we should do it sooner, rather than later. There may be something about these bills in particular that we don't know, and knowing it might lead us to the kidnapper. It's a long shot, but it can't do any harm, and sometimes long shots pay off.”

“Like what?” Jamie asked.

“Like association or provenance.” She looked bewildered. “Association refers to connections between an object and important or interesting historical figures or events. Provenance refers to an unbroken record of ownership. For instance, if President Lincoln personally presented these bills to Secretary Chase, that association adds value to the currency. On the other hand, if there's some marking on the bills that indicates they're part of a stash that was stolen during a robbery two years, ago, well, obviously, we don't have a clean provenance.”

Jamie nodded thoughtfully. “You can tell just by looking at them?”

“Sometimes. Occasionally there are clues in or on the object itself; often discoveries occur through related research. Prescott's can't appraise the currency. For something this specialized, we need an expert.”

“That's a good idea. Yes, please, send all one thousand bills for appraisal. And yes, you may have the Chatty Cathy dolls. I'll leave the money inside for now, all right?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“You understand the dolls might be destroyed,” Ellis said.

Jamie nodded. “Yes. They're nothing special, just old, broken dolls from the sixties.”

While she and Ellis discussed how to smuggle the dolls out of her house without alerting anyone who might be watching, I called Barry and reached him at his Madison Avenue shop. I could picture it. His storefront totaled about fifteen feet. The slip of a space was wedged between an equally narrow cigar shop and a larger men's haberdashery. Barry's window displays were always dramatic. One I recalled having seen some years earlier featured a single gold coin resting on a burgundy velvet cloth. Inside, a solitary display case, filled with miscellaneous coins and bills and related curiosities, divided the long room into two sections. Anyone was welcome in the front, but the rear section was accessible by invitation only.

“I need some help,” I said. “Say I wanted to produce counterfeits of the bills I asked you about earlier. What kind of paper should I use?”

“Josie, Josie, Josie. You starting a sideline? Business a little slow?”

“Ha, ha,” I said. “You know me better than that. This is for a kind of emergency situation we have going on up here.”

“Is this about the kidnapping I heard about on the news?” Barry asked.

“I can't answer that.”

“Understood,” he said. He paused. “Will an expert be assessing the counterfeits?”

“No, I don't think so, but I don't know.”

“I don't think it matters. Most experts handle so much money they can tell by feel if it's overtly wrong, but these bills were printed on thin rag paper, a specific cotton-linen mix that almost no one is familiar with. So you're probably okay. At a minimum, though, you need a similar rag paper. It's only available at specialty stores, not office supply stores, but you should be able to get your hands on it pronto. Give me a sec and I'll look up if there are any stores close to you.”

“Thanks, Barry,” I said, relieved. I heard him tapping into his computer.

“Kingsbridge Paper Supply in Elliot, Maine. That's their main factory, and they have a sales showroom on-site. They'd give you a sample, but not a supply. How much paper do you need? To print all one hundred?”

“One thousand.”

He whistled. I could almost hear him begin to salivate. “When this is over and your employee is back safe and sound, you've got to give me a crack at the deal.”

“The money isn't mine, but you know there's no one else I'd recommend, Barry. We'll be sending you the currency today for appraisal.”

“What can you tell me about it?”

“According to the current owners, they're direct descendants of Salmon Chase. As you know, his signature is on this currency. They have letters from Chase to President Lincoln and from President Lincoln to Chase, so we can treat their assertion with a high degree of confidence.”

“I'll want to see the letters,” he said.

“If they want a written appraisal, I'll make sure you get a look at them. Right now, we just want to know about authenticity and assumptive value. Because the currency was found in four distinct locations, I'll package it as four units, one containing a hundred bills, the other three containing three hundred bills each.”

He asked some logistical questions, when we needed the info and whom he was billing. I answered his questions, then asked, “Is there anything else I need to know to produce credible counterfeits?”

He thought for a minute before answering. “Back then, they printed them four to a sheet and hand-cut and hand-trimmed them. How do you plan to cut them?”

“You tell me.”

“Use a paper cutter with a sharp blade. For touch-ups, use an X-Acto knife.”

“I can do all that.”

“Let me call Kingsbridge,” Barry offered.

“Have them messenger it to the Congregational Church,” I said. “I don't want a paper company truck coming to my location.” I scrolled through my phone log and gave him Ted's number and the church's address.

Barry said he'd get right back to me, and by the time I'd talked to Ted's secretary, Louise, asking her to accept delivery of the paper for me and to let me know as soon as it arrived, referring to it only as a package, he was calling back. The paper was already en route.

After Jamie and Lorna left—they were going to pack the dolls in a rolling suitcase and deliver it to the service station where my car was being loaded with tracking devices—Ellis asked, “Are you okay?”

“Except for Jamie's refusal to let us use the money, yes.”

“Yeah. I'll send Dawn back to help you print and trim the bills.”

“That will be a big help.” I glanced at my phone. “So long as the kidnapper holds off until we're ready.”

During the half hour it took for Jamie to drive to her mother's home, pack the Chatty Cathy dolls, and deliver them to the service station, I ate two lemon cookies. While I sat quietly, thinking and nibbling, Ellis made a series of phone calls, getting updates, asking for details, guarded, as usual. I was sitting right next to him, but I learned nothing.

I was reaching for another cookie when his phone rang.

“Good,” he said. He hung up and turned to me. “Are you ready to go? Jamie just dropped off the suitcase.”

I leapt up. “Absolutely.”

*   *   *

Louise called as I was turning onto the interstate to tell me the package had arrived. I told her I would be there in ten minutes. I kept my eyes on my rearview mirror as I drove but got no hint that anyone but the minicaravan of reporters was following me.

This time I needed to lose them. The church was my private refuge, and I wasn't willing to compromise it. I took the back roads but couldn't shake them. I turned onto the interstate again. I tried speeding up and slowing down. They stayed with me as if their lives depended on it, and as I thought of it, I realized that maybe their livelihoods did. It wasn't going to be easy to deliver the ransom without company. I slipped in my earpiece and called Louise at the church.