Mom Zone Mysteries 02 Staying Home Is a Killer (35 page)

Thistlewait put his notebook away. “All right, Mrs. Avery. You were about fifteen minutes ahead of the undercover team tonight. Bedford and Victor Roth had been under surveillance since yesterday. Victor Roth gave them the slip, but they weren’t about to let Bedford get away, too.”

“So he’s it? He’s the top man in the smuggling ring?”

Thistlewait nodded and looked at his watch. “Yep. In the U.S., anyway. On the other side of the world, the net is closing on the other end of the smuggling operation right about now.”

Relief, undiluted relief, flooded through me. It was over. Really.

As I grabbed the mail out of the mailbox a flash of movement caught my eye. Great. I stepped back inside and pulled on the screen, but Chelsea O’Mara was fast. She pounded up the steps and clamped her manicured hand around the screen door’s frame so I couldn’t close it. “Chelsea O’Mara with—”

“I know who you are. No comment.” I pulled the screen almost closed, just sparing her pale pink nails. She yanked back and tilted a microphone toward the screen. “What do you think about the scandal at Greenly Air Force Base? How does it make you feel to know military officers were breaking the law and using taxpayer-funded equipment to smuggle goods and line their own pockets? Was your husband involved in the smuggling?”

I pulled hard on the screen. She yelped and jerked her hand away, then asked, “Did you know Senior Airman Rory Tyler personally?”

“No comment.” I locked the screen and grabbed the heavy front door. The photographer was only a step behind her and zeroed in on me, flooding me with a spotlight.

“Did you know an anonymous source within the investigation says that Senior Airman Tyler and General Bedford flew together on several sorties and General Bedford caught Senior Airman Tyler trying to smuggle artifacts into the United States on military aircraft? Instead of turning him in, General Bedford took over the operation, expanded it? What do you think? Can you confirm that he was the mastermind of the scheme? Has your husband ever flown with Senior Airman Tyler or General Bedford?”

Did she want an answer? And to which part?

“What about our source’s information that Bedford also masterminded the murder of Penny and recruited Senior Airman Tyler for that?”

“No comment.” My phone rang and I closed the door. Her shrill voice continued, “Can you tell us how you felt when you found General Bedford strangling Lieutenant Lamar?”

I rolled my eyes and snapped the dead bolt into place. I hurried back inside to pick up the phone. Maybe it was the squadron with the details about when Mitch would be home.

“Mrs. Avery. Marsali here.”

“Oh. Hi,” I said, trying, but not succeeding in masking the disappointment in my voice.

“I thought you’d want to know the results of my examination of the codex,” Marsali said, polite despite my lukewarm greeting.

“Yes, of course.” Marsali had been called in for his expertise. “But codex? What is that?”

“It is what we call the earliest books,” Marsali explained. “This codex contained the letters of Paul. Few codices contained the whole Bible, as we know it today. The early church grouped similar books together. For instance, the gospels were grouped and put into one codex and the Pauline letters would be grouped and put into another. The thick cover protected the parchment pages from the fire. The parchment dates from the sixth century. Unfortunately, the ink on portions of the Laodicean letter is different from the ink on the rest of the document.”

After a few seconds, I found my voice. “You mean it
was
a forgery?”

Marsali sighed. “Yes. It appears someone tampered with one of the letters to ‘create’ a lost letter from Paul. The modern ink coupled with the fact that there are no other known copies of this letter bring its authenticity into question. There are actually so many copies of the New Testament that date from the first century that it makes a ‘new’ letter suspect. The New Testament canon as we know it today was essentially agreed upon by the fourth century.”

“So why would someone change the manuscript?”

“It is quite common for forgers to take genuine antiquities and ‘make them famous.’ Recently, the market for antiquities with a biblical connection has boomed. Do you remember the James Ossuary?”

“Um. No.”

“A chalk box with an inscription indicating it had once held the bones of James, the brother of Jesus, caused quite an uproar. It was authenticated and sent off to Canada for an exhibit. Further examination concluded the box itself was an authentic artifact. However, the inscription was recent. The wonders of software. Scan genuine ancient texts, carve them onto ancient artifact, age the carving. Instant international sensation. Some experts still claim the box and carving are legitimate, but they are mostly the ones who authenticated it in the first place.”

“But why would someone go to all that trouble to forge something so easily detected?” I asked.

“The excitement of a collector may override his caution. Perhaps the forger hoped for a quick sale and few questions.”

So much death over something that wasn’t even real.

Marsali continued, “Yesterday, I heard from a friend who is an archaeologist.”

“I remember you mentioned him before. You said he would have called, if he’d heard about the manuscript.”

Marsali chuckled. “He heard. That’s why he called. And, for once,
I
was able to give
him
some news. That it was not authentic. He’d picked up on an interesting rumor, a lost manuscript from the first century had been found and smuggled out of Turkey. The current owner wanted to return it to Turkey. For the right price, of course.”

“And I bet the price was high,” I said.

“Astronomical. Apparently, General Bedford had dealings with, shall we say, disreputable elements in Turkey, people who accumulated artifacts and sent them here.”

“Could those people who got the artifacts have tampered with the manuscript, to ‘make it famous’?”

“Yes, or it could be he had someone who specialized in forging documents change it. After all, he would have to provide credentials, provenance, for the pieces he sold in the United States to prove their authenticity as well as make it appear they had been removed from Turkey in a legitimate way. But, back to the most interesting thing, Derrick heard that the Turkish government attempted to negotiate with the owner, but couldn’t bring the price down. It was all very hush-hush. He’s in contact with antiquities authorities in several countries and he says Turkey used a diplomatic trade delegation to try and reach the owner.”

Diplomatic delegation. My thoughts flew back to the strange conversation I’d had with Elaina at the preview party. She was trying to track down the manuscript and thought that I had it. That was what she meant about “returning to Turkey what belonged to Turkey.” And I was sure she’d been in my house and had lost a black bead as she searched for the manuscript. I’d assumed Elaina and the man who called and said he’d taken Rex were connected. They weren’t.

Marsali’s words broke into my thoughts. “Ellie, are you still there?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. It is just a lot to take in.” I promised to bring Mitch by to see Marsali as soon as Mitch got adjusted to our time zone. Then I hung up and flicked through the mail. Credit card offers or bills. Except for the last one, a glossy postcard with a crescent of clear blue water rimmed in sand, palm trees, and hotels.

I flipped it over.
COTE D’AZUR
, stated the preprinted caption on the back.

A scribbled line in the section opposite my address said
Lovely here. Perhaps our paths will cross again. V.

“How many minutes until Mitch’s ETA?” Abby asked with a smile.

“Okay, I’ll stop checking my watch,” I said. “Ninety-four minutes.” We strolled a few more paces down the skywalk, which was lined with displays of student artwork. We were moseying through Frost Fest, working our way back to the parking garage. We’d decided to burn some time while we waited to go to the squadron and meet Mitch’s plane. Abby stooped to look at a portrait. I ate another bite of one of Livvy’s Goldfish crackers to keep my stomach calm.

“Let’s get a chicken salad sandwich at Lenny’s on the way to the squadron. I’m starving and I’ve been wanting one of those.”

“Okay. Oh, look.” Abby leaned down to examine the marker and crayon picture. “Jamie Planket. He’s one of my students.”

I studied it. “A city scene. It’s good. I think I like looking at the kid’s artwork better than the adult artwork. At least I don’t feel bad if I don’t understand it.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. And this is a great way to display their work.”

I slipped my hand inside the pocket of my red fleece vest and pulled out my keys. I’d actually taken the time to coordinate my outfit and purse. I wore the vest over a white turtleneck with dark jeans and black boots. My purse was one of my favorites, a Coach bag weathered and softened almost to the texture of suede. I needed the comfort of something familiar today. I fingered my earrings and told my stomach to settle down. I was wearing earrings. I
was
nervous. Mitch and I hadn’t seen each other in a while. It felt a bit like a date, that frisson of excitement mixed with edgy nerves. You’d think I’d just be happy he was coming back, but there was a hint of apprehension, too.

I swallowed a few more Goldfish and focused on the crowd around us. Frost Fest was in full swing. Drawn by the lure of little Johnny’s picture or the art from the more mature artists, people had emerged from the warm burrows of their homes and offices. Crowds of people wandered through the skywalks, drifted into galleries, spun on the ice rink, or snapped up bargains.

We moved around one of the displays about Greenly Air Force Base and I recognized some of the photos I’d found for Hetty.
DREAMS TAKE FLIGHT
, read the banner on one side.
GREENLY AFB
—
THE EARLY YEARS
. Grainy black-and-white photos showed clean scrubbed faces, tailored uniforms, and a few buildings alongside a runway. I told Abby I’d catch up with her. I pushed the stroller through the next displays until the photos switched to color and the buildings mushroomed into Greenly’s current military-industrial conglomeration. I stopped at a photo of a young man with a smirk on his face as he leaned on the wing of an airplane. The caption read
FIRST LIEUTENANT JACKSON BEDFORD
.

“I couldn’t take it down. It would have left a blank spot.”

I recognized the scratchy voice behind me. “Hello, Hetty,” I said as I turned around. “Everything looks wonderful.”

“Thanks. It’s going really well. Good turnout. No major hitches. I was even able to reshuffle all the artwork we’d scheduled to show at Victor Roth’s gallery.” Hetty’s gaze fixed on Bedford’s photo. “It’s just such a shame about Bedford. I can’t quite believe it. You’re acquainted with someone for years and think you know him.” She shrugged. “But you don’t.”

“You’ve known him for years?” I asked.

“He and his first wife, Catherine, were acquaintances, not close friends. My husband retired from the Air Force ten years ago. We were stationed in Hawaii with Catherine and Jackson about fifteen years ago. Of course, I knew Catherine liked to collect mosaics.”

Why hadn’t I asked Hetty more questions about Bedford? I’d assumed that she didn’t know him that well because she wasn’t military. Hetty continued, “Now I know he was a good actor. I never realized it was him collecting, not Catherine. He always told me it was for Catherine and I just assumed he’d want nothing to do with it, except for her.” Hetty shook her head. “Catherine told me he was an actor in high school. In the drama club. And his voice, so smooth and rich. Why didn’t I remember that? He’d trained to be a sports reporter, but then he learned to fly and loved it. That was the end of reporting. Or that was the story Catherine told me. I think it was probably true. I don’t trust anything Jackson told me.”

A young man edged up to the group and said, “Excuse me, Mrs. Sullivan, the newspaper would like a few quotes.”

Hetty left and I went to find Abby, but I turned a corner and found Thistlewait instead. He was crouched down beside a boy of about three, who was pointing to a photo of a B-2 Bomber. A woman with dark hair and eyes pushed a stroller up to them and stopped. “Honey, did you leave the diaper bag in the car?”

Thistlewait had a family? A wife and a kid? I felt like a kid who’d unexpectedly met a teacher in the grocery store and was shocked that teachers existed outside school grounds. Thistlewait noticed me and introduced his wife and son, Amy and Joshua.

“Glad I ran into you here. I’ve got something to give you,” he said. “I’ll get it from the car and be right back.” He turned to Amy. “I’ll get the diaper bag, too.”

“Okay, we’ll be down at the sandwich shop on the first floor. Nice to meet you,” she said to me.

Amy led their son away and I said, “Well, Abby and I are leaving. If you’re in the same parking garage we are, we’ll go with you.”

It was a fairly silent trip to the cars. Abby had a few issues with Thistlewait left over from our first encounter with him. Suspecting people of murder must really put a damper on Thistlewait’s socializing. When we reached the parking garage, Abby said she’d see me at the squadron and headed to her car. We’d driven in separate cars because I knew Mitch would want to go home as soon as he landed and Abby had promised to stay and help clean up the spread of finger foods and drinks that the spouses were providing for the returning crews and their families.

Thistlewait returned with a diaper bag and a brown paper bag. “Thought you might like this back.”

I opened the brown bag and pulled out my answering machine. Thistlewait continued, “We got the recording transferred, so I can release this to you.”

“Thanks.”

“And you’ll be glad to know that Rory and Sam are talking.”

“Really? What are they saying?”

“Basically, they’re laying out the hierarchy of the smuggling ring. Bedford was in charge. He delegated to Rory and Rory hired Sam to harass you. Sam took Doom along with him.”