Murder Actually (25 page)

Authors: Stephanie McCarthy

BOOK: Murder Actually

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Chapter Three

Had anyone seen me descend into the chair as though a crane were docking a crate of volatile explosives, one would have surmised I was suffering from a debilitating case of hemorrhoids. Fact was that my quadriceps were still flaming. But once seated, relief was achieved, and I began to flip through the binder of newspaper clippings.

Tucked away in a quiet recess of the Museum's library I scrutinized the one and only article I had found concerning the opal theft. I would have thought this material would long have been digitized or at least microfiched. Unfortunately, I was stuck with a jaundiced piece of newspaper upon which someone must have spilled a cup of coffee. Whole sections of the copy were illegible and only a few discernible words remained of the photo caption beneath the snap of a spectacled man-boy sporting a tie secured so tightly, his neck looked like an upside down muffin top. The caption read “â¦the Museum's chief administrator holds uncut opal left by thiefâ¦ were stolen from show case atâ¦”

I had seen the face in the picture somewhere before. Was this person still employed by the Museum? I needed one of those computer graphic programs that could age a person and predict what they might look like thirty years later.

From the amount of decipherable text in the story, I was able to establish the theft had occurred sometime between late January 7 and early January 8, 1981. A large number of the staff had been preoccupied mounting an exhibition on Italian maiolica, brightly coloured tin-glazed pottery dating from the Renaissance. At the same time, the Museum had recently laid off some of its security staff. The case that held the gems had been disarmed by the thief, and because the area was being patrolled only every two hours, the disappearance went unnoticed for several hours. The investigators were most puzzled at the thief's choice to abscond solely with the opals and to leave behind gems of significantly greater value. “Presumably, he took only his personal preferences,” read the article.

Over seventy opals were stolen from a collection that was acquired in the late 1940s. Oh, now this was interesting â “The Museum stood to recoup a substantial amount of money if the opals weren't recovered.” I scanned further down the page â no reference to an inside job. Surely, they must have consideredâ¦wait, what was this? The police found some kind of mark. I squinted as though doing so would help me see through the darkest part of the coffee stain. Some kind of mark that might have been the brand ofâ¦what? Damn, I couldn't make out this section of the article.

“Excuse me.”

My heart felt as though it had been ripped out of my body by an organ snatcher who had failed to anesthetize his victim. “Walter! For crying out loud, you scared me out of my skin.”

The clichÃ©d meek librarian had apologies written all over his face. “I was trying to be unobtrusive.”

“Good job.” With my heart still pounding as if being beaten by a Japanese Kodo drummer, I slunk back into my chair copping a glimpse of Walter's soft-soled Wallabees. Gag. âUgliest shoes in the worldâ¦as if stitched together by elves,' I remembered once having read in a fashion blog ranting about the revival of hideous footwear including Crocs and Chung Shi sandals.

Walter dipped his gaze to the open binder on my desk, and I thwacked the cover shut with a hypersonic force.

“I see you're doing some kind of research.” Walter removed his pop-bottle-bottomed glasses and cleaned them with his jacket lining.

I was blindsided by the Superman features lurking behind the Clark Kent faÃ§ade. “I'mâ¦I'm looking at press on some recent blockbuster exhibitions.”

“But those binders contain articles from the eighties. There are more recent clippingsâ”

“It's okay. I have to get back to the office.” I started to shuffle the papers on the desk, but stared with the intensity of a cobra at Walter. He had returned his magnifiers back to his face. “Have you considered contacts or laser surgery?” I said.

Walter suddenly looked as though he had been told to put his dog down. “I'm in that infinitesimal percentile that is unable to wear ocular corrective lenses or undergo surgery to the cornea.”

“Oh, sorry. I was just curious. Anyway, according to GQ, geek chic is in again.” I forced a dippy smile.

“What are you implying?” Walter slipped his glasses off again and inspected them.

“Nothing. They're veryâ¦ attractive.” The optician who recommended those glasses must have been sight-challenged himself.

“I purchased them at Honest Ed's.”

“I see.”

“I sense you are not impressed.”

“Oh, but I am.” Who buys glasses from the city's lamest bargain warehouse store?

“Your charming colleague had a parallel reaction to yours.”

“Stewart?” I said.

“Brenda.”

Brenda, charming? She did have an uncanny ability to turn off the trailer-trash mouth and substitute it with Havergal College polish in an instant. Still, charming wasn't an adjective any other staff would use to characterize Brenda.

“And she can be quite a spitfire.”

Too much information. “I really do have to go.”

“Oh, by the way, thank you for returning
The Art Paper
, but it's a bit redundant now. The new issue has arrived.” Walter pulled out a small, vellum-like parcel from his jacket pocket.

“Shut up!” I screamed. Walter looked petrified. “It's an expression, you know, like âholy cow'.”

“Unusual. I must check the origin of the phrase.”

“May I take the new issue?”

“I'm afraid that is not possible. I peruse it on the Director's behalf before it goes on the shelf â in case the Museum has been mentioned.” Walter eyeballed his watch. “Perhapsâ¦I could allow you to browse the issue until closing.”

“I'll put these clippings back on the shelf for now.” I picked up the binder exposing a gargantuan Toblerone chocolate bar underneath. Walter transfixed his gaze on a sign attached to a nearby pillar â âNo food or drink permitted in the library.' I pitched the mega-chocolate bar into my handbag, pulled out a packet of wet wipes, gave my fingers a dab and flung an irreverent smile at Walter.

The librarian handed
The Art Paper
to me like a relay runner reluctant to pass on the baton and then evanesced into the shadows of the library without even a nod. What a fruitcake. Thank heaven I had not accepted that library science scholarship when I was choosing my career path; otherwise, I might be wearing Wallabies and lurking in library stacks, desperately seeking human contact. The horror! The horror!

* * * * *

As soon as Walter was out of range, I whipped out the Toblerone. It was a box of One by One, containing five different flavours of chocolate, each individually wrapped in colour-coded metallic foil. I decided to sample the âWhite One.' Although white chocolate contains no cocoa mass and technically is not chocolate there was nothing as delectable as a confection made with twenty percent cocoa butter. The white mountain-peak-shaped chocolate tickled my taste buds to the max.

I turned my attention to
The Art Paper
. It always transported me into the glitzy world of jet-setting art lovers and aficionados. With a general lean towards the sensational, this issue was no exception. âMuseums Beware: Il Gattopardo is on the Hunt Again,' the front-page headline read. Exhilaration surged through my body, but I wasn't sure whether the white chocolate or the juicy story was the source of my buzz. I read on as if soaking up a piece on the latest celebrity breakup.

âOne of Europe's most infamous art thieves is on the prowl again, claims a confidential source.

Though Interpol has failed to capture one of the most successful criminals of the later twentieth century, evidence suggests that Il Gattopardo has come out of hiding.

Key pieces from several major private collections in Paris have gone missing and the only clue left behind in each robbery was Il Gattopardo's classic signature, a set of leopard-like scratches on a nearby wall.

Police in France, Germany and Italy have been fumbling, Ã la Inspector Clouseau, in search of this elusive real-life Pink Panther. Our source suggests that Il Gattopardo may be heading to North America to mark new territory.'

It was hard to believe such characters existed in reality. My only exposure to such smooth operators was to the likes of Cary Grant's cunning character in Alfred Hitchcock's To Catch a Thief. Cary Grant â yum. There were no real modern-day equivalents in Hollywood these days. I continued skimming through the remainder of The Art Paper and got side-tracked by the pieces on high society balls and fundraisers and the photos of socialites wearing McQueen and Galliano.

As I neared the end of the periodical, a small headline caught my attention â âTreasures of the Maya Lands in Canada.' Shocked, I continued reading.

âThe San Francisco Museum of Art and Science need look no further for a new venue for its spectacular traveling exhibit. Following on the heels of Cincinnati's sudden withdrawal from the tour, Toronto's Canadian National Museum has stepped in as the new home for the blockbuster showâ¦'

Considering
The Art Paper
's lead time must be weeks ahead of its distribution date, Richard was the only person who could have disclosed the story to the rag. He had clearly been scheming on bringing the exhibit to Toronto for some time. But this kind of media leak before the board had even approved accepting the blockbuster could get Richard into deep water. Why would he risk it?

To find out more and for links to buy Theft by Chocolate, visit www.atticabooks.com

Copyright Information

MURDER ACTUALLY

Stephanie McCarthy

Â©
Stephanie McCarthy 2013

Published by Attica Books 2013

www.atticabooks.com

The right of Stephanie McCarthy to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieveal system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners.

Cover art by Kit Foster

Typeset in Bergamo by Anselm Audley

This novel is a work of fiction. The names characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 9781908002495 (epub)

ISBN 9781908002501(mobi)

ISBN 9781908002518 (print)

Contents

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6