The Big Steal (14 page)

I closed the door behind me and found my way back to the attic proper. I tucked a few more items from the boxes into my briefcase. Once downstairs, I had slipped back to my car, dropped off my booty, and then headed to the room where the broken pieces from the theft had been stored—the place I was supposed to be from the very beginning.

N
OW, SITTING SAFELY
in my car at the end of Oakcliffe's driveway, I realized that I had done something for Babson and Michael, after all. Once I had deposited the objects in my car and was safely back inside Wynderly I had gotten
right to work figuring out the values of items that had been broken and left behind.

I had matched up what once had been a circa 1890 Art Nouveau blue tinted glass vase with sterling silver overlay with its entry on the earlier appraisal that Michelle had given me. Today the vase would be worth perhaps six or seven thousand. On the old appraisal—which I now knew had been made in 1986—it was valued at ten thousand dollars, a greatly inflated value at the time of the appraisal; back then, two, maybe three thousand dollars would have been a top price.

And an exquisite late Meissen mythological figure, now missing its arms and head, had been appraised at almost five thousand dollars—again, outrageously high for the 1980s. Eight hundred or a thousand would have been closer to the mark. Some of the missing items had been valued at fifty thousand and above. Babson and Michael had been right to double-check the claim that had been submitted to them.

My intention had been to ask Michelle a few questions—not that I figured she would have the answers, but it was the right thing to do. Though she was in her office, her door had been closed. When I heard her voice, I had knocked a couple of times. She seemed to be talking to someone on the phone. When she didn't respond and I realized what time it was, I had slipped a note under her door saying I would see her in the morning, and had left for Miss Mary Sophie's home.

N
OW, SOME TWO-PLUS
hours later, I was so absorbed in replaying each minute detail as the day had unfolded that when headlights from an oncoming car shone through the night, I literally had to think twice to get my bearings. Jarred
back to the here and now, I turned on to the main road and headed back toward town. On my right, a tall, castle-shaped sign came into view.

WYNDERLY—TREASURES OF THE WORLD OPEN TUESDAY THROUGH SUNDAY, 10 AM TO 4 PM

Dangling from one hook beneath it, a straight board swayed in the wind. closed, it read.

Several times during my conversation with Miss Mary Sophie I had almost asked her about the secret rooms, then stopped. Now I was second-guessing my decision. Then again, maybe it was better that I hadn't asked; no telling what secrets I had stumbled upon. Nor could I be sure that Miss Mary Sophie wouldn't tell another board member of my findings. Until I had time to sort through it all, a pack of watchdogs hovering over my every move at the house was the last thing I wanted. Michelle was warden enough.

But what to do now? Food. Had there been any lunch? Oh yes. One of the stale Snickers at the bottom of my briefcase. No wonder my stomach was growling almost as loudly as my brain was churning.

Up ahead I spied Kentucky's most famous colonel beckoning to me from under the red and white awning. I swung into the drive-through lane and placed my order. Perfect. I was going to be set for the night.

Or so I thought until I pulled into Belle Ayre.

There, in front of the front door, was Michelle Hendrix's red Nissan.

Dear Antiques Expert: In my grandparents' home there's a Victorian armchair. I've heard it called both a lady's chair and a gentleman's chair. How do you tell the difference between the two?

Victorians glorified the family as personified by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert and their children. Nowhere was this idealized family image more evident than in the Victorian parlor with its two chairs, one for the father—a sturdy “gentleman's” armchair with a high back, and one for the mother—a smaller proportioned “lady's” chair that was lower to the floor and often had only partial, or demi arms. Over the years many of these pairs have been separated, and now any smaller Victorian armchair is generically referred to as a lady's chair, while larger chairs are called gentleman's chairs.

D
RESSED IN JEANS
and a bulky sweater, Michelle looked woefully out of place seated in the high-backed Victorian gentleman's armchair.

“I'm desperate,” she said, nervously wiping her hands on her jeans. “Otherwise I wouldn't be bothering you.”

From the moment I'd seen her car parked there, I had felt pretty nervous myself. I had made a quick decision to take only my handbag and coat with me, leaving the Wynderly items in the car.

Now here Michelle and I sat, both of us acting awkward.

“In that meeting today Dr. Houseman as much as accused me of stealing the things missing from Wynderly and breaking the others to cover my tracks,” she said.

I didn't find that news particularly shocking. “What did you tell him?”

She gave me a puzzled look. “What
could
I tell him? Nothing. I didn't do it.” Her tone was emphatic.

“Why would he bring that up now … at this late date?” I asked, hoping to draw her out while begging a little time to think the situation through. I felt like I had dozed off in the middle of a movie and missed a few scenes. Something must have happened while I was having my own little drama up in the attic.

“The papers. Didn't you see today's newspaper?” Michelle asked.

“No. I haven't seen a paper since I got here … two, three days ago.” I had noticed Houseman had a copy under his arm when he arrived at Wynderly, but that was as close as I'd come.

“Well, they said terrible things about Wynderly and even some of the board members.”

“Did the article mention
you
?”

“Not directly, but it said Wynderly had been mismanaged, and since the thieves hadn't left any signs of entry, the obvious conclusion was that it was an inside job. They might as well
have put my name in the headlines. Everybody knows I work there. But the thing is, the police questioned me right after the theft. Dr. Houseman knew that. So why'd he have to start in on it all over again?”

“But you said you weren't named specifically. Right?” I said, attempting to calm her. “OK. Then let's try to think this thing through, Michelle. First, the mismanaging part. Did they cite anyone in particular? Board members, past staff members, anyone?”

“No.”

“So they didn't actually imply that
you
had mismanaged the funds,” I said, putting a positive spin on the situation. “How could they? You can't spend any money without getting the board's approval can you?”

“Right. The checks have to have two signatures. But the point is, even if the paper didn't name names, the article got everyone talking about what's happening at Wynderly all over again. Why else would Houseman have put me through the third degree the way he did?”

I wished I had read the article. Hearing about it secondhand from Michelle wasn't much help.

“They even mentioned your being here,” she said.

Damn.

“They said you had been sent to investigate the break-in.”

Where had they gotten that?

“It made you sound like some kind of PI or policeman,” Michelle said. “You aren't, are you? Or are you? I thought you were just an appraiser.”

So that was it. Michelle Hendrix was afraid I was some strong arm of the law. I almost laughed at the thought until
last night's scene at the 7-Eleven flashed across my mind. Oh dear. I spoke slowly and deliberately.

“Let me assure you, I am
not
an investigator, and I don't have anything to do with the police,” I said. “Babson and Michael sent me here to help with the insurance claim. They could have sent someone else, another appraiser, but they're in New York and I'm in Leemont … much closer.” I laughed self-consciously. “All I'm supposed to do is sort out the value of the broken items and do the same for the things that were stolen … as best I can, that is. There's a lot of money involved. Babson and Michael doesn't want to overpay or underpay. It's the way insurance companies do business. That's all.”

I looked at Michelle for some hint that I was getting through to her. “Look, my asking so many questions isn't being nosy. They're necessary. I'm trying to establish where the values the foundation sent to the insurance company came from. That's why having both the appraisal made not too long after Hoyt's death
and
the one made in 1986 is so helpful. The 1986 one is the one I was using this afternoon.”

“I realize that,” she said.

She sounded impatient with my detailed explanation, but I wanted to be sure we understood each other. Then, as if a light had gone on in her head, she said, “Yeah, that appraisal would be important. That's probably where the board got its values. It's the one the bank had made right after Mazie died and the foundation was being established,” she said. “That's when they took over ownership of the things. At least that's what somebody told me when I took the job, I don't remember who.”

I balked. “Whoa. Back up for a moment, please.
Who
took
over ownership? The foundation owned the property. You mean the
bank
took possession of some of the things? You didn't mention the bank taking ownership of any of Wynderly's things. What's that about?”

“Oh they didn't
take
anything, not out of the house.” A frown crossed Michelle's face. “At least I don't think so. I'm not sure of all the details, but as best I know … See, the Wyndfields left plenty of money, but certain portions of it were designated to different purposes, various trusts and charities. The Y built a new wing and named it for them. Things like that. Anyway, some of the board members had big ideas about publishing coffee table books and putting on seminars, but the foundation didn't have the funds to pay for all that. Somehow, though, the bank and the foundation worked it so there would be more money. That's how the bank ended up owning some of Wynderly's antiques.”

That was interesting. Most banks weren't in the business of owning antiques. They wouldn't even give loans on personal property other than cars and real estate. Something sounded fishy. I'd have to give that some more thought, but Michelle didn't need to know what was going on inside my head.

“I guess that makes what Tracy DuMont said all the more true. Money in, money out,” I said. “You've got to have the money coming in before you can pay it out. And as far as my being here, Michelle … You see with that appraisal being, what, twenty-some years old, it's totally out of date. If there had been a more recent appraisal, made, say four or five years ago, I probably wouldn't even be here.”

Michelle just looked at me. As we sat in silence I found myself reassessing my opinion of her. I hadn't come to Wynderly
expecting or wanting to dislike this woman I had never met before. Yet from the moment she had opened the door, the way she had been so bossy, her unwillingness to help me … she had put me off. Now, though, she seemed so genuinely distressed that part of me wanted to reach out and reassure her—and send her home. I was getting awfully tired.

On the other hand, the newspaper article had clearly unnerved her. What if she was just playing against my sympathy?

I remembered her questions about the Delft charger. Then there was the much finer Delft water vessel I had noticed. Why one piece of Delft would be broken and the other left untouched had puzzled me. What Michelle knew about antiques couldn't fill a postcard. What if she
were
the thief and had just taken things at random because she liked them, or perhaps she had overheard other people talking about various objects' values. That could have influenced her choices. I needed to know more.

If she really thought I was a threat, wouldn't it be more likely that she would keep her suspicions to herself and continue dogging my every move? “But why have you come to see
me
, other than to be sure I'm not working for the police,” I asked.

“Remember earlier today when you were in the room looking at the broken things, and Houseman called the meeting … Well, I told you he took to interrogating me, first in front of those board members and then later by himself. It was like he was trying to break me down—you know, the way they do it on
Law and Order
.”

Her words were music; she hadn't mentioned the attic. No
one seemed to have noticed I wasn't where I was supposed to be … at least part of the time.

Michelle bit her lip and glanced at the floor. Her eyes shifted from side to side before she returned my gaze.

“That's when it dawned on me that you might come up with some evidence that would help me out, that would point to who
really
did it. That's why I came here. I need your help to prove I didn't do it. No matter
what
anybody thinks.”

I had to feel sorry for her. “Look, Michelle, I've already told you I'm not here to investigate the
crime
. I'm investigating the
things
. If, along the way, I happen to pick up some …” I felt out of my element. How should I put what I was thinking? “Some, well,
clues
about the theft, then of course I'd tell Babson and Michael. What they would do, I don't know. That would be up to them. But listen to me … I haven't been thinking in those terms. I haven't reported
any
thing to anyone—not to Houseman, not to Babson and Michael—not to anyone, not anything.” I didn't add, “because I don't have anything to report.”

Michelle smiled weakly. “I wasn't sure, but I thought
you
might have told Houseman I'd done it.”