When he got to the front door of the building Mitch examined it carefully with his pin light. The lock was new, no scratches on the metal, so it hadn’t been picked that he could tell. The door had been repainted after the initial break-in. There was still the faintest odor of fresh paint. It was unmarred.
He checked the French doors to the office. They were firmly locked with no sign of an attempt to break-in. Whoever had tried to break into Julia’s apartment had a key to the main door of the building but not one to the apartment itself. They hadn’t attempted to enter the office. Whatever they were looking for they didn’t expect to find there. What were they looking for?
The streets around Julia’s house were quiet except for an occasional pedestrian. No one caught his eye as suspicious. He scanned the alleyways, alcoves, and darkened doorways. He found no one lurking in any of the parked vehicles. No cars cruised slowly around the area.
Mitch completed the circuit of outlying streets to a two block radius around Julia’s house. He stood on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street and looked up to see the silhouette of the black cat standing watch at the window.
Julia checked the lock on the apartment door after Mitch left. She then went around to all the windows and closed and locked them.
Trouble protested with a plaintive yeow when she moved him so she could close the bedroom window.
“Complain all you want. I’m on to your tricks. No more shenanigans from you tonight.”
Trouble looked up at her then began to thread his way around her legs. She picked him up and held him close to her chest. He rubbed his head against the underside of her chin and began to purr.
“Oh, you’re ready to make-up, are you?” She scratched under his chin and took him to the sofa. The rumble in his throat began to work its magic.
By the time Mitch rang the doorbell, Julia had reasoned away the fear that had gripped her when the front door swung open of its own accord. Maybe she hadn’t secured the lock properly when she went out. Her mind had been on the case, trying to decide whether or not two thefts of Russian art within a few weeks of each other could be a coincidence.
At the sound of the buzzer, Julia stirred from her reverie. She realized Trouble had abandoned her to resume his vigil at the window.
She sighed and pulled herself out of the comfort of the sofa and checked the Dropcam image on her cell phone, her sole concession to security. Mitch stood on her front stoop, his face in profile. She sighed again. He was a handsome man. After a long dry spell in her social life it was suddenly raining men: handsome, sexy, possibly dangerous men. A little shiver ran down her spine as she pressed the door release button.
Chapter Five
Julia awoke with a strategy in mind. Her first call was to her father to inquire whom he would recommend for a security system. This simple request served to appease Woodrow Hampton and for him to recognize she was appeasing him. If he thought for one second she felt she needed the security, he would station armed men on all four corners of her house.
The call also allowed her to question him about Alphonse Chapman, the Director of Special Events for the Telfair Museums. He was the mastermind behind the scheduled Russian art exhibit.
‘Chappie,’ according to her father, was a trust fund baby who spent an inordinate amount of time tracing his ancestry then boring all his acquaintances with his findings.
Julia had met Chappie at various functions involving the arts and the historical preservation society. What she needed from her father was the backstory, or as Aunt Ethel would say, the down and dirty.
Other than the fact Chappie had spun so many tales about his lineage that no one knew what to believe, her father knew he had spent several years living abroad. They had known each other through their fraternity, Sigma Alpha Epsilon, at the University of Georgia, but because Chappie was three years behind him, her father had not really socialized with him.
When Julia called Chappie he was most affable, immediately identifying her as her father’s offspring, and inviting her to mid-morning coffee.
Chappie lived in a beautiful Georgian mansion on the West Harris Street side of Pulaski Square. Julia paused on the sidewalk and admired the beautifully maintained house and garden. Off to her left above the rooftops of the surrounding houses she could see the spire of St John’s Episcopal Church. Not a bad location, she thought. Not bad at all.
Their meeting took place in the morning parlor. Chappie was dressed in a silk brocade smoking jacket with a pale lavender ascot at his throat. His butler, who had shown her in, was very Rudolph Valentino with his jet black, slicked back hair. The slight accent was icing on the cake, French perhaps. She wasn’t sure. Chappie was more Truman Capote in his later years. The assistant seemed to read her mind as she made the comparison. A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes and he quickly suppressed a grin as he left the room.
Chappie didn’t disappoint. He spoke in a falsetto and held his pinkie high as he drank coffee from a beautiful Royal Doulton china cup.
“Now, my dear,” he said, “what can I do to help you find the dahlin’ Duke’s royal rags?”
Julia took a sip of excellent coffee and smiled at Chappie. “As I told you on the phone, I’ve been assigned to look into the theft. Peter Ryder spoke with you on Tuesday, I believe.”
“Yes, yes, he did.” Chappie made a face. “Very dour man, all business. I tried to impress upon him the urgency of finding the royal apparel quickly. The exhibit is due to open in less than two weeks and a lot of expense has gone into constructing the display case and staging. These things require certain conditions, you know. Air temperature, light exposure, all sorts of things can damage the fragile fabric.”
“How long have the arrangements for this particular element of the display been in place?”
“Strange you should ask.” He favored her with a smile and a raised eyebrow not unlike her Aunt Ethel when she was gearing up to drop a titillating bit of gossip. “I got a call from the owner, Reginald Horchow, just three weeks ago. He had heard of the Russian Exhibition and wanted to offer the items to help round out the full historical impact of our little event.” Chappie’s lips formed a little moue. “His words, dahlin’, not mine.”
“Who made the arrangements?”
“Well, I did, of course. The museum is responsible for the care and handling of all the pieces in the display; hence, the astronomical expense of the insurance.” He offered up the coffee pot to refresh her cup of coffee but Julia shook her head. “I did not, however, handle the transport details. That was all on Mr. Horchow.” Chappie frowned. “In fact, he insisted on that aspect of the arrangements.”
“Were you given the details of those arrangements?”
“Well, yes. After a fashion.” He took a sip of his coffee then placed the cup on the marquetry table. “I thought it odd from the first. I mean, I had never heard of these people. I assumed it was someone he had done business with in the past and didn’t think anything further about it.” He sat back in his chair with a sigh. “Let’s face it. I’m worn to the bone with this event. I can’t be expected to micromanage every little detail, especially when the owner insists—and I do mean insists—on handling the delivery.”
“Did Peter give you any hint of what he thought happened to the clothing, how it was stolen?”
Chappie’s eyebrows lifted in a look of surprise. “Dear me, no. He was the most tightlipped man I’ve every encountered. He wanted to come back the next day so I could look at some photos. It really wasn’t a convenient time so I asked if he could come back that same afternoon.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “He wouldn’t even accommodate me. Said he had an appointment at The Cloister and didn’t know how late it might run.”
“Who was he meeting? Did he say?”
“Well, really. The man is like a clam. He certainly didn’t confide in me.” He hesitated for a second. “But it wasn’t about the stolen garments, I’m sure of that.”
“How?”
&
nbsp; “He said he had an appointment on another case and couldn’t postpone it. The client was in town for only a few days.”
Julia sat back in her chair and considered this. How did it figure into Ryder’s disappearance?
Julia went directly to the Weatherby Insurance Agency after her interview with Alphonse Chapman. The weather had turned hot again as it often did in Savannah in September. By the time she walked to her destination she was happy to enter the air conditioned comfort of the office.
Sandra looked up from her computer screen when Julia came through the door. “Well?” She was all smiles. “Tell me about your date. Isn’t Doug divine?”
Julia smiled in return. “He’s interesting.”
“Interesting’s good.” Sandra leaned forward slightly in a conspiratorial posture. “So you like him?”
She didn’t want to get into a tete-à-tete with Sandra about Doug Heinz but decided to take advantage of the opportunity to learn more about him. Mitch’s revelations of the previous evening had caused her to put the brakes on her enthusiasm for the hunky insurance salesman.
“How long have you known him?”
“Since he started working here last winter.”
“Is that when he moved to Savannah?”
“He told me he was from Tampa.” Sandra hesitated, a frown on her face. “You know, I just assumed he was new to town. I don’t think he ever really said.”
“Has he mentioned his family?”
Sandra shook her finger at Julia. “You like him.” She grinned like the Cheshire cat. “You really like him.”
Julia realized she would get nowhere with Sandra. The woman was clearly smitten with Doug. “I need to see Peter’s files on the cases he assigned me. Are they on his desk?”
“Funny you should ask.” Sandra’s expression didn’t look as if she thought it funny at all.
“Why’s that?”
“Well, there’s this U. S. Marshal…”
“Mitch Lawson.”
Sandra let out a sigh. “Oh, good. You know about him.”
“And?”
Sandra looked puzzled. “And he took the files.”
Julia bit her tongue. “When?”
“This morning. He said he needed to review them and see if he could pick up Pete’s trail.”
Julia wanted to be angry but Lawson was right. The best way to find Peter was to retrace his activities of Tuesday. “And you gave him everything?”
“Well, yeah.” A look of doubt appeared in Sandra’s eyes.
“What about his computer? Did Lawson take the computer?”
“No.” Sandra stood and turned to the doorway to the inner offices of the company. “He should have a file on everything. That’s how all the information about a claim originates and he prints out a copy.” She paused in the doorway and looked around at Julia. “He’s old-fashioned, you know. Can’t break him of his old habits. Even keeps a dog eared notebook where he writes all his thoughts and findings. If you can call it writing. More like hen scratches. Takes forever for him to transfer it to the computer file.” Tears began to form in her eyes. “Hunt and peck.” She turned from Julia. “That’s our Pete.” She drew a calming breath and with her back still to Julia said, “Something’s happened to him, hasn’t it? Something bad.”
Julia placed a hand on Sandra’s shoulder. She wanted to say something reassuring but suddenly realized her throat was too constricted to speak so she simply patted her on the shoulder.
“Right.” Sandra opened the door to the claims department.
There at her desk sat Debbie, the claims secretary, her head only inches from Doug’s as they consulted over something in a file. They looked up in unison as the door opened and Debbie quickly closed the file and placed her hand on top of it.
“Julia.” Doug smiled and came around the desk. “What brings you here?”
She hesitated for a split second. “Work. I need to see Peter’s files on the cases he assigned me.”
“Oh. Sure.” He glanced at Sandra. “But didn’t Lawson take all the files?”
“Yes. But they should be on his hard drive as well.” Sandra crossed the small anteroom and opened the door to Peter’s office.
“Right.” Doug’s gaze skittered from Sandra to Debbie and finally settled on Julia. He gestured for her to precede him into Peter’s office.
As Julia stepped past Debbie’s desk she glanced down and saw that the file she and Doug had been so engrossed in was no longer on her desktop. In fact, it was nowhere to be seen.
Peter had not secured his computer with a password. Julia was able to easily open all his files. She was acutely aware of Sandra and Doug hovering. She looked up at them. “I’m probably going to be a while. I don’t want to keep you from whatever you were doing.”
“Oh!” Sandra threw her hands up and turned for the door. “I left the front desk unmanned.” Julia heard the anteroom door closing behind her.
Doug made no move to leave the office. Instead he glanced through to the anteroom then crossed the office to close the door. He turned to Julia with a smile. “About tonight. We’re still on for seven, right? Should I pick you up earlier?”
Julia sat back in Peter’s desk chair and smiled at Doug. She didn’t want to tip her hand that she suddenly had doubts about him. “I’m glad you mentioned tonight. I meant to call you earlier but the day has been hectic.” She sat forward, her arms folded on the desktop. “I have an appointment late this afternoon that puts me out past Ardsley Park. Why don’t you meet me at The Club. I’ll swing by my parents’ house to change for the party.”
Doug adjusted the knot in his tie. “Sure.” He turned toward the door then looked back at her. “Something to do with Peter’s cases?”
“No.” She smiled. “Personal business.”
“Okay.” He winked. “See you tonight.”
Mitch sat with his feet on the edge of his desk, slouched in the chair, and the insurance agency’s file folder on the Fechin theft in his lap. He heard Jones’ feet hit the floor and the creak of Handel’s chair as he stood. Mitch looked up from the folder to find Julia standing at his desk.
“Deputy Lawson.”
“Ms. Hampton.” He slid his feet from the desktop and angled his chair forward to face her. “What brings you to the courthouse this morning?”
“Peter Ryder’s files.”
“Ah.” He cleared his throat but before he could say anything she cut him short.
“It didn’t occur to you to tell me what you were planning? I could have saved you the trouble. As you know, I have a copy of the files on both cases.”
“True. True.” Mitch stood. “But I thought he might have made some notes on the originals. Or maybe there were things in there he hadn’t shared.”
“Why do you think he wouldn’t share everything? It was his call to have me on the cases.”
He motioned to the chair across from his desk but Julia remained standing. Mitch sighed. “Look, the first rule of good detective work is to go to the original sources when you can. And I didn’t tell you I was going to pick up the files because I didn’t decide to do it until late last night.” He paused. “After I left your place.”
The telltale squeak of a desk chair caused Mitch to glare in the direction of Handel who had the good sense to look away.
Julia looked as if she was struggling with how she wanted to proceed. “Fine.” She squared her shoulders. “So what did you find? Any notes in the margins? Did you find the photographs?”
“Photographs?”
A pleased look spread over her face. “Yes, photographs. He was planning to return to Alphonse Chapman’s house on Wednesday morning to show him some photographs.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Huh.” Mitch looked across the room and out the window, mentally filing away this tidbit of information. Julia cleared her throat and he brought his attention back to her. “What would you guess the photographs might be?”
“Off the top of my head, I would think they were taken of the missing items just before they were sealed away in the crates. It’s standard procedure to establish a chain of responsibility. It’s usually done by the authority in possession of the art just before shipment. They normally depict the item or items in place in the packaging materials but just prior to closing the crates.” She shrugged. “A trail of breadcrumbs leading you through the process.”
“And you think that’s what he wanted to show Chapman?”
“I can’t think of anything else it might be. Some art houses now do videos of the entire process to ensure the provenance of the pieces they ship. But Chappie said he had pictures.”
“Chappie?”
“Alphonse Chapman.”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, what did you find?” Julia waited.
Mitch took his time responding. He hadn’t found anything really. The files were exactly what the receptionist had told him they would be, a printout of the original claim. He cleared his throat again. “The only evidence that he even looked at the paperwork was one word on the inside of the file folder. I don’t even know if it refers to this case. The file folder’s been handled so much I think he must reuse it for each new case.”
“May I?”
He handed her the folder and watched as she opened it to the inside cover. “Youngblood.”
“Mean anything to you?”
“It’s a name.”
“I figured out that much.”
“An old Savannah name.”
“Yeah. I figured that out as well. There are hundreds of Youngbloods in the area.” He pulled Handel’s guest chair over and placed it beside his own. This time when he motioned for her to sit, Julia did. Mitch took the folder from her and opened it on the desk as he sat in the second chair. “If you would, look through these and tell me if you see anything he didn’t include in the papers he gave you.”
Julia turned her attention to the folder just as the door to the agency flew open and banged against the wall. A blonde with big hair, short spandex skirt, and orangey-red lipstick marched across the room to Jones’ desk.
Trouble in Dixie (Familiar Legacy Book 2) Page 6