by Kira Reese
“Who was the man?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. The boy appeared to be old enough to understand the question. Having not been around children very much, I could only guess. But one thing was for sure—whoever it was had disappeared.
I reached into my purse and handed the boy two dollar bills. “Thank you,” I said. He pocketed the money and ran down the street. I looked around again. There was no one. The automatic parking lot light came on. I shuddered. The note would have to wait until I was safely inside my house. Right now I wanted to be far away from the empty lot.
Chapter 8
Thickening Plot
I dialed Nick once I was in my car heading home. Breathing a sigh of relief when he answered, I told him of the incident. By the time I got home he knew of my feelings of unease experienced the night before.
“Candy, I want you to stay on the line with me until you are inside. Double-bolt the door as soon as you get in.”
I assured him I would do that. In the meantime, I told him of the Gallery of Corinth and my call to find Pierre Sarkis. The light burning on our front porch provided a feeling of comfort. Had Nick been with me instead of on the cell phone, I would have felt a whole lot better. Once bolted in, I let him know I was safe.
“Read the note to me,” he said.
I reached in my purse and unfolded it. The letters were a mixture of printed and handwritten letters. The style appeared to be consistent throughout the message. I began to read it to Nick.
Do not keep the black pottery vase. You will find yourself in great danger if you do. Get rid of it as soon as you can or something dangerous is in store for you. You will not be warned a second time.
“I’m coming home tonight,” said Nick. “One extra day here can be handled by JH. He is the agent dealing in commercial, not me.”
I wanted to protest, but in truth I wanted Nick with me. JH was his good friend and partner. I agreed he could stand in for Nick. “If you are sure you can skip that part of the conference, I would love to have you home tonight.”
Neither of us commented on the note. That part would wait once we each formulated our own take on it. When we ended the call, I glanced at my watch. Nick would be here in a few hours. I would wait until closer to the time of his arrival and then order a pizza to be delivered. It would be a simple meal—pepperoni for him and a supreme for me. His would be piled with extra cheese and black olives.
Until then, I paced the floors. I read and reread the note that I spread open on the table. I was careful not to handle it more than necessary. Hopefully, there were fingerprints other than mine that held significance. I couldn’t take the chance of smudging them under my own. Since the day Nick left for the conference, I found myself avoiding Achilles. Suddenly, I felt drawn to my window. Extinguishing the living room lamps, I once more crept to the side of the glass and looked out from behind sheer curtains. My hand flew to my mouth. The tall figure stood at the end of the sidewalk and stared at our house. His head and face were covered due to the hood on his jacket. I now saw that it was a heavy fleece jacket cut like a motorcycle jacket. It was a dark color. He remained there while I dialed 911. A cruiser in the neighborhood swerved around the corner and onto my street.
As if on cue, the figure disappeared. Another cop car came from the opposite direction. One cop came to the door. I gave him a description of my stalker. At least now I knew that’s what he was. He certainly hadn’t looked as if he was waiting for a ride. The SUV that picked him up the first time I saw him was nowhere nearby. After the cops left, assuring me they would patrol the neighborhood all night, I decided to order the pizza.
My doorbell rang. I glanced through the oval pane and opened to take the pizza. A cop car parked in front of my house as we exchanged pizza for money. Once they were satisfied the deliverer did what he was supposed to do, they cruised on down the street. I placed the pizza in the oven and set it on warm. Pacing was not helping, but it was all I could do for now.
Someone knew I had the black-figure vase. That person had a vested interest in it, but what? The person who wrote the note wanted it badly for himself. That part I felt certain about. If he did not get it, I would pay. At least, that was what he promised me. The house was too quiet. I went to my computer nook and put in a CD. I randomly selected it and had no idea what I put into the slot. I glanced out the bay window. A shadow passed the window. That was when I realized the vertical slatted blind was partially open.
I jumped when my cell phone rang again. “Candy,” said Nick, “I am caught in traffic but should be there in about a half hour. Are you all right?”
I told him of my encounter earlier. “The cops are patrolling around. I’m fine. I have pizza warming in the oven for us.” I decided not to worry him more by relating the sighting of the figure walking around our house. For the second time that night I dialed 911. And for the second time, there was no one in the yard when the cops searched the premises. I have to say that by then they must have thought I was a crazy woman who needed some kind of attention by calling the cops for nothing.
“I know you are wondering about me by now,” I said to the cop who looked as if he was still a teenager. “There really is someone out there. He seems to appear and disappear at whim.”
“Yeah,” said the young policeman. “He’s like a magician who can come and go without anyone knowing how he is doing it. We are going to stay nearby in case he shows up again.”
I still felt the heat that had risen to my face. A little embarrassed, I didn’t want to look like the boy who called wolf once too often. I wanted the cop to say just once that he had seen the stalker even if he had not been fast enough to catch him. I was the only one who professed to see him so far. I did not mention the note the child handed to me in the parking lot at work. That would come later.
Headlights shone through the clouded pane of glass in the front door. I waited until Nick reached the garage in back. Then I hurried to unlock the back door for him. We fell into each other’s arms. Everything was right with my world again. He leaned over the table without touching the note and read it. Then he straightened up. Concern flooded his handsome face.
“Candy, this is not good,” he said. “This sounds like whoever wrote it means business. My advice is to get this pottery piece to the police station tomorrow. Let them deal with it.”
For the first time I fixed my eyes on the vessel.
“I don’t know whose ashes those are, but unless the vase is truly a stolen object, I paid for it fair and square,” I told Nick. “I just want to get rid of the ashes.”
We nibbled on pizza before either of us said anything.
“I hated it when I heard you went through all of this while I was out of town,” said Nick. He stood up and pulled me close. “Are you sure you are all right?”
“I am now that you are here. I am baffled as to why I have been so jumpy over all of the events. It’s not like I haven’t been in questionable spots before with the work I do, but this really rattled me.”
“You own the urn, and someone has personally threatened you because of it.” He stood up and then turned out the lights in the front room. He asked me to show him where I stood when I first saw the man near the streetlight. I showed him and he peered outside. “I see why you didn’t get a clear picture of him the first night. There are some shadows from the trees on that side of the street.”
I agreed with his assessment. “I wonder who was in that SUV that picked him up. I don’t think the stalker is working alone, and without any doubt in my mind, I am sure he wrote this note.”
We talked a while longer and then headed for bed. I knew I would get a good night’s sleep for the first time since before Nick left for the conference.
I thought I was having a dream until I felt Nick bounding from bed. “What is it?” I asked in a whisper.
He pushed me back down on the pillow and softly answered. “I heard a crashing sound. Someone has broken through the front door pane, I am sure. You
stay here and dial 911. I’m going to investigate.”
I told him to be careful, and with trembling fingers I dialed the number for emergency. My heart beat faster as I went to look for Nick. He was at the top of the stairs, hidden behind the large fake fern. I felt him twitch when I touched him to let him know I was behind him. The dark figure below us deftly grabbed Achilles, and though his hooded jacket caught on the splintered glass pane, he quickly unlocked the deadbolt and raced away. The whole transaction took only seconds to complete. The police arrived and scattered out in the neighborhood.
“He can’t be too far away,” said the same cop who had answered my previous call. I now knew his name was Officer Jonathan Switzer. He was quick on his feet. Short cropped brown hair gave an air of official requirements. His face set with determination. He directed his fellow officer to go the opposite direction. More policemen arrived and scattered like ants on a mission.
Nick and I stood and watched while two officers studied the crime scene and made notes. We had insurance on the piece of art, but I wanted my prize back. It took a while, but once they were finished with their initial investigation, we began to sweep up the glass that sparkled like diamonds under the foyer light. I tried to ignore the yellow tape across what was left of the pane.
“That will be hard to replace, Candy,” said Nick.
We had spent several months searching for antique panes of glass to replace the wood panels on the door. Once we landed on the right dealer, he advised us to go for a heavier glass. He told us his selection would be hard to break through if not impossible. We declined. The house had cost nearly five thousand over our budget and we were cutting corners.
Who would have thought someone would break into our house in the serene neighborhood we chose to live in? For that matter, who would have thought the reason would be because of a piece of pottery that was made in 700 BC. I turned to Nick.
“I think whoever stole it was more interested in the mystery of the ashes than in the artifact itself,” I said. My acute instinct caused that observation.
Nick nodded. “You may be right about that.”
By now the sun began to surface from behind the large trees in the backyard. Nick put on some coffee, and we sat in our newly refurbished chairs on the patio. We laid out plans for the day. I decided to call Natalie and ask her to work the whole day. She was coming along well with my two most prominent cases, and I felt she could handle it all for now. I was spent but I had things to do that day. There was much more work to do on the search for the urn’s owner. Nick had to get to his office no later than eleven.
“I have a big client coming in, Candy, and I really can’t miss this opportunity.”
He was apologetic, and I assured him I was fine. The urn problem was down my alley, and I was excited to get moving on my own case. He noted the light that must have been shining like a copper penny in my eyes and he laughed.
“If anyone will solve this big mystery of yours, it will be you,” he said. Then he leaned in to kiss me. The warmth his kisses rushed over me. “I will shower and be back down in a jiffy,” he said. “You will soon get a call they found the robber.” His words convinced me that he was somehow right in his assessment.
When the doorbell rang, I glanced at my attire. The baggy sweats and short-sleeved shirt would have to do. I peeked through the intact glass on the right of the door and saw Officer Switzer.
“We caught the man a few minutes ago. He was hiding out behind the embankment at the park a few miles from here. We are holding him in a cell on robbery and breaking and entering.”
I asked him where the urn was. He told me it was being held for now. It played a big part in the investigation, he explained.
When he left I dialed Detective Ben Jones’ number. He had been informed of the situation, he told me. “I want to make sure you keep an eye on the urn and its contents,” I said. He understood that well enough, he assured me. I spilled everything I had found out so far. I took him to Chartres and the seemingly “on vacation” Pierre Sarkis. “I even searched for him and can’t locate him, either.”
“If he is that rich, he is probably off on some secluded island, basking in the sunlight and lying on the sandy beach.”
Chapter 9
Chance Encounter
My next visit was to Michael Green at the museum. I had my dialog figured out. If he was responsible in any way for the urn and its contents, I had no intention of leaking my suspicions to him. He greeted me in a friendly enough manner but seemed restrained.
“I hoped you would be coming in to show me that Greek pottery piece,” he said. His smile did not meet his eyes.
“I intended to let you see it today. However, there is a glitch. Someone broke into my house last night and stole the artifact.” I scrutinized his face for every reaction.
Was that feigned surprise? I asked myself. He jerked back at the news and then held a look on me that resembled a parent ready to admonish a child caught in a lie. Just as quickly, his expression switched to sympathy.
“That is really too bad, Candace,” he said. “I hope the police locate it soon. It is a priceless piece of black-figure pottery that can never be replaced. The pictures your appraiser shot showed enough detail to tell me it is authentic.”
I bit my lip. It didn’t take him to authenticate the piece that Albert had already professed to be real. “I am heartsick at the possibility it will forever be lost to me,” I said.
I meant that with all my heart. I wanted that antique. It was a find of a lifetime. If it had not had those ashes in it, it would still be decorating the antique table Nick had given me. Bitterness and resolve mingled deep inside me.
“When you hear back from the police, let me know if they nabbed whoever stole it. I hope if they find whoever did it, that the piece is with the thief.”
As I walked to my car, I felt very sure I would not be giving more information to Michael Green regarding the thief or details of the whereabouts of the vessel. “On the other hand, the curator could just be someone I don’t like,” I said aloud. His personality did not appeal to me. Perhaps he didn’t like women. Maybe he resented the fact that a woman possessed such a rare object before he had a chance to get it for the Museum of Historical Artifacts. I thought he was a man who liked the limelight. I stopped myself before I got completely carried away. I knew nothing about the man and left it at that.
Pulling into my driveway, I noticed a couple of neighbors at the edge of our lawn. I waved and parked my car. They were curious about a crime on our street. I told them there had been a break-in with the intentions of stealing any valuables they could find.
They breathed sighs of relief knowing the perpetrator had been caught. With the excitement passing, they returned to their homes. I was sure the news would spread, but at least it saved me from explaining to neighbors that Nick and I were not people who drew criminals in.
I noticed Nick had taken care of replacing the oval window. He left a note telling me it was only temporary, and we would take the weekend to shop for a heavier duplicate. I smiled since we both thought of our mistake but had not admitted it to each other yet. My thoughts were interrupted when my cell phone rang.
“Candy,” said Ben. “Do you have time to come down and talk with me today?”
I told the detective I could be there in a few minutes. I grabbed my purse and headed back out. When I got to the precinct, he was waiting for me. He closed the door behind us and pulled a file from the right side of his desk.
“The thief had some interesting things to tell us,” he began. I shifted to the edge of the chair. “He tells us the curator of the museum put him up to the theft. We don’t believe that. He has no proof.”
This still was not the time for me to tell him my doubts about Michael Green. I had nothing to prove possible facts, similar to the lack of proof from their prisoner.
“Why would he say that?” I asked. “He surely has some basis for an accusation like that.”
“I
think he came up with the curator’s name simply because of Michael Green’s profession. There is nothing in Mr. Green’s past that tells us he is anything but an upright citizen. I wondered if you had any information that would lead us in his direction.”
The idea that Ben suspected I held back flitted through my head. “I don’t have anything that would tell me Michael Green had anything to do with the robbery. I don’t particularly like the man’s personality, but other than that there is nothing. And that isn’t something that would hold up in a court of law.” We smiled in agreement. I did not want to budge from where I sat. “What else did the man tell you?”
“That was about it,” said Ben. “He was quite adamant about pinning it on Mr. Green.”
“Does he have a lawyer yet?”
“Yes, he asked for one once he knew we did not believe him. The lawyer has told him not to speak and so we will see how it all comes out in trial for breaking and entering. The fact he stole the valuable piece of art will hang heavily over him.”
I hoped to speak to the prisoner, but Ben said his lawyer told him to talk to no one.
Hunger pangs hit me, and I called Nick to see if he could meet for a quick lunch. He was expecting his client earlier than the appointed time, and so had to give me a rain check, he said. I told him I had a bundle of news but would hold it until we were face-to-face. I pulled into the parking spot of Scotty’s Café. The diner filled with hungry people like me. I glanced at my watch. It was the middle of everyone’s lunch hour. I spotted a familiar face. Esther sat alone, and when she spotted me, she waved me over. What luck, I thought, as adrenalin raced through me.
“Hello, dear,” said Esther. “I recall your name is Candy?” I reintroduced myself, giving her my full name. She told me hers was Esther Markley. “My mother loved the Book of Esther in the Bible,” she explained. “I often thought she could have searched for a prettier name than that one in the Bible.” Her laugh was a soft chuckle.