by Melissa Rees
"So you called for an appraisal?" Wagner inquired; crossing his legs, then ran a hand down the front of his pants leg, straightening the seam.
"Yes, I'm changing insurance companies and I'd like new appraisals for my home."
"Are you planning to auction off any merchandise?" Otis inquired hopefully.
"No, this is just for insurance purposes." Eli assured them with a smile.
"We've heard all about Shadowleaf Plantation." Wagner said. "Of course, some things are exaggerated."
"Oh, such as?" Eli inquired.
"From what we have heard, Shadowleaf is the Holy Grail of antiques." Wagner admitted.
"Really, the Holy Grail of Antiquities?" He repeated, smiling. "I don't believe I've ever heard that one."
Eli got gracefully up from behind the desk when a faint knock was heard and walked to the door. Holding it open, he motioned the bartender to set the drinks on his desk.
After sending the waiter a quick smile of thanks, Eli ambled over and handed the medium size tumblers to the men. "Hardly the Holy Grail." Eli denied, smiling as he walked around and sat back down.
"When would you need this appraisal completed?" Wagner asked, taking a sip of his drink.
"Soon as possible, of course. You know how these things are. You always need something done yesterday."
"How extensive is your collection?" Wagner asked, thinking about their other commitments.
"It’s extensive. Three floors, a basement and an attic crammed full of family history going back a couple of hundred years."
Wagner felt a thrill run through his body at the thought of all the beautiful pieces they would see, feel and have access too. "That's going to take some time."
"Are you too busy to take on such a huge commitment?" Eli asked, his eyes narrowed, his hands posed on his drink.
"Of course not." Otis blurted out; frightened Wagner would try to squeeze too much money for the job. Otis couldn't wait to see furniture as beautiful and old as what was professed about Shadowleaf Plantation.
Switching his glance to Wagner, Eli waited for him to speak.
"We are busy but we can shift some things around and be available almost immediately." Wagner confirmed.
"That's good." Eli said, rising to his feet, walking around his desk. "Then you can call me when you are available?"
“Of course.” Wagner and Keel stood, placing the empty glasses on the desk. Shaking hands with the men, Eli led them to the front of the club. "Please have some dinner on me, if you have time."
"That's very gracious of you." Wagner said, throwing Otis a glowing smile. They were at the top of their careers and important people, such as Eli Rawls, were beginning to notice, he thought pleased.
Seated Otis glanced around the elegant restaurant. Maybe Aaron was right. Maybe killing Warren had been the right thing to do.
Leaving the men to settle at a table, Eli wished them a good night and walked back to his office. Settling himself behind his desk, he picked up the phone. He dialed his cousin's phone number and waited while the phone rang several times. When the voice mail picked up, he left a message, then leaned back into chair, then hooked his hands behind his neck.
He couldn't see either man being daring enough to try anything illegal. Wagner was arrogant, he could sense that, but even he seemed to be an unlikely person to get his hands dirty. Otis Keel had appeared too meek and mild to involve himself in anything illegal. But you never knew, he reminded himself. People were constantly surprising him.
Chapter 23
Miss Pettybone felt the initial rush of excitement she always experienced when she walked into the Jackson Evers International Airport. She loved airports. The hustle and bustle of so many different people arriving and departing always inspired her to travel more.
She wheeled her suitcase behind her and stood in line waiting to check her bag. After showing her drivers license and watching her bags tagged, she followed Lynn into another line. Slipping off her shoes, she placed her purse and shoes into a plastic container and waited while her bags went through the x-ray machine. Showing an attendant her ticket, she waited while he entered it into his computer.
"What time will we reach New York?"
"The planes are running on time, madam." The man said, completely bored, having answered the question already a hundred times that day.
"Thank you." Turning, she looked at Lynn. "So was Edgar all right with you coming with me? He didn't say much on the drive here."
"He wasn't thrilled but he didn't argue as much as I thought he would."
"Does he know why we are going?"
"God no, Loraine. He probably would have tried to put his foot down if he thought we were investigating a murder."
"You're not going to tell him?"
“Not unless he asks."
"You don't feel bad about deceiving him? You led him to believe we're going on vacation."
"Edgar is the typical absentminded professor, Loraine. You know that. He probably will not even remember where I am. Unless he needs something." She amended.
“I’m happy you're coming, Lynn. I just don't want to be the one responsible for Edgar getting angry."
"Edgar doesn't get angry." Lynn yawned. "He gets miffed."
"Miffed? What does that mean?"
“Mildly annoyed, he gets mildly annoyed."
"Well, I hope he doesn't get mildly annoyed with me." She informed her friend. She turned too gazed around the crowded airport. "Aside from Edgar finding out, I think we are going to have a fabulous time."
"I want to see some New York plays." Lynn reminded her friend.
"That just sounds thrilling." She teased. "Excuse me sir, do you know what time will we arrive in New York?" She asked the man who was standing at the end of line.
"It’s on your ticket." He pointed out rudely, his eyes peering at her from behind thick glasses.
"So it is. Although you needn't be so cranky." Miss Pettybone pointed out.
"Sorry madam." He answered, not making any effort to disguise his boredom.
"I don't think you're sorry at all." Miss Pettybone said, frowning at the man, feeling her temper rise at his rudeness.
"Loraine, chill. This poor overworked man is doing the best he can." Lynn said, smiling at him.
Miss Pettybone thought for a moment that the man was going to stick his tongue out at her. Instead, he threw Lynn a small smile, before bending over to help the person behind them with their container.
Aware that Miss Pettybone was watching him, he straightened and glared at her.
“I’m not with her." Lynn said, smiling at him.
Miss Pettybone twirled and stared at her friend. "You're being nice him? He is being rude."
Lynn motioned for Miss Pettybone to follow and walked towards the small airport bar. After a few seconds Miss Pettybone caught up with her friend. "Why were you nice to that rude man?"
"Because I don't take anything grumpy workers do personally."
Miss Pettybone stopped in her tracks and frowned at her friend. "You think I started that!"
Lynn laughed at Miss Pettybone’s expression. "No, but you are way too sensitive. Come on. Let's start our vacation. Let’s get a drink at the bar."
“I just have an awful feeling my bags won't make it to New York." Miss Pettybone replied, unhappily.
Lynn grinned as she led her friend away.
***
Worried, Miss Pettybone stared out the window of the plane, trying to find her luggage on the trailer that had pulled up next to the airplane, heaped with suitcases ready to board.
"I don't see my bag." She muttered.
"See what?" Lynn asked settling in her seat.
"My luggage, I don't see my luggage."
Leaning over to look out the small window, Lynn giggled. "Honestly Loraine, you can't really expect to see your luggage in all that mess."
Miss Pettybone sighed. "I just know my luggage is off to Alaska."
"Relax. If your luggage doesn't
make it, we'll go shopping and you can some buy some new things. God knows it's time you bought new clothes anyway."
"Easy enough for you to say. But I don't have a doting husband that brings in money like you do."
"No, but you have all that lovely money that your parents left you."
"How do you know my parents left me money?"
“Cause I peeked at your bank statement."
"You peeked at my bank statement? Why would you do such a thing?" Miss Pettybone asked, appalled.
"Because you're always so tight with your money, I was worried that you might need some."
"That was an invasion of my privacy, Lynn."
"Yeah, I know, Loraine, but it relieved my mind considerably to know you had lots of money."
"Well, as long as your mind is relieved." Miss Pettybone snapped.
Lynn patted Miss Pettybone’s hand, and then signaled to the flight attendant.
Chapter 24
Miss Pettybone stood in front of the rotating luggage carousel and watched dismayed as Lynn grabbed her suitcases one by one.
"I don't see my luggage, do you?" Miss Pettybone asked resigned.
Lynn shook her head, trying not to smile. "No, I don't"
"I knew it. Didn't I tell you my bags would be lost?"
"Yes, you did, Loraine. And frankly that’s kind of freaky. If we lived in Salem in the sixteen hundreds, you would have been burned at the stake." Lynn teased, taking Miss Pettybone’s arm. "We'll complain about your luggage, and then catch a cab to our hotel. After we unpack, we'll go shopping."
Miss Pettybone shook head at the injustice of it all, and then followed her friend to the courtesy booth.
*****
Lynn and Miss Pettybone stood outside LaQuardia airport and watched the driver slam Lynn's luggage into the trunk of the cab. Scrambling in behind her friend, Miss Pettybone yawned. They had both been up before dawn and on the road since seven-thirty.
“Where to?" The taxi driver asked, glancing back at them.
"The Waldorf-Astoria." Lynn answered, turning to her friend. "The hotel is supposed to be beautiful. I reserved us a suite."
"The Waldorf-Astoria." Miss Pettybone repeated. "I've heard of that hotel. Isn't it horribly expensive?"
"It will cost a bit of money but not a fortune." Lynn answered, smiling.
"You couldn't find anything less expensive?" She asked, her parent's frugality flooding her mind.
"I could have but I consider this my vacation. And it will probably be the only time I will ever be in New York. I want to have a wonderful time."
Not entirely happy about the choice of hotels, Miss Pettybone reminded herself that she had promised Lynn it would be a vacation mixed in with investigating.
Lynn grinned knowing her friend's thrifty nature. "Suck it up, Loraine. This was your idea. Besides, you wanted to be a sleuth. Sleuthing takes money."
"You are so not allowed to look into my bank statement anymore." Miss Pettybone stated, turning to gaze out the window.
Chapter 25
Wagner leaned back in his chair and yawned. Back at the Home Show, back to work and play. Life felt wonderful again. He leaned forward and studied the paperwork that lay in front of him. Picking up a couple of clips, he fastened the papers together.
They had been back two weeks and he was happy and pleased with the way his life was going. Getting rid of Warren Jones was the smartest thing he could have done. When he heard a knock on the door, he signed. “Come in.”
Cecil Black slipped inside the door and stood nervously, twirling a New York Yankee's cap in his hands.
"Yes, Cecil. What can I do for you?"
"I hate to bother you, Mr. Wagner, but I have a question."
Impatient, Wagner glanced back at the invoices. "Make it quick."
Cecil took a deep breath and closed the door. "Yes sir. You see, I've been wondering if you know where I can find Warren Jones."
Wagner felt his body stiffen in shock. He stared at the older man standing in front of him. "Are you talking about the man who took off without notice after Christmas?"
Cecil swallowed an anxious lump in his throat and stared at the floor. "Yes sir, you see Warren told me something about what you and he were into before he took off. And I ain't judging. But he always calls me on Wednesday nights and well, I ain't heard from him in a couple of weeks."
“I’m don‘t know what you are talking about. What are you trying to say?"
Cecil felt miserable but continued. "Warren told me all about what you two were up too."
“I don't know what you are accusing me of, or what you heard. But if you were a friend of his, you know he is quite a liar."
"Yes sir, he could tell some whoppers. I ain't denying that. But it's just that he told me if I don't hear from him I should call the police."
"Call the police about what?"
"Well, what you and him was up too."
Wagner stood up and walked over to the old man, then peered down at him. "Are you threatening me?"
Appalled, Cecil stepped back against the door. "Lord no, I ain't threatening you. I just want to make sure Warren is okay. That's all."
Wagner walked back behind his desk and sat down. "I don't know what Warren told you. However, I must say that I am disappointed that you believe anything that comes out of his mouth. The man was a notorious liar. You couldn't believe anything he ever said." Wagner warned, piling the paperwork in front of him, trying to think. "Last time I heard from Warren, he told me he was tired of where he was staying and was moving on."
"Oh, well, then that makes sense. He was pretty sick of Mississippi when he called me last time."
"So, is there anything else?"
"No sir."
"Then maybe you should get back to work."
"Yes sir." Cecil said, opening the door and backing out. I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Wagner.”
Wagner frowned at the closed door. What the hell? He should have known someone like Warren couldn't keep his mouth shut. He ran a hand along the end of his chin, while he tried to decide if he should talk to Otis about Cecil.
Otis would freak out if he knew someone was asking about Warren. Then, he would have two problems on his hands, he determined.
He sat quietly and thought about Cecil. He wondered if the man was really concerned about Warren or was he getting ready to take his place. Furious at the complications that Cecil had caused, Wagner stood up.
He strode to the door and stood for a moments watching the appraisals. Old and young were bunched together hoping to strike it rich with a rare antique.
He saw Cecil walking among the television cameras and his eyes narrowed in concentration. How old was the man anyway, upper sixties he bet. He never really noticed him before today. He had always just been there, like the sets.
Cecil was a small built man with thinning gray hair. The granny glasses he wore gave him a scholarly appearance. He always walked hunched over. Cecil would never attract much attention in a crowd. The only thing Wagner knew about Cecil was that he was good at his job and never missed a day.
Unlike Warren Jones who had used every excuse known to man when he missed work.
How had they become friends? He wouldn't have thought they had any thing in common.
Aggravated, Wagner gathered his paperwork up and slid them in his desk drawer, then walked out of the building. He hurried to his truck and slid in. Turning the key, he felt the big engine throb beneath his feet.
He pulled out of the parking space and turned towards home. Otis was still at the show and would wonder why he left without him. But he had bigger problems then Otis being pissed he didn't have a ride home. He desperately needed some time alone to think.
He pulled into his garage and turned the truck off, then sat for a few minutes thinking. Cecil was a huge problem. He knew Warren was living in Mississippi.
Wagner wondered if the police could trace Warren back to the show. He didn’t see how. When he had searched the house, h
e hadn't found anything personal pertaining to Warren. No notes, no letters, nothing.
The police might trace him to New York but thousands of people traveled in and out of the city every day. Warren would be just one more.
The immediate problem was what to do with Cecil. He shoved the door open and stepped out, then glanced around their immaculate garage and sighed. He and Otis had too much to lose to take a chance on Cecil talking to the police. Walking out of the garage and into the kitchen, he took a quick survey of their belongings.
The antique platter, with the intricate design of a castle they picked up in Italy was placed proudly in a plate rack on the wall. The beautiful bone dishes they bought at an auction in Paris were arranged in lighted kitchen cabinets.
A lifetime worth of belongings bought with care and were very special to himself and Otis. He had no intention losing one thing. He felt tension start in his chest and work its way all through his body. Walking into the living room, he poured himself a drink and pondered on life and death.
Cecil was old. He figured Cecil might have maybe ten years left in him. Ten years of working hard, six days a week.
So what was he thinking? That Cecil would be better off dead? He supposed he could arrange for Cecil to be involved in some type of accident.
If he were a friend of Warren's, then Wagner would be willing to bet that Cecil drank. But killing two men? He wasn't a murderer, was he?
No, he was only protecting himself and Otis. He tilted the glass and drained it of whiskey. Pouring himself another, Wagner walked over and sat down in the window seat. Savannah was such a beautiful city. He would be sorry to leave it. However, it couldn't be helped. He and Otis would have to leave before Cecil made trouble.
Unless he was dead, he thought again. And it would need to be done right away.
He held the glass up to the sunshine and stared at the golden glow of light that filtered onto his hand.