Hannah West: Sleuth on the Trail (Nancy Pearl's Book Crush Rediscoveries)

by Linda Johns

  “We are rather acquisitive, aren’t we?” I added. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but it was fun to say it and sound smug.

  “Yes, and less is always more,” she said.

  “I guess that’s the feng shui way,” I added.

  “Just shui ‘no’ to clutter,” Lily added. We all groaned a little at that one.

  “I love your necklace,” I said, admiring the yin/yang symbol that hung on a silver chain around Louise’s neck.

  There was a rumble of an announcement over the P.A. system. “I didn’t quite catch what that announcement was, but I’d better get back to my friend Georgia and our place in line,” Louise said. “As always, it’s lovely to see friends and neighbors.”

  “You think she did it, don’t you?” Lily whispered to me.

  “What makes you think I think that?”

  “You were doing that thing when you want to keep someone talking. ‘We are rather acquisitive, aren’t we?’ Come on. That’s not something you say every day. Or any day.”

  “Yeah, I do think she did it. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Neighbors wouldn’t think anything strange about seeing her out and about. It’s weird that she would break into her friends’ houses and handle their stuff, and then steal their stuff,” I said.

  “Hannah, it couldn’t be Louise!” Mom said. I hadn’t realized she was listening.

  “But there’s an obvious feng shui connection here,” I said.

  “Louise embraces many philosophies and beliefs, just like we all do. Just because she is studying feng shui doesn’t mean she is presumptuous enough to feng shui someone’s house without their knowledge. And I can’t believe I’m using ‘feng shui’ as a verb,” Mom said.

  She might have said something after that, but I really couldn’t hear her any longer. The sound inside the Convention Center was deafening. Hundreds of people talking all at once in a cavernous space that seemed to amplify sound. All four of the local TV stations had camera crews there ready to capture individuals’ hopes and dreams for their items. I imagined that every station would start the story with images of the crowds and long lines, and then they’d talk about how many people were there and how long we waited in line. People watching at home would probably feel a little sorry for us because most of us would spend so much time only to find our items were worthless, at least in terms of monetary value.

  Mom lifted her lamp-holding arm again, this time waving to her friend Mary Perez from KOMO TV. Mary waved back, imitating Mom’s lamp-lifting gesture. I was definitely going to watch the news tonight. Mary is the kind of reporter who will find the most interesting story of the day. Two of her most interesting stories featured our first two big cases in Belltown and on Portage Bay. Yep. Mary always did the best stories.

  Our instructions said to stay in line until the first-round appraisal crew came by to get some general information and take a quick photo. The first-round appraiser we got didn’t seem to be enjoying his job very much.

  “Name? Number? Object?” He wrote down just the basics and then took a picture with a digital camera.

  “That’s it? My future will be decided by that guy?” Lily whined.

  I’d read up on how the show worked, so I wasn’t as worried. “They’re going to send the digital image to an appraiser who specializes in a particular area. If the item looks intriguing to that appraiser, our number will be posted on the big digital screen over there.”

  “But he just had me hold the brooch in my hand. He didn’t get a picture of me,” Lily whined. I knew she was kidding. She’s a drama queen to be sure, but she’s not conceited or unreasonable.

  We found a place to sit down and eat our lunches. I looked around for Georgia and Louise, but I didn’t see them. I certainly didn’t see Georgia before I practically ran into her, head to head, on the way to the bathroom.

  “Hi, Georgia,” I said. “I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Hannah. I live across the street from Louise,” I said. Look at me! Friendly girl with grown-up manners!

  “Oh, hey, I thought you looked familiar. Nice to see you again. My name’s Georgia. Wait. You already knew that. My last name is Smith. Georgia Smith. Hey, would you be willing to watch my box while I go into the bathroom? I can’t figure out any way to keep Louise’s and my things safe and take care of business, if you know what I mean.”

  Georgia eased the box onto the floor. I said I was happy to keep an eye on things. I’d be even happier if I knew what kinds of “things” I was watching (but I didn’t actually say that part). I bent over to look inside, but all I could see was a bunch of bubble wrap and tissue paper. I poked around a bit, but everything was wrapped tight. I was tempted to try to unwrap the items a bit, but it was too risky.

  “Thanks so much,” Georgia said when she came back out.

  “No problem,” I said. “What did you bring here today?” I asked. I sounded exactly like Marcia Wellstone, host of Antiques Caravan.

  “Me? Oh, just a … bowl. A salad bowl. My uncle found it at a Goodwill somewhere in Michigan,” she said.

  A bowl, eh?

  “What kind of bowl? Ceramic? Glass?” I inquired. I was really thinking: a Chihuly bowl? But that was crazy. A blown-glass bowl by Dale Chihuly was certainly not an antique.

  “Ceramic. What about you? Did you bring something? Or are you here with your parents?”

  “I brought a Ming Dynasty brush pot my grandfather gave me,” I said, realizing, of course, that it could be imitation. “My mom is here, too. She’s hauling some old lamp around. She also brought a ton of food, so come find us if you want to eat.”

  “Right. I’ll do that. Thanks again for keeping an eye on my … bowl,” she said as she lifted the box and walked away.

  “Good-bye,” she called over her shoulder. I stood as if rooted to the carpet. I could wait a few seconds and head in the same direction, following her. I wanted to know what was in the box.

  Unfortunately, I had something else I needed to take care of first. At that moment I needed to go to the bathroom.

  CHAPTER 21

  “I TOLD YOU those numbers were lucky!” Lily squealed as the digital board showed that numbers 433, 434, and 435 were to go on to the next stage.

  The guy who had checked us in told us where to go if our numbers were posted.

  “It looks like we need to go to three different areas,” Mom said. “How do you girls want to do this?”

  “I can go alone,” I said. I held up my cell phone, in anticipation of Mom’s question, which would most certainly be “Do you have your cell phone?” followed by “Is your cell phone fully charged?” Yes, and yes again.

  “Okay, call me if it seems they’re going to continue with your pot, and I’ll run right over,” Mom said.

  I headed over to a section labeled “Asian Art.”

  “I’ll need your release, signed by someone over eighteen, like a parent, and your registration form,” a girl said at the entrance to the section. I handed her my paperwork, completed and signed by my mom, and she checked me off a list.

  “Hello, what’s your name?”

  I was surprised to see that Marcia Wellstone, the main host of Antiques Caravan, was speaking to me. I remembered I’d seen her talking about Chinese art and artifacts on the show before. This must be her area of expertise, on top of being the main host. Suddenly everything lit up, and I knew the cameras were rolling. Man, once they start moving on this they really move fast. There wasn’t any time to call Mom.

  “I’m Hannah,” I said.

  “It’s wonderful to meet you here in Seattle, Hannah,” Marcia said. “What do you have here today?”

  I held out my hands with the brush pot and brush rest.

  “Let’s put them on the table here. What can you tell me about these pieces?”

  I wondered if I’d perhaps lost the ability to talk, now that there was a chance this might be on TV. Lily and I had been on a TV show called Dockside Blues last summer, but no matter how important Lil
y tries to make it sound, we were still just extras. I’d never actually had to talk.

  “This is a porcelain Chinese brush pot that my grandfather gave me. It was designed to hold calligraphy brushes. And this coordinating piece is where one would rest his or her brush when taking a break.” Whoa! Look at me! I rattled that off like some sort of expert. I felt as if I were outside my body watching as someone else took over.

  “Both pieces are quite lovely, aren’t they? And it seems that they were indeed intended as a set. Do you know anything about the age or the style?” Marcia asked.

  Here I go again: “I think this style of pottery is from the Ming Dynasty, which would mean it was made somewhere between 1368 and 1643. I don’t actually know if it’s real. It could be an imitation of something from the Ming Dynasty.”

  “Your knowledge is quite impressive,” Marcia said. She smiled. She seemed nice, and all of a sudden I felt completely relaxed. “Did your grandfather tell you all of this?”

  “No, actually I went to the library and looked it up in Kovels’,” I said.

  “That would be Kovels’ Antiques and Collectibles, an excellent resource,” she said. I could tell she was clarifying my source in case we really ended up on TV. The title of the book would probably appear on screen, too. “Hannah, your research at the library has certainly paid off. These pieces are, in fact, from the Ming Dynasty. The color at the top tells me that these were created in the later part of that dynasty, probably between 1612 and 1624.”

  I saw that my mom had come into our section. Maybe she had a hunch that the bright lights meant they’d chosen me.

  “Is your grandfather of Chinese descent?” Marcia asked.

  “No, he wasn’t. He’s my mom’s dad,” I said, pointing to Mom.

  “Great! Let’s get Hannah’s mom in this story,” Marcia said. They exchanged quick handshakes and introductions.

  “So these items were a gift from your father?” Marcia prompted Mom.

  “Yes. He bought them for Hannah before she was born. He died several months before I actually went to China to bring her home. But my dad knew she was coming, and he knew she would be a much-loved girl,” Mom said. Uh-oh. She was choking up. This always happened when she talked about her dad and how he died before he met me.

  “He left me a note that said he knew I’d find my way in the world artistically,” I said, to divert some attention from Mom, in case she completely blubbered.

  “That’s a lovely story. Do you use these items?”

  “I do use them. I’m an artist, just like my grandfather predicted,” I said.

  “Excellent. Well, Hannah and Maggie, these items are authentic, but they are not rare. The value for the brush pot is $545, and $230 for the brush rest. Are you going to hang on to them?” Marcia asked.

  “Absolutely. I’m keeping these forever,” I said.

  “I’m sure you’ll make good use of them and take good care of them. Thank you so much for sharing your story with Antiques Caravan.”

  The lights turned off. Instantly things felt dark and cold. I’ve been around TV cameras and lights enough to know that it always feels that way once the harsh, bright lights go away.

  “That really was great. Thank you so much!” Marcia said. “I really enjoyed this segment. We’ll let you know when it will air.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “DID YOU HEAR that?” I asked Mom when the crew had moved on to someone else. “She didn’t say if the segment airs, she said she’ll let us know when it will air. As if it’s a done thing!”

  “You were great!” Lily rushed up to me.

  “You saw it?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we have some time to kill before they get to us,” Lily said.

  “How about you, Mom? What’s up with the lamp?”

  “Who cares? I’m just so thrilled about your fame,” she said.

  “Does that mean they weren’t interested in the lamp?” I asked “You’ve been hauling it around for nothing?”

  “I’ll have you know that they were quite interested in the lamp. The first round estimate is that it’s worth more than $4,000. But I don’t have any emotional attachment to this lamp, and I have a bit of an attachment to you. I’m sure Happy and Frank don’t mind. They probably know exactly how much the lamp is worth anyway,” Mom said.

  “Maybe that’s exactly how much they paid for it,” Lily said.

  “Anyway, I’m glad I gave up my spot,” Mom said. She gave me a big hug.

  Her devotion to me also meant she’d be lugging that lamp around for the rest of the day.

  The TV lights were back on in our section.

  “Let’s watch this next one,” Mom whispered.

  “It’s Louise!” I hadn’t realized she was in the same section I was. Marcia Wellstone had already gone through the introductions before we got close enough to clearly see and hear everything.

  “I understand you’re quite knowledgeable about feng shui, the Chinese practice of placement and arrangement of space, which is believed to achieve harmony with the environment,” Marcia said.

  “I’m studying feng shui, and I make it a part of my daily life in my work and living spaces. But I believe it will be a lifelong study. There is so much to learn,” Louise said. “It is a discrete system involving a mix of geographical, philosophical, mathematical, aesthetic, and astrological ideas. Feng means ‘wind,’ and shui translates to ‘water.’ ”

  “Are there a few basics you could give us now?” Marcia prompted.

  “It’s quite complex, and Americans tend to make light of it. But in general, color dictates much of what happens in a room. Red is a creative, energetic color and is best used on a southern wall. If you have a creative job, you might consider a red southern wall in your work space. If you work at home, you should make sure the toilet lid stays closed, especially if it’s in a straight line from an outside exit. Otherwise money that comes into your home might be flushed away.”

  Mom put her hand on my arm as if to keep me from jumping up and down while pointing and screaming “Ah-ha! You are the culprit!”—which is exactly what I wanted to do. I knew it all along, and I wanted to make that known, too. Well, almost all along. Now the two specific examples Louise gave were exactly what she had done to houses on Millionaire’s Row. Okay. She hadn’t exactly painted a wall red, but there were those paint chips taped up to a southern wall in one of those big brick houses. Closing the toilet lid in Jodi and Charlie’s house had deprived their animals of an extra water source, but Louise thought it was important for them to have it closed.

  “Anything that applies to Antiques Caravan?” Marcia asked Louise.

  “Definitely. You should know the history of the objects in your home. If a piece of furniture or an artifact was stolen or was once owned by someone who went bankrupt or otherwise met bad fortune, you may want to reconsider having that item in your home,” Louise said.

  “Let’s talk about the item you brought from your home,” Marcia said. “What can you tell us?”

  I hadn’t paid much attention to the bowl that was on the table next to Louise. She picked it up and I still couldn’t tell what was significant about it. It looked a little like a bowl I made for Mother’s Day in fourth grade. It was unglazed terra cotta with a zigzag design painted or etched on the perimeter.

  “From what I’ve been told, this is early Chinese painted pottery, possibly as old as 2000 B.C. It’s hand modeled, and the walls appear to be built by cording. As you can see, it’s only about six inches in diameter and so was probably used in the home for food or beverage,” she explained.

  “Looks like you can have my job,” Marcia said with a laugh. “You’re absolutely right. This is a Neolithic pottery bowl, Majiayao Yangshao Culture, from the Machang phase, which places it somewhere between 2000 and 2300 B.C., although I have a hunch it’s closer to the 2000 B.C. mark, which, of course, is quite impressive. The condition is good. There are a few minor chips to the rim, but they’re quite minor and don’t detrac
t from the significance of this rare piece. May I ask how you came to have this?”

  I was grinding my teeth. She probably stole it from one of our neighbors.

  “It was a gift from my ex-husband,” Louise said. She seemed to catch something in Marcia’s face. Louise laughed and quickly added, “My ex-husband and I remain dear friends, and I don’t believe there’s any negative energy associated with how this piece came into my possession.”

  A likely story, I thought.

  “Any idea of the value?” Marcia asked. Louise shook her head no.

  When Marcia gave the estimated value, there was a gasp from the crowd. It was definitely an amount worth gasping over. Staggering. I can’t even repeat it because it blows my mind.

  And to think Louise had probably stolen it from the rightful owners.

  The TV lights turned off and several people rushed to speak with Louise and Marcia. Maybe she’d sell it before she left the building.

  CHAPTER 23

  MOM WAS KEEPING a tight leash on me, so to speak, trying to keep me from getting involved in Louise’s—or whoever it rightfully belonged to—bowl.

  “Louise seems so happy right now. Maybe we can just leave her alone for a while,” Mom said. “Besides, she said her former husband gave her the bowl. She obviously knows quite a bit about its history.”

  I wasn’t convinced.

  If I couldn’t get to the truth today, I knew it would come out when Antiques Caravan aired. Or maybe this part wouldn’t air. I’d read that the Caravan research team thoroughly researched each item before it was featured on the TV program. When the show first started years ago, they’d featured a painting that had been stolen from a private collector eighty years ago. The painting had fallen off the radar of those in the art-appraising world because the crime had happened so many years ago. But the much-loved painting was part of one family’s history, and the great-grandniece of the owner recognized it on the air. Ever since, Antiques Caravan had scrupulously researched each item mentioned or even shown in passing.