A Fatal Fabergé

by Ellery Adams

  “So what? He was going to give it back.” His eyes widened. “Unless he decided not to, right?”

  Molly nodded. She was glad she didn’t have to point this out to him. She felt bad enough as it was, digging into his father’s past and the mistakes he’d made right up to the present.

  “Look, I’m reasonably certain Dad didn’t find the egg. He was upset it was missing and was angry with my mother for hiding it. He searched every building on the estate, so did Aunt Natasha. But since my mother said she hid it in the cottage, he was still looking for it there, right up until the day he died.”

  “Your mother was close friends with Felix. Maybe she gave it to him for safekeeping and he’s been hiding it, either to sell himself or to keep as a reminder of your mother. Hattie told me he brings flowers to her grave every week. If your father found out he had it . . .”

  “What? You think Felix killed my father?” Maxim shook his head. “I don’t believe he could do something like that. Besides, he swears he doesn’t have it, and I believe him. He let Aunt Natasha search his house, and the shop, and it’s not there.”

  “Just because it wasn’t in either of those places doesn’t mean he didn’t move it somewhere else, like a safe-deposit box at his bank, or somewhere you wouldn’t think of. I take it you’ve only got his word for it that the buyer cut off all contact?”

  “Yes, but Felix wouldn’t lie. He would never betray my mother.”

  “Except your mother isn’t alive,” Molly said. Maxim was naïve, but she could understand how he felt about Felix. He was an old family friend, a man her mother treated like a brother, which would make him more like an uncle to Maxim.

  “How much of a cut was Felix getting?”

  “A million dollars, according to my father. The rest of the money was going to be split between my parents and Aunt Natasha.”

  “Why her? I thought she didn’t know your mother took the egg.”

  “She didn’t, but Dad said Mom was adamant she be given a share of the proceeds. I guess she felt bad about taking it.”

  Stealing would be the better word, Molly thought, but Maxim didn’t want to think of his mother as a thief.

  “I have another theory,” she said. “It’s a bit off the wall, and might not be easy to hear.”

  “It’s okay. Go ahead.”

  “What if your father found the egg, told Natasha, and blackmailed her? He tells her he’d be willing to give it to her for the discounted price of, let’s say, three million dollars. If she refuses, he’ll sell it on the dark web, and then she won’t get a dime, and the egg will be lost to her family forever. He wouldn’t be worried she’d call the police, because he knew the egg was a family secret, and she didn’t want the publicity.”

  Maxim’s face began to crumple and tears welled up in his eyes again. “I know Aunt Natasha feels it’s her duty to protect the Gordon name, and the Fabergé egg, but she would never give in to blackmail. I’m certain she’d go to the police.” Molly didn’t think he looked all that convinced. He grabbed another napkin and wiped his eyes with it. “I shouldn’t have told you about this. It was a big mistake.”

  “I don’t think you would have told me unless you felt it was important.”

  He sat back in his chair. “Are you going to tell Detective Lombardi?”

  “I think I have to, don’t you?”

  “My father was a lot of things, Molly, but he wouldn’t have blackmailed my aunt. Please don’t tell Detective Lombardi he did.”

  “It’s a theory, nothing more. But the police have to consider every possibility.”

  “Could you at least talk to Aunt Natasha before you tell him? Can you do that?”

  Molly hesitated. She had to let Lombardi know about the egg. It was worth a lot of money, and was a huge motive for murder. But as Lombardi would most likely say, blackmail was only one theory, and there were other reasons Curtis could have been killed, reasons that had nothing to do with the missing Fabergé egg. The least she could do was meet with Natasha, ask her about it, and gage her reaction.

  “All right, I’ll talk to Natasha before I say anything to Lombardi, but only if you promise not to tell her I know about the egg. I’ll bring it up with her when we meet, but I don’t want her having a heads-up that I know. Agreed?”

  He crossed his heart with his finger. “Agreed,” he said.

  Chapter 11

  It started to rain around midnight, and the sound of it pounding on the roof and the wind howling around the eaves kept Molly awake. Matt and the cats were sleeping soundly beside her, Tyler was snug in his bed, and Starling had called earlier to let them know she was spending the night at her friend Rachel’s house. At least Molly didn’t have to worry about her driving home in the pouring rain. But trying to get back to sleep was impossible. She couldn’t stop thinking about the Fabergé egg and the theories floating around in her mind about Curtis trying to sell it on his own, or blackmailing Natasha before he’d give it back to her. He needed money, and fast. His wife’s untimely death hadn’t changed his financial situation.

  Sometime in the early morning hours, she finally drifted off to sleep. But when the alarm went off at six thirty and Matt got up for work, she climbed out of bed and put on her robe and fuzzy slippers, and went downstairs. She fed the cats, then mixed together a bowl of yogurt and muesli for Matt’s breakfast. For herself, she had a bowl of multigrain cereal and a slice of raisin bread toast.

  Before Matt left for work, they checked on Tyler, but he was still fast asleep. Matt kissed her goodbye, and Molly went back to bed for an hour. She woke to the sound of the garage door opening. Starling was home. She got out of bed and padded into Tyler’s room. He was wide awake, standing up in his crib, and his diaper needed changing.

  Starling came upstairs. “Aunt Molly, I can change his diaper.”

  “I’ve got it,” Molly said. She appreciated Starling’s enthusiasm for her job, but she also wanted to make sure she had time off from doing it. Living in their house made that somewhat problematic, as Starling was always ready to pitch in. “Did you have a nice time with Rachel?”

  “Yeah, it was great,” Starling said. “We went shopping, and then we went out to dinner, and we watched an old movie, the Thomas Crowne Affair, starring Steven McQueen. Have you seen it?”

  “Yes, I have. It’s a great movie. I like the remake with Pierce Brosnan, too.” Molly finished with the diaper and dressed Tyler in a red and black fleece-hooded romper. “It’s so weird you watched that movie. Have you had breakfast?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Tyler’s ready. Let’s go downstairs, and while you’re eating I’ll tell you a story I heard about a Fabergé egg that could be connected to Curtis Cobb’s case.”

  In the kitchen, Molly made two cappuccinos, and Starling toasted two slices of multigrain bread. One was for herself, the other for Tyler. Molly took a hard-boiled egg out of the refrigerator and cut it into small pieces for Tyler. As she fed him, and Starling ate her breakfast, she told her about her conversations with Hattie and Maxim, and the story of the Fabergé egg.

  When she was done, Starling said, “It is a little like the Thomas Crowne Affair, with a mysterious art collector trying to buy the egg from Galina.” She sipped her coffee. “Her life could be a movie, the way her parents weren’t around much when she was growing up, and how they disowned her because she married someone they didn’t like. How could anyone do that to their child? It makes me wonder what it did to her psyche. It had to have affected her in some way, even into adulthood.”

  “All I know is, I could never disown Tyler for marrying someone I didn’t approve of,” Molly said. “I might try to talk to him about it, and express my concerns, but at the end of the day it would be his decision.”

  “Do you know what the Fabergé egg looks like?”

  “No, but Felix was the intermediary between Galina and the buyer, and he took photographs for her to take to Florida, so I’m hoping he has duplicates. When I talk to him, I�
��ll ask if I can see them.”

  “Do you think it’s true the buyer cut off all contact when he heard she was dead?”

  “That’s what Maxim said, and I suppose it makes sense, if they were worried the sale could become public. An anonymous art collector wouldn’t want anyone to know what they’re buying.” Molly looked out the sliding glass doors. The downpour had ended and it was raining lightly now. “Of course, this is supposing Felix isn’t lying,” she said. “If he was still in touch with the buyer, because he and Curtis decided they’d sell the egg without Natasha’s knowledge, or if Curtis was doing this on his own, it’s possible something went wrong with the deal, and that led to his death.”

  Starling took a bite of her toast. “Now that you know about the egg, are you going to bring it up when you interview people?”

  “Yes, absolutely. It beats all the other motives I’ve been exploring.”

  “Have you told Tony?”

  “No, not yet. Maxim asked me to talk to Natasha first, and I agreed that I would.”

  “Has he shared any information with you?”

  “Nothing significant. I know he’s sending a posse of cops out today to knock on the doors of all the guests who flew the coop after Curtis died. I think he’s going to look into Curtis’s business and his gambling debts. There could be something there.”

  “You don’t sound too convinced. I have to admit, I like your egg theory better. The mysterious buyer could be a very dangerous person, and Galina and Curtis got mixed up in something way over their heads.”

  Molly finished feeding Tyler and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “There might not be anything more nefarious about the Fabergé egg scheme than the fact that Galina took it from the Gordon collection without permission, but I have to explore it, especially with Natasha. Because if Curtis did find the egg, and in his desperation to sell it he tried to blackmail her, that gives her a very good reason to kill him.”

  “Isn’t she too old? Does she even have the strength to kill a man?”

  Molly smiled. “She’s sixty-four, which I know sounds ancient when you’re in your twenties, but believe me, she’s fit enough and quite capable of pushing someone out a window.” She leaned over and kissed Tyler’s cheek. “All done, baby boy. I better get a move on.” She stood up. “I’m supposed to be at the manor house at nine thirty to meet Natasha.” She started for the stairs but stopped and turned. “By the way, if you see a silver sedan parked on the street outside of Mrs. Houghton’s house, or anywhere else for that matter, would you let me know?”

  “Sure. What’s it about?”

  “I think I saw the same car yesterday morning, and later in the afternoon. Mrs. Houghton doesn’t know who it belongs to, and while it’s probably nothing, I don’t like not knowing who’s driving that car. After what happened over the summer, with that box being delivered to our front porch, I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “I totally get it,” Starling said. “I’ll keep an eye out for it. And I’ll be sure to set the house alarm after you leave.”

  • • •

  By the time Molly arrived at the manor house, the rain had completely stopped and the sun was trying to break through the gray clouds. As she walked up the path to the door, she realized a woman was watching her from behind one of the downstairs windows. She had gray hair, and Molly thought it might be Peggy, since she was an older woman. She disappeared as soon as Molly looked her way.

  The door was open this time, and Molly entered a long tiled corridor. The woman she’d seen at the window appeared in an open doorway down the hall, drying her hands on a dish towel. She was tall and gaunt, with a long neck and sharp cheekbones.

  “Are you the new girl from the cleaning company?”

  “No. My name is Molly Appleby. I’m—”

  She cut her off. “I hope you’re not selling anything, because we’re not buying. Didn’t you see the No Solicitation sign on the road coming in?”

  “I’m not a solicitor,” Molly said. “I write for Collector’s Weekly.”

  “Forget it.” The woman waved a hand at her, shooing her away like she was a pesky fly. “Ms. Gordon doesn’t subscribe to any magazines.”

  “I have an appointment to see Natasha. Maxim has asked me to write a story for my magazine about his father, and I’m talking to everyone who was close to Curtis, all the people who knew him best. Natasha said I could come by at nine thirty. Could you let her, and Maxim, know that I’m here?”

  “Maxim’s out, and Natasha hasn’t asked for her breakfast yet. She’s probably still sleeping. Curtis’s death has hit everyone hard.” Her tone was accusatory, as if Molly had a lot of nerve being there at all.

  “I understand, but she did agree to talk to me.” Molly felt a little irked that Natasha wasn’t up and ready to meet her. Did she think her time was more valuable than her own? “Could you check to see if she’s up?”

  “No. I will not. She’ll let me know when she wants her breakfast. But you can come in and wait, if you want.”

  Peggy turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen. It was a chef’s delight, with top-of-the-line appliances and a granite countertop and a large island with six stools around it. The walls were painted a bright canary yellow, the cabinets were white with black iron handles. A fluffy white cat was lapping water from a dish on the floor. It looked up at Molly and started to walk toward her.

  “What a pretty kitty,” Molly said. She started to bend down to pet the cat, but Peggy stopped her.

  “Don’t touch her. She might bite.” The cat veered away from Molly and ran out the door into the hall. “Loki was Galina’s cat,” Peggy said. “Do you know about her?”

  “Yes, she was Maxim’s mother, and died in a drowning accident this past summer.”

  “That’s right. Natasha took Loki in after Galina died, but the cat’s having trouble settling into her new life here. She’s been acting out, scratching and nipping. I think the manor house is too big for her. We hardly see her. She’s always roaming, and only comes in here when she’s hungry or thirsty.”

  “Why didn’t Curtis keep her?”

  “He wanted nothing to do with Loki, and besides, Hattie hates cats. Loki had nowhere else to go, and Natasha certainly wasn’t going to send her to the shelter. She says she’s part of the family. I think she’s determined to make friends with her, but as I said, the cat is having a hard time adjusting.”

  “Maxim told me you were close to Galina. It must have been devastating for you when she died.”

  “It’s not something I want to talk about,” Peggy said. “Do you want coffee? I’ve made a fresh pot.”

  It would be Molly’s third cup of coffee that morning, but she wasn’t going to refuse. Sitting at the table and drinking a coffee would give her an excuse to linger in the kitchen until Natasha woke up.

  “Thank you,” she said, “that would be nice.”

  Peggy gestured for her to sit at the kitchen table, where a lazy Susan held a sugar dish and a cream pot. She poured two mugs of coffee, set the mugs on a tray, and added a small plate and a knife and fork. She brought the tray to the table and set it down in front of Molly, handing her the plate and utensils. Then she went to the counter and lifted a large plastic container, which she brought back to the table.

  “Leftover sweets from the party Saturday night.” She popped off the lid. “Help yourself.”

  Molly looked inside. There were all sorts of cookies and cakes. She chose a slice of lemon poppyseed cake. “Did you make any of this, or was the entire event catered?”

  “Natasha hired a caterer. I don’t have the staff, or the energy, to throw a big party.” Peggy sat down across from her and stirred cream into her coffee. “I remember your name. My son mentioned he met you. He said you were with Maxim in the dining room after Curtis fell.”

  “I went to find him and stayed with him for a little while,” Molly said. “Um, I hope it’s not out of place for me to say, but Curtis didn’t fall. Someone pushed him.
”

  Peggy sipped her coffee and nodded. “I’m well aware. Detective Lombardi informed Natasha, and she told me. Has he questioned you?”

  “Yes, and my husband,” Molly said. “Matt is a doctor. He was the first one on the scene. When Natasha arrived, she was so cool and calm. I was very impressed. Even under that kind of stress, she didn’t lose her composure.”

  “No, she wouldn’t, because that’s not the way she was raised. She rarely shows her emotions. His death has shocked her, of course. It’s shocked everyone who knew him.”

  “I’m sure it has.” Molly took a bite of the cake. It was good, but not as good as the lemon poppyseed cake her mother made. Thinking about her mother, she made a mental note to call her later, since she was driving back from Boston with Sean that morning. “Maxim told me you’ve been working for the Gordons since 1968. You must like working here.”

  “Of course I like working here,” Peggy snapped. “I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t.” Her tone was defensive, which Molly thought was curious. “Back in those days, the house was filled with servants. It stayed that way until Mr. Gordon passed away, six months after his wife, in 1998. When Natasha took over the estate, she decided it would be more cost-effective to hire outside firms to do most of the work. I’m the only one she kept on full-time.”

  “Does it get lonely working here by yourself?”

  “Sometimes, but people come and go. There are the house cleaners, lawn people, the maintenance man.”

  “James Galloway? I met him yesterday.”

  “Yes, James, or his father, is usually around during the week.”

  “Do you live nearby?”

  “I live here, in the manor house,” Peggy said. “When everyone else was let go, Natasha told me I could live in the housekeeper’s quarters. It’s a one-bedroom apartment, just down the hall from the kitchen. It’s very convenient, not having to drive back and forth. Especially now, as I’m getting older. My eyes aren’t what they once were, and this time of year, driving on country roads without any streetlights, it’s not easy.”