by John J. Lamb
I touched her shoulder. “Sweetheart, I hope you understand that ‘grilling a suspect’ is just an expression.”
Not surprisingly, Tina spent triple the time she expected talking to the county attorney, so it was nearly five-thirty by the time we left the office. It was hot and oppressively humid outside and the air was as unpleasantly stagnant as the debate on congressional ethics. We got into her patrol car and headed eastward on Coggins Spring Road, leaving town and crossing the Shenandoah River. As we approached the Blue Ridge Mountains, Tina turned south onto U.S. Route 340, otherwise known as the Stonewall Jackson Highway.
As we drove through a combination of pastureland and forest, I said, “Just so I have my facts straight, Holly was at the teddy bear guild meeting on Saturday morning, right?”
“Yes. She got there about ten and was one of the last ones to leave our house,” said Ash.
“Probably not more than five minutes before you called,” added Tina.
“So, we know she wasn’t present when Merrit was killed. Did either of you guys notice anything different or strange about her demeanor?”
Ash thought for a second. “No, she was her usual self.”
“I agree,” said Tina.
“And based on the times I’ve talked with her at meetings, wouldn’t you say that her usual self is pretty…I don’t know…let’s say, naïve?”
“Yes, but it had to have been an act,” Ash said.
“You’re probably right. It’s just a little hard for me to imagine that someone who blushes and hides her eyes when we kiss, also possesses the ice-cold self-presence to sit and scam us for months while making counterfeit teddy bears.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. The way you guys kiss, sometimes I blush,” said Tina.
After another few miles, we saw an old wooden billboard ahead on the left side of the road that read, ROCKY MOUNT COVE MOBILE HOME PARK. The trailer park was surrounded by a white-painted brick wall and looked to be about the size of a normal city block. Two Bradford pear trees flanked the entrance and, inside, there were three rows of single and doublewide mobile homes, separated by narrow asphalt lanes. The prefab houses were old, but most looked well-maintained with tidy little yards. There was a small manager’s office just inside the entrance and beside it was a grassy playground with a metal jungle gym, swings, and a teeter-totter. It wasn’t the exclusive Seacliff district of San Francisco, but at the same time it wasn’t a slum.
Which brings me to something I’ve wondered about ever since moving to the South. In this era of social sensitivity and political correctness, why is it still considered perfectly acceptable to call the residents of mobile home communities “trailer park trash?” It seems to me that making cruel jokes about folks because they live in low-income housing is just a form of bigotry. What’s more, I’ve met plenty of “trash” that lived in bayside condos and million-dollar mansions. It isn’t where you live that’s important, but how.
Holly Reuss and her kids lived in space number twenty-two, on the third tier of homes. The house was a white doublewide with a pair of ceramic gnomes on the tiny front lawn and a brightly colored windsock dangling from a window awning support. An older model Honda Civic was in the carport, which seemed to indicate that Holly was home. Tina parked the patrol car in front of the house and we got out. There were birds chirping and the faint grinding hum of an overworked air conditioner could be heard from the back of the house. Otherwise it was quiet and peaceful.
We went up onto the claustrophobically small screened-in porch and Tina rapped on the aluminum door. The door opened a second later and Holly Reuss blinked at us in surprise, brushed away a stray strand of black hair, and then her moon-shaped face broke into an expression of wary delight. She was still wearing her work uniform: A dowdy calf-length gray corduroy skirt that accentuated her pear-shaped figure and a pale blue linen blouse that bore cartoon images of cats and dogs dressed as doctors and nurses.
“Hi, you guys! What brings y’all over here?”
It was a cheerful greeting, but I noticed that Holly remained in the doorway.
Tina looked nonplussed and I think she was expecting a more furtive greeting. She said, “Holly, I’m sorry but this is more of a business call than social.”
Holly’s face froze. “Oh my God, is there something wrong with my kids? They—”
“No, your kids are fine. We need to talk to you about something else. Can we come inside?”
Rubbing her upper lip, she said, “Oh, I don’t know, the house is such a mess. Can we talk out here?”
Tina shook her head. “This is kind of a sensitive issue and it’s hot out here.”
“But I’m getting supper ready.”
“I guess I’m not making myself very clear. This is a criminal matter, Holly.” There was just a touch of iciness in Tina’s voice now. “We have reason to believe that you’re making counterfeit antique teddy bears. It’s also possible the bears could be connected with a murder. Now, can we come in?”
“Murder? Oh Lord, yes! Come in!” Holly threw the door open.
Going inside, we stopped and stared in astonishment at what had once been a living room, but was now a miniature assembly plant for teddy bears and quilts. There was a large unfinished wooden worktable in the corner of the room. On it was a Bernina sewing machine, piles of folded fabric, and dozens of neatly stacked unassembled quilt squares. Suspended from the wall above the table, was an antique Log Cabin–design quilt that Holly was obviously using as the model for her efforts. It was identical to the bogus quilt we’d recovered from the museum.
In the other corner of the room was a smaller table that was serving as a teddy bear tanning gallery. A sturdy metal frame straddled the tabletop and there were three sunlamps attached to it. The bright lights shone down, baking a pair of bogus Michtom teddies that were just beginning to have their mohair fur artificially aged and faded. Seen in their pristine state, I wasn’t as impressed with their quality as the bears we’d found at the museum. I realized that the weathering process also served to camouflage the unremarkable workmanship.
Beside the table was a workbench laden with an assortment of metal files, pet grooming brushes and combs, tweezers, sandpaper, and emery boards. It was pretty much everything needed to give a counterfeit antique teddy bear the authentic scuffs and wear marks that an experienced collector would expect to find on a century-old stuffed animal.
Standing against the opposite wall was a modular metal shelf unit and it was neatly loaded with teddy bears, attesting to the fact that Holly had been busy. Six or seven sham Michtoms were on the top shelf and there were maybe ten bogus Bruin Manufacturing bears sitting on the shelf below that. But when I realized what was on the bottom shelf, my amazement gave way to simmering rage. There sat two counterfeit Farnell Alpha bears identical to the one stolen from our home two weeks earlier. I tapped Ash gently on the arm and nodded in the direction of the Farnell bears. She stifled a gasp and turned to look accusingly at Holly, who wore an expression that said she was dimly aware that our visit was about to suddenly turn nasty, yet seemed to have no idea why.
The smart thing would have been to let Tina handle the interrogation. But the memory of our home being violated and my brush with death was too fresh, so I was mad and unwilling to wait for answers. I bent over to grab one of the Farnell bears and then held it up in front of Holly. “Pardon me if this sounds just a little abrupt, but where the hell did you get the original to make this fake?”
Holly shrank from me. “It’s not a fake, it’s a replica.”
“Oh, don’t play word games with me.”
“But I’m not, Brad—Mr. Lyon,” she corrected herself when she saw from my expression that we were no longer on a first name basis. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
“Okay, let’s pretend you don’t know. Two weeks ago, some crook broke into our home in the middle of the night, took a shot at me, and stole the original.”
“What! I don’t know anything about that!”
“As if your partner in crime didn’t tell you about it when he delivered the bear.”
“I don’t have a partner in crime!” Holly wailed.
“Stick with that story and you’ll be doing as much prison time as he will.”
“But Mr. Lyon, we’re friends. I’d never do anything to hurt you or Ashleigh.” Holly began to cry.
“That’s the bear taken from your house?” asked Tina.
“A first-rate copy, right down to the little bald spot on the left side of his muzzle.” I handed the teddy to her.
Ash touched my arm and I saw that she looked concerned rather than angry, which wasn’t really a surprise. My wife’s anger is like a Fourth of July skyrocket: quick to explode and then burn out. Also, she’s more kindly than I am. She’s inclined to believe the best about people and give them the benefit of the doubt, which was obviously the case now. Ash murmured, “Brad, I’m as mad as you are, but I think she’s telling the truth.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s scared to death of you hating her; not of being arrested. Also, I can’t imagine she’d have let us in if she’d known where the bear came from.”
I reined in my anger a little, recognizing Ash’s observations were valid. “That may be. But if she’s innocent, how do you explain the fact that she’d been to our house all those times for guild meetings, yet didn’t recognize the Farnell as one of the bears on display in our living room?”
Ash gave me a quizzical look. “Honey, do I have to remind you that we own over five hundred teddy bears? Sometimes even I don’t remember them all. Besides, we never took the Farnell out of the curio cabinet. Holly could have easily missed it.”
“I never saw that bear at your house. And if I’d known what happened, I’d have given it back to you.” Holly wiped her nose on her arm.
I was beginning to believe her too, but I still had questions. In a gentler voice I said to Ash, “Okay, then what about this counterfeiting operation?”
“Tina and I will ask her.”
I was bright enough to understand that Ash was discreetly advising me that she thought it best if I didn’t ask Holly any further questions, and I knew she was right. In my anger, I’d jumped to conclusions, terrified Holly, and might well have ruined our chances to learn what she knew. So, I shut my mouth and let the women take over.
Tina said, “Holly, we’re sorry if you’re upset, but we need to know about these bears and quilts because they might be connected with Frank Merrit’s murder.”
“Mr. Merrit is dead? Oh, God have mercy on his soul. I liked him.”
“You didn’t know? It was in today’s newspaper and on the news.”
“Between work and taking care of the kids, I almost never follow the news.” Holly was recovering her composure as fear gave way to curiosity. “Did someone rob the gift shop and kill him?”
“We’re not quite certain how it happened, but while we were investigating, Ashleigh noticed a couple of your bears on display in the museum.”
“In the gift shop, you mean.”
“No, they were up on a mantle and identified as real antiques.”
Holly looked confused. “But he said the bears were for the museum gift shop.”
“Who said that?”
“My boyfriend, Neil.”
“Neil Gage?” Tina and Ash asked simultaneously.
“Yes.”
I bit my lower lip to prevent myself from jumping in.
Ash said, “How long have you known Neil?”
“I met him at a quilt show in February and we began dating a little while after that.”
“And was he the one that got you started with all of this?” Ash pointed at the sewing table.
Holly nodded. “Back in March he told me about how his museum job was in trouble and how he’d come up with an idea to save it.”
“How was that?” Tina asked.
“He said that they were going to offer nice replicas of antiques at the museum gift shop. It’d be just like the stuff they sell from the Franklin Mint. Neil was even talking about them starting up a museum shop website.”
“And he wanted you to make replica quilts and teddy bears, right?”
“Neil said my needlework was so good and I was such an artist, that he didn’t believe there was anybody around here that could do a better job,” Holly said, with a trace of pride. “It seemed like a great opportunity to make a little extra money. Being a single mom, it isn’t always easy to make ends meet.”
Tina and Ash both looked a little sad and I’m certain it was for the same reason that I felt a pang of empathy. Although Holly was indeed a superb quilter and an increasingly skilled bear artist, it was obvious to the three of us that Gage had romanced her for the sole purpose of duping her into participating in the counterfeiting operation. It was nothing more than a slight variation on the age-old “lonely heart” embezzlement scam. No doubt the cold-hearted bastard had also hinted at matrimony, but I hoped the women wouldn’t ask her about that. Holly would learn the full extent of Gage’s deceit soon enough.
Tina said, “So Neil brought you the antique bears to use as models…”
“And the fabric, accessories, and equipment and I started in to work.”
“But you never told any of us at the teddy bear guild about it. Why did you keep it a secret?” Ash asked.
Holly turned her gaze to the floor. “Because I needed the money and Neil said he’d broken a rule because he loved me.”
“And what rule was that?” Tina asked.
“He said that other people should have been allowed to bid on the contract to make things for the gift shop. It was some sort of county law and if anyone found out about how he bent the rules, he’d be fired and I’d lose the extra money.”
“So, you do have a contract?”
“Not a written one. Neil said that we had an oral agreement, which was safer because if there were no papers, nobody could prove I had a contract with the museum.”
Or that you had any sort of business relationship whatsoever with Gage that could later implicate him. Talk about being left holding the ball, I thought.
Ash asked, “How much money were you paid for this stuff?”
“Three hundred dollars for each quilt—we don’t sell so many of those—and one hundred and fifty dollars for each teddy bear.” Holly shot a grateful glance at the sun-tanning teddies. “That money sure came in handy when the dentist told me that my daughter, Beth, needed braces.”
I only had a vague idea of what a genuine antique quilt would cost, but I knew the bears were being sold for three thousand bucks a piece, which meant that Holly’s cut from the action was chump change.
“Did Mr. Merrit know about this arrangement?” Tina asked.
“Neil said he knew, but I never talked to Mr. Merrit about it. Neil said it was best if I stayed away from the museum, so that people wouldn’t be suspicious.”
It took some real self-control not to add: And also so that you wouldn’t see your bears weren’t in the gift shop and start asking unwelcome questions.
“Did Neil have any other associates? You mentioned something about “them” starting a website.”
“There was a man I saw once. He showed up at the house one time when Neil came over to pick up some bears. But I never actually met him. He stayed outside in his truck.”
Tina did her best not to sound too eager. “Can you describe him?”
“Just a guy in his forties with a big beard. He didn’t seem real friendly.”
“When was this?”
“Back in April, I think.”
“And what kind of truck was he driving?”
“A black SUV. I think it was a Ford Explorer, but I wasn’t really paying much attention.”
Tina, Ash, and I exchanged glances. Tina said, “Did Neil ever talk about him?”
“Just that he was supposed to be starting a website to sell the bears on the Internet.”
“Do you know the web address?”
Holly shook her head. “No. Come to think of it, Neil never gave it to me—not that I had any time to play around on the computer.”
“When was the last time you saw Neil?”
“On Friday night. He took the girls and me to the movies in Harrisonburg.”
“And you haven’t heard anything from him since?”
“No.” Holly then saw something in our faces that alarmed her. “Is Neil in trouble?”
“He might be.” Tina paused for a second and then sighed. “There’s no nice way to break this news, but Neil was lying to you. Your bears and quilts aren’t at the museum gift shop and never were. It looks like he and the other man have been selling your work to collectors as original antiques.”
“Neil wouldn’t do that.” Holly flashed a nervous and rigid smile.
“I can prove it. We already know of one instance where two of your ‘replica’ bears were sold to a Japanese buyer for six-thousand-dollars.”
“Six thousand…and I got three hundred?”
Ash said, “And I imagine it’s a similar percentage for your quilts. You’ve been cheated on so many levels, it breaks my heart.”
“No. This is all a mistake.”
“No, Holly.” Ash slipped an arm over Holly’s shoulder. “Neil took advantage of your loneliness and used you. Denying it will only make it harder for you in the long run.”
“But why would he do that to me—to us? My kids really like him.” Holly was blinking back tears.
“Because he’s a conman and you’re a mark. And here’s the scary thing: He also lied to us about Frank Merrit’s murder.”
“Oh God, this is like a nightmare.”
Tina said, “I know and that’s why we need your help. Where are the first two bears he brought you to copy?”
“He said he took them back to the museum. That was back in April. I’d gotten so good at making them, I didn’t need the originals anymore.”
“And how about the quilt?”
“I finished the first replica in May and he took it back.” Holly searched Tina’s eyes. “But the things on display in the museum are mine, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Neil probably sold the real antiques to some other collector.”