by Lois Schmitt
“I promise we’ll be quick. We do want to celebrate your impending engagement.”
“You must be a good basketball player, Jason,” my mother said as we headed into the living room.
“What do you mean?” Fake Jason looked at me. I shrugged.
“Abby told me last year that you played basketball in college. You’re pretty short, so you must be good to make up for your lack of height.”
“Oh, yes. I’m a good jumper.”
I hoped there wasn’t much else that Abby had said about her boyfriend.
Once we were seated with our drinks, Matt made a toast. I noticed Paul swallowing quickly, almost gulping down his champagne. I realized there was no time for small talk.
“Marcia Silver didn’t make a lot of money at her garage sale, but I understand, Paul, that you sold quite a number of items for her privately,” I said.
“Yes.” He glanced at his watch.
“You received four hundred dollars for her doll collection?”
He nodded.
“Well, someone made a killing since that collection included a Kachina doll worth more than $10,000.”
Paul smiled weakly. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, yes,” I insisted. “When I was helping Marcia sort through the merchandise for the garage sale, I took a photo of the doll from Marcia’s album, then researched it thoroughly. It’s an antique Hopi warrior princess. Quite valuable.”
“Paul, did you know that?” my mother asked.
Paul shook his head. “Of course not. I’m so sorry if I made a stupid mistake. I’m familiar with many types of antiques and collectibles, but not dolls. I should have performed more due diligence. I should have—”
“I think you did extensive research,” I interrupted. “You knew exactly what you were selling.”
My mother looked at me, then at her fiancé. “What is she talking about Paul?”
The fake Jason rose from his chair. “She’s talking about the fact that Paul is a con man with a history of scamming people.”
Paul’s face turned ashen. My mother frowned and opened her mouth but closed it quickly.
“Remember when I snapped a photo of you and my mother. I sent it to Jason. By the way, this isn’t the real Jason,” I said, pointing to the young man next to me. “His name is Salvatore Perini. Detective Salvatore Perini. He’s assigned to the police department’s fraud and bunco unit.”
“The real Jason is working on a case for his law firm involving fraud and he deals with Detective Perini,” Abby said to Paul. “My Jason told the detective what my mom suspected about you. Detective Perini agreed to come here tonight.”
“Detective Perini, why don’t you take it from here.” I suggested.
He nodded. “I sent the photograph Mrs. Farrell gave me to other law enforcement agencies. It seems Paul Andre also goes under the names of Carter Banks, Joshua Rider, and Chip Nightingale. He’s operated more than a dozen scams, almost all of them aimed at wealthy widows.”
My mother gasped.
“Some of his scams involved taking money for non-existent investment opportunities, such as his latest scheme involving health spas that were never meant to be. He’d take the money, disappear, then change his name.”
“But he didn’t pressure me,” my mother interrupted. “He dropped the whole issue. He must love me.”
Perini shook his head. “That’s because more recently, Paul Andre has been involved in schemes of selling antiques belonging to elderly women who have no idea of the value of these items. Women like Marcia Silver.”
“Paul,” my mother yelled.
“This is not illegal,” Paul fired back. “Caveat Emptor. Let the buyer beware. It happens all the time. People make deals that benefit one party over the other.”
“But this time it’s different,” I said. “You didn’t buy merchandise from Marcia. You told her you would sell items privately and give her the proceeds. But you didn’t. You only gave her four hundred dollars for the entire collection. You received much more. That means you stole from her.”
“You have no way of knowing how much I made. You can’t prove I didn’t sell the dolls for only four hundred dollars.”
“Actually, I can,” Detective Perini said. “I work with many legitimate antique dealers and collectors. Through my contacts, I learned about a woman in Maryland who recently purchased a Kachina doll. We talked to her and she verified you as the seller. She admitted to giving you more than ten grand.
“This is preposterous. You have nothing on me.” He rose to leave.
“Not so fast.” Detective Perini blocked his exit. “You are under arrest for fraud.”
“Wait,” I called. “I have a question. I saw you in a hotel bar with a blond woman and a man I know as Bradford Monroe. What is your connection to them?”
Paul turned to face my mother and sneered. “The blond is my girlfriend.”
My mother put her head in her hands. I maneuvered to a spot next to her and placed my hand on her shoulder, rubbing it gently.
“What about Bradford Monroe?” I asked Paul. “I saw you with him too.”
“I’m not saying anymore until I see my attorney.”
As Perini escorted Paul Andre away in handcuffs, I couldn’t help think how wonderful it was to deal with a bright committed law enforcement officer like him, as opposed to homicide detective Steve Wolfe. Then my thoughts turned. I glanced toward my mother and saw the tears.
“Mom, I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” said Abby as she hugged her grandmother.
“It’s better you found out now,” Matt added. “Before you two were married.”
“He wouldn’t have married me. That’s why he changed our shopping day for the ring until Thursday. By that time he would have disappeared.”
“You’re right,” I said. “He would have been in another state with another name.”
“I was such a fool. I didn’t see the signs. He only stopped pressuring me to invest in his health spa scam after he saw Marcia’s belongings. He just switched one scam for another.” My mother sighed. “I’m going to bed.”
The good news: my mother would recover from this. She didn’t lose her savings, and Paul Andre would soon be behind bars, unable to scam more victims. On the downside was whether Marcia would recoup the money from what Paul had sold. The Kachina doll was only one of more than a half dozen valuable items that he had taken from my mother’s friend. Victims of scams rarely get their money back.
Chapter Fifty-two
Despite the October breeze, I felt the perspiration under my blouse as I entered the backyard of what had been Katie Chandler’s house. I exhaled. How would I prove what I knew?
The preview for the art and antique auction was crowded with prospective bidders who were taking the opportunity to get a close look at merchandise. Chairs had been set up in the middle of the lawn in front of a make-shift platform and podium. Surrounding the seating area, in a horseshoe arrangement, were long tables displaying the items for auction.
Security guards kept an eye on the merchandise. Two other guards stood by the entrance, checking invitations before admitting anyone to the preview.
I grabbed a catalog from a nearby table and began reading. More than one hundred items were being auctioned today. There was something for every taste and pocketbook, but it was the last ten items that caught my eye. The required opening bids for this high-end merchandise ranged from ten thousand dollars for an art deco diamond necklace to fifty thousand dollars for a painting by a famous local artist.
The more interaction I had with the aquarium’s staff, the more I realized the acquisition of the twenty acres was not a pipe dream. The aquarium could very well reach their fund-raising goal. I needed to be careful that my actions today wouldn’t ruin it for them.
I stuffed the catalog in
my bag and began wandering. While I stopped to admire some of the antiques from Katie’s home, most of which were in the lower or moderate price range, Commander West approached.
“You have magnificent merchandise for sale today,” I said.
“Yes. I’m sure you saw some of these items on your unauthorized visit to Katie’s home.” He smiled. “Detective Wolfe told me about that. Don’t worry. Despite his urging, I’m not pressing charges. But remember, freedom of the press doesn’t mean you can break the law.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“I’m in a good mood today. This event should be a huge success.”
“I hope so. But I’m sad too. The last time I was here, Katie was alive,”
There was an awkward silence before I spoke again. “Are the Mulgraves coming today?”
“I don’t know.”
“They told me they met you in town the evening of Katie’s cocktail party.”
“Yes. I had just purchased a bottle of cognac. I occasionally enjoy a sniffer of brandy at night.” He looked to his right and left before saying in hushed tones, “By the way, I feel I should apologize. Last week, when you ran into me at the Tipsy Toad Tavern, I may have overindulged. I was upset about the problems facing the aquarium.”
“I heard you’re getting a rough time from the village.”
“The permits for rebuilding the aquarium’s administration wing seem to be entangled in red tape—more than usual for government. I know Lucien Moray is pulling out all the stops to see that we don’t make our financial goals, and his tentacles seem to reach everywhere.”
“Think he’ll be successful?”
“It’s a horserace. If it were only our four fundraising events, there would be no way we could raise the money needed. But Bradford’s idea for exhibit sponsorships has taken off. Two more donors in addition to the Mulgraves gave us checks this week. We now have the Carol and Lawrence Mercer Mysteries of the Amazon and the Linda Esposito Otter Wonderland. Bradford has seven additional potential sponsors that he hopes to sew up in the next few weeks. Altogether that’s one million. And we still have ten more exhibits that he intends to promote for more sponsorships. ”
Commander West shook his head. “Brad can be annoying at times, but he is one excellent fundraiser. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to greet more of our guests.”
Seconds after he departed, Bradford Monroe approached. “See anything you like?” he asked.
“Yes.” I smiled. “Unfortunately, little I can afford.”
“But we do have significant merchandise with low figure minimum bids. A lot of those items are from Katie’s house.”
I nodded. “Heirlooms from her great, great grandfather, like the captain’s clock. the Italian tea cart, and the Samurai sword which, by the way, is not low-priced.”
“True. That’s one of the pricier items coming from her estate.”
“Are you auctioning all of her possessions?”
Bradford shook his head. “No. Only items where we feel comfortable placing a minimum bid of two hundred dollars or more. Even that is incidental when you look at our goal, but every little bit helps. The lower priced items also serve as teasers and lead-in for our high-end merchandise. It’s those last items listed in the catalog that will bring in nearly seventy percent of all money raised today. We refer to them as the big ten.”
“How did you determine value for the minimum bids?” I asked. “Are you an expert on antiques?”
“I know a little, but I’m no expert. I hired an appraiser. She’s well worth her fee. This way nothing is undervalued.”
“What will you do with items that didn’t make the two hundred dollar minimum bid cut-off?” I asked.
“Probably sell to a wholesale liquidator. But I’ll address that at a later date.”
“So, you haven’t gotten rid of anything yet?”
“No. If it’s not here, it’s still in the house.” He glanced at his watch. “The auction will begin in about thirty minutes. I better make sure everything is ready to go.”
“Thanks for allowing me to bring a photographer. He should arrive near the end of the auction.”
“Wonderful. Great publicity. After the auction, your photographer can snap a picture of one of the big ten items with its buyer.”
*****
Minutes before the auction began, I slid into a seat near the back. Bradford had hired a professional auctioneer who ran through the inexpensive and moderate valued merchandise. I never thought I’d consider a minimum bid of five thousand dollars moderate, but compared to the painting and jewelry on the block today, I guess it was.
Prior to the auction of the big ten items, Bradford took center stage. Grabbing the microphone from the auctioneer, he announced a champagne reception in the house at the conclusion of the auction. It was open to the press as well as anyone whose purchase exceeded ten thousand dollars.
As the last item was brought to the auction block, my photographer arrived. We made eye contact, and he maneuvered around the crowd, finally sliding into a seat behind me.
He leaned forward and whispered, “Are you sure your plan will work? I’ve been taking photos with my phone for the last five years. I hope I can handle this baby.” He was referring to an expensive camera I had procured for him from the Animal Advocate office.
“Since this whole event is invitation only, I had to tell Commander West you were my photographer. There was no other way to get you here. Besides, Clara showed you how the camera operates. Don’t worry. You won’t blow your cover.”
When the auction finished, my photographer escorted me to the house for the champagne reception. We were immediately greeted by Bradford Monroe who thanked me again for including the auction in my story.
“I can’t decide,” Bradford said, as Commander West hiked across the room to join us. “Should we take a picture of the antique diamond necklace or the painting? Both buyers are willing to be photographed. Maybe we should take two pictures.”
I grabbed my pad and pen. “First, I want some facts for the story. How much did you raise?”
“More than half a million. The painting from the Long Island artist alone brought in ninety grand.”
I exhaled, then made my statement. “Think how much you would have received if you included all the valuable merchandise from Katie’s house.”
Commander West frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You would have more than tripled your profits if you auctioned the stamp.”
“What stamp?” Commander West asked. Brad paled.
“The one on the invitation to the Governor’s Ball in Mauritius. It was sitting atop the desk in the captain’s study on the day of the cocktail party.”
“I don’t remember any invitation. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bradford responded.
“I think I remember seeing it,” Commander West said, a solemn expression on his face.
“The day I illegally searched Katie’s home, I knew something was missing, but I couldn’t place it,” I said. “Two weeks later, while I was browsing in a museum gift shop, I came across a series of collectible stamps. That jogged my memory. I realized the invitation was no longer on the captain’s desk.”
“Well, maybe it was thrown out accidentally before the appraiser came,” Brad suggested.
I shook my head. “Nothing else upstairs appeared to have been touched. That meant the invitation wasn’t moved or misplaced. Someone took it. Since it was more than one hundred fifty years old, I had a feeling the stamp might be valuable, so I visited a shop in Greenwich Village specializing in philately.”
“That’s stamp collecting, right?” the Commander asked.
“Yes. And my hunch was on the mark. The stamp on the invitation was worth big bucks.”
“As far as I know, you, your daughter
, and Sam Wong were the only unauthorized people in the house. Perhaps one of you walked off with it,” Bradford accused.
I placed my hands on my hips. “If I stole it, I wouldn’t be mentioning it now, would I?”
“Just how valuable is this stamp?” Commander West asked.
“The Mauritius ‘Post Office’ stamp is among the rarest in the world. A limited number were printed from a single plate and issued on September 21, 1847. The stamps sold before it was realized that the words printed on them should have been Post Paid not Post Office. Many of these stamps were sent out by the wife of the Governor of Mauritius for a ball she was holding. In 1993, two of the stamps sold for nearly four million dollars.”
“Four million,” Commander West said as he stared at Bradford.
“Listen,” Bradford said, holding up his hands. “I’ve no record of any invitation or stamp. Someone else stole it. If it wasn’t you, it could have been Sam Wong.”
“You’re right. I thought of him too. But we checked it out.”
“We?” Commander West said.
My photographer spoke up. “I’m not really a photographer. I’m Detective Salvatore Perini from the fraud and bunco unit. When Mrs. Farrell told me of her suspicions, I investigated. I discovered a Mauritius stamp had been sold to a Gary Guster in North Carolina. I called and sure enough. He identified you, Mr. Monroe.”
“Anyone could use my name.”
“Remember the picture I took of you the other day with the Mulgraves? The one by the turtle exhibit,” I said. “I sent that to Detective Perini who in turn sent it to Gary Guster. Mr. Guster said he traveled up here to buy it from you. There’s no mistake.”
Detective Perini handed me his camera and grabbed his handcuffs from under his jacket. “Bradford Monroe, you are under arrest for—”
“Please,” Commander West interrupted. “Not here. Not now. I need time to explain this to my donors. Can you walk him outside, and put the handcuffs on there?”
“Sorry. It’s against regulation.”
“He doesn’t have a gun, and it’s only a few feet from the door.” I pleaded, sympathizing with Commander West’s plight.