John set his journal aside and drew her close, kissing her on the lips. “I can’t let my best girl miss out just because she’s a bigwig and busy running this town.”
Maggie laughed. “Is that what I am? You’re the only one who thinks so.”
“Hard day?”
“These community forums are so contentious. I’m not convinced that we made any progress. There may not be any way to get public buy-in on budget cuts. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.”
“I don’t believe that. Not for one minute. You knew that things would get worse before they got better. You’ve thought this through from every angle. You’re doing the right thing.” John ran his hand up and down her arm, like he was a football coach sending his quarterback into the huddle with a new play. “It’s too early to assess how things will turn out. Quit second-guessing yourself.”
Maggie smiled at him. “How in the world did I get so lucky as to land you? You always know the right thing to say.”
John blushed, and she knew he was pleased. “So—you’ve got me intrigued. What ‘big thing’ do we need to discuss? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, of course it is.” John turned to her. “Did I worry you with that?”
Maggie shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
“What we need to discuss,” John said, as the waiter delivered their salads, “is when—and where—we’re going to shop for your ring. You’ve been engaged for weeks and the entire world doesn’t know about it yet.”
Maggie almost bounced in her seat. “This is big,” she replied. “As for when—I’ll clear my calendar. We’ll go as soon as you can take the time. As for where—we’ll have to go to Burman Jewelers. If we don’t buy local, we’ll be ridden out of town on a rail.”
“Let’s go Saturday. I only have appointments until ten. I won’t book anyone else. And we can get your ring anywhere you’d like—you shouldn’t buy local unless you really want to.”
“I do,” Maggie said. “If they’re honest and reliable. And reasonably priced.”
John laughed. “Don’t worry about the price. And I’ve known them for years—they’re terrific people. Do you have any idea what you’d like?”
Maggie smiled impishly. “Sorry to say this, but I want a big, honkin’ diamond. I don’t want to put reading glasses on to see my stone.”
John pretended to cringe. “I figured you’d come with a high price tag.”
Maggie laughed, patting his forearm. “I don’t want you to break the bank. Seriously, John, we’ll stick with what you can afford.”
“Very considerate of you. I think I can scrape up enough to get my girl a ring,” John said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “I’ll call Harriet Burman tomorrow to bring in some stones for you.”
“That sounds wonderful!” Maggie leaned in for a kiss, and John grasped her hand, playing with her fingers.
“I’ve investigated. You pick your setting, and then you pick your diamond. Or diamonds, if you want. I want you to love this ring as much as I love you,” he said, kissing her ring finger. “That’s why I didn’t present you with a ring when I proposed. You need to pick it out.”
“Could you be any more perfect? I can’t wait until Saturday! Since you didn’t mention a ring when you proposed, I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring it up. I even thought that maybe you didn’t want to do an engagement ring, but Susan said that was ridiculous.”
John snorted. “You’ve been plotting with Susan to convince me to buy you an engagement ring? Now I really feel bad.”
“You have nothing to apologize for—everything was so chaotic for us after Roman disappeared.”
“Still—I’m an idiot. I should have at least said something. I’d better come through with lots of carats now.”
“Susan will like what you’re saying—that girl’s even set up a Pinterest board of styles for me to consider.”
John shook his head. “You two have me outnumbered.”
Chapter 26
The doorbell rang at precisely ten o’clock. The appraiser recommended by her insurance company was on time. She opened the door to a tall man wearing a heavy black overcoat and a neat fedora. “Gordon Mortimer,” he said, extending his hand. “Ms. Martin, I presume?”
“Yes,” she said, shaking his hand. “Come in. Let me take your hat and coat.”
“Thank you, madam,” he said, handing them carefully to her. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and polished his oversized glasses.
His receding hairline and salt-and-pepper mustache suggested he was in his fifties, but his slim build and smooth forehead gave the impression of a much younger person. Maggie turned to him, “Would you like something to drink? Coffee or water?”
“No, thank you, madam. I’m anxious to get started. Your call was most intriguing.”
“How long have you been an appraiser?” she asked as she led the way to the dining room.
“My entire life, really. My father was an antiques dealer and appraiser. I grew up in his shop. I worked for him—except for a stint at Sotheby’s in London—until he died several years ago and left the business to me. Buying habits have changed—very few people appreciate true quality anymore—so I closed up the store and have devoted myself to appraisals.”
“And you have expertise in vintage silver?”
“Indeed I do. I was the head of the department at Sotheby’s before I returned to the family business.”
Maggie nodded. She threw open the double doors leading into the dining room. “Here’s what we found in the attic.”
Gordon Mortimer reached out a hand to the doorframe to steady himself. He swallowed hard and turned to her. “You’ve got quite a collection here. You found all of this in the attic?”
Maggie nodded.
“I’ll photograph and make notes on each piece.” He set his satchel on the floor and removed an expensive-looking camera and an electronic tablet. “May I move things around a bit? I want to group the pieces.”
“By all means,” Maggie said. “Do what you need to do. We’ve already photographed things, if that would be helpful.” By his expression she could tell he didn’t think their photos would be useful.
“I have my own way of doing things, madam.”
“Of course,” Maggie replied. “I’ll leave you to it. How long do you think you’ll be?”
“All day, I’m afraid. If it’s all right with you, I may need to work into the evening.”
“Certainly,” she said, although she hadn’t planned to spend the day at home. She didn’t have any appointments but hated to be away from Town Hall. She turned to look at him as he began inspecting the items at the far end of the table. Surely she could leave him alone to complete his work. They had photos of everything—he wouldn’t steal anything. Judy Young’s admonishments, however, rung in her ears, and she decided to remain at Rosemont.
Maggie was halfway to the library when she heard a startled yelp from the dining room. She retraced her steps and found a red-faced Gordon Mortimer leaning over the table, frantically grabbing at Bubbles who was racing in and out of the maze of silver pieces. He got a hand on her, but she wriggled free and streaked down the table. Maggie flung her arms out, and Bubbles did an about face, tearing back to the appraiser who fielded her like a major-league ballplayer catching a ground ball to first base.
He stood and held the squirming creature out to Maggie. “That cat was in one of the serving dishes, madam. I didn’t see it—it just exploded out of there.”
Maggie stifled a laugh. “My apologies. I have three new kittens, and they’re curious about everything.”
Mortimer fixed her with a disapproving stare.
“I thought I’d kept them out of here. I’m sorry that she disturbed you.” She could see that his feathers were still ruffled. “I’ll be in the library if you need me.”
Maggie emailed her assistant to say that she would be working at home, and to contact her if anything required her attention. Next, she searched online f
or a bank in one of the neighboring cities that advertised large safe deposit vaults. She found two candidates and quickly settled on one that was only ten minutes further down the highway than the airport. She finalized the rentals online. Bubbles sat on the credenza by the printer, batting at the pages as they emerged while Buttercup strolled across her keyboard whenever Maggie lowered her elbows.
By midafternoon, Maggie was tired of all the “help” from her kittens. Her curiosity was also getting the better of her. She rapped lightly on the dining room door and stepped inside. She waited patiently for Mr. Mortimer to finish typing.
He looked up at her and removed his glasses, running his hands over his eyes. “You’ve got some remarkable pieces.”
Maggie smiled. This was exactly what she’d hoped to hear. “You’re tired. And probably hungry. I was just about to make myself a sandwich. May I fix one for you as well?” Mortimer started to shake his head. “You’ve got to eat,” she insisted. “You’ll work better if you do. And you can tell me what you’ve learned so far.”
“All right. That’s very kind. Thank you. Let me finish this entry, and I’ll be right there.”
Maggie was slicing an apple and setting two turkey sandwiches on plates when Gordon Mortimer entered the kitchen.
“Ordinarily, I’d suggest that we go out to lunch. But I don’t want to leave a collection this valuable unattended,” he said.
Maggie carried the plates to the farmhouse table, where she’d set two glasses and a pitcher of iced tea. “Sorry I can’t produce something more elaborate,” she said a bit sheepishly. “I don’t keep much food on hand.”
“This is more than sufficient, madam,” he said in his formal way.
“Any preliminary conclusions on value?”
“I’d say you have at least half a million in there. Not counting the Martin-Guillaume Biennais pieces. I need to consult my contacts at Sotheby’s on those.”
Maggie stared, dumbstruck. “I had no idea,” she finally sputtered. “I thought we might be talking about a hundred thousand, tops. Are some pieces significantly more valuable than others? I’ve just leased four large safe deposit vaults and will store as much there as I can. But I don’t think it’ll all fit. I also plan to purchase a couple of cabinet safes.”
“I was going to suggest you do just that. The Martin-Guillaume Biennais needs to be in the vault, of course. And some of the other pieces. All of it isn’t of extraordinary value. When I’m done, I’ll prioritize what to take to the bank. And I can help you move the rest of it back to the attic. It’s been safe there for almost a hundred years—it should be fine a few more weeks.”
“Thank you. That’s most kind, but you don’t have to do that. I can hire the local boy who carried it all downstairs for me.”
Mortimer looked at her sharply. “I wouldn’t let anyone know about this.”
“I can trust this boy,” Maggie said as she cleared their plates.
Mortimer shook his head. “You may be able to trust him, but he could innocently let it slip to someone that you can’t trust. Insurance theft claims are full of such reports. You should keep this as quiet as possible,” he almost scolded.
Maggie knew he was right. “That’s very kind of you. I’m grateful for your help.”
“Maybe you have some other valuables in that attic. I can take a quick look around before I leave.”
Maggie nodded slowly. “Yes. I’d appreciate it very much.” She turned to look out the window. “I can hardly believe all of this. Who knew what was waiting up there for me?”
***
“You won’t believe it,” Maggie said when John called that afternoon. “Judy was right. He thinks it’s worth at least half a million. And that’s not counting the Martin-Guillaume Biennais.”
“The what?”
“You remember—the French guy that designed gold and silver pieces for Napoleon. The one whose work Judy said is in the Met? Mr. Mortimer thinks it’s genuine, and it’s in pristine condition. He needs to research the value of it and a couple other pieces.”
John whistled. “I guess you hear about this type of thing happening to people. What will you do with it all?”
“I’d like to keep a few of the pieces to use. I’ll see if Susan or Amy would like a piece or two. And I’m giving that chocolate pot to Judy, no matter what it’s worth. The rest of it I’ll sell. The appraiser has connections at Sotheby’s, so I’ll auction through them.”
“Sounds sensible.”
“In the meantime, I’ve rented safe deposit boxes in Ferndale and will take as much of this over there in the morning as I can. The appraiser said he’d help me prioritize which pieces are the most valuable.”
“That’s helpful. And I think you’re doing the right thing by taking it out of town. You don’t want people around here talking about it. You shouldn’t tell Judy what the appraiser said, either. She means well, but it’ll be all over town before you know it.”
“I agree.”
“What about the rest of it?”
“The appraiser and I are going to haul it back up to the attic. I’ll store it there until I can purchase cabinet safes. He said that’s what the insurance company will tell me to do.”
“I just finished with my last patient, so I’m on my way to help. Your history with that attic and men isn’t something I want repeated.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Maggie said. “But we can use the help.”
Maggie carefully wrapped and boxed the silver that was being returned to the attic, and half an hour later John and Gordon Mortimer placed the last box in the far corner.
“That should be secure. Someone would either have to know where it was or have a lot of time to search to find it,” Mortimer said, brushing dust from his trousers. He turned and made a careful pass through the attic.
“These items piled up in the middle are of no significant value. You could get an antiques dealer to give you a reasonable price for the lot,” he said to Maggie. “The furniture along the wall, however, is a different story. I suspect you’ve got some nice pieces.”
“Will you come back to appraise them?”
“I’d love to. And I’d appreciate it if you could remove these items in the middle and pull the furniture out so I can examine all of it properly.”
“Will do. I’ll call you when we’re ready. We’re getting married in June, so maybe sometime this summer? After the wedding.”
“No rush. You’ll be busy dealing with the silver, I should think.”
“Let’s slide this old steamer trunk over, in front of the boxes. Just to be safe,” John suggested. The two men slid the trunk into place, and neither of them noticed the file folder labeled F.H./Rosemont now lying in the shadows.
Chapter 27
“Mayor Martin,” Bill Stetson said, extending his hand.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you without an appointment,” Maggie said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied the senior partner of Stetson & Graham, the town’s outside counsel for as long as anyone could remember. “You never need an appointment here. The town is our most important client.”
“I wouldn’t let the others hear that,” Maggie chided.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m here to solicit help for Alex. The fraud investigation is bogged down in procedural red tape. We’re trying to get documents from those offshore banks. Until we get our hands on those records, we’re dead in the water.”
“I’ve heard rumors,” he said.
“We’re in the middle of a hiring freeze, so I can’t put anyone else on the payroll to help him. But we’ve got your firm on retainer, and since Alex has taken on the role of special counsel, we haven’t drawn on your firm for services.”
“The retainer is a fixed amount, whether you use us or not,” he was quick to remind her.
“I understand that,” Maggie replied. “But given our long association—and in light of the dire circumstances the town is facing—I kn
ow you wouldn’t want to be seen as not providing value for the sizable amount you receive from us.” Maggie held his gaze.
Stetson cleared his throat. “Of course not. We’re always happy to help. I’ll call Alex and see what I can take over.”
“I’m not presuming that we need to impose on your time, Bill,” Maggie said sweetly. “I was thinking that you could assign a senior associate to assist Alex—maybe thirty hours a week?”
Stetson opened his mouth to protest.
“Since the firm hasn’t done anything for the town in the past six months, I think you should give us a little time to make up for that.”
Stetson nodded slowly. “We’d be happy to assist,” he said, sounding none too happy. “I’ve got just the person: Forest Smith. He’s smart and aggressive and a hard worker. Let me talk to him in the morning.”
“Good,” Maggie said, rising. “Let me know, and I’ll make the introduction to Alex.” She headed to the door, then turned back. “I haven’t spoken to Alex yet, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this quiet until I inform him of my decision.”
“Absolutely, Mayor Martin.”
***
Maggie was on her way to fetch a second cup of coffee the next morning when Alex bounded off the elevator, almost bowling her over.
“Good morning,” she said. “You’re in a hurry.”
“I’m here to ask what the hell you’re up to,” he spat.
“If you’re here to see me, you’d better ask for a mulligan and start over.” Maggie looked him straight in the eye. “I’m the mayor of this town, and I deserve respect. You can be mad at me, Alex, and we can disagree, but you must be civil.”
Alex stopped short and looked down. Maggie stood patiently and waited, her gaze never leaving his face.
He nodded, and she pointed down the hall. “You can wait in my office. I’m going to get a cup of coffee. May I get you one?”
Alex declined her offer, and she watched him stride down the hall. Sometimes being mayor was just like being a mother of recalcitrant teenagers. Still, she and Alex were supposed to be on the same side and his hostility was wearing on her last nerve. She took her time with her coffee, hoping he’d cool down.
Uncovering Secrets: The Third Novel in the Rosemont Series Page 10