Stealing With Style

by Emyl Jenkins

  "Did they say when they would be back?"

  "Friday. But Joey said he'd be at services at the temple. So they said they'd come Thursday. Tomorrow. I'll give them a figure. It's my molds I don't want them to get."

  Here we go again, I thought. "Thursday?"

  "Yes. But they won't get my molds."

  My mind was racing. If there were some way I could get to New York faster ... What was I thinking? Still ... it wasn't impossible. It would just take some doing. Another idea flew into my head.

  "Sol. This is what you must do. Put a figure together for Joey, a new one. Don't give him one that you've already put together. Understand? Make a new one, but-and this is very important-when you make it, make something wrong with it."

  "Wrong! What do you mean, wrong?"

  "Well, like put a head with a hat on or with a wrong hairdo -one that doesn't fit with the costume that's on the body. Or put the wrong legs on a torso. Something. But don't make it real obvious. Sol, do something that only you would know was wrong or someone who really knows the figures would recognize. A real expert. Understand?"

  "Why would I do that? I'm proud of my work. I don't make mistakes."

  "Please."

  "Okay. I'll do it for you."

  "Thank you, Sol. And I hope to see you very, very soon."

  Maybe even on Thursday, I said to myself.

  Chapter 27

  Dear Antiques Expert: I see advertisements for Mikimoto pearls in glamorous fashion magazines. What makes them so special and just how expensive are they?

  Kokichi Mikimoto made jewelry history in 1893 by successfully creating a beautiful, lustrous pearl by implanting foreign objects into oysters. Today we call such pearls "cultured," as opposed to "natural," pearls. Carefully chosen for their color and luster, Mikimoto pearls are considered the finest cultured pearls, since natural pearls are just about unheard of these days. Vintage Mikimoto pearls bearing the Mikimoto mark on their clasps can command upward of $10,000 to $20,000, depending on size and color. That's a real bargain when you consider that some of the new strands can cost over $50,000.

  IT REALLY DIDN'T SUIT me to turn around and go straight back up to New York-especially when I only had a few hours to pack and get to the airport. True to my lifelong habit of talking first and thinking second, I'd done it again. On top of that, I was in over my head. But I'd given my word to Sol. There was nothing I could do about it now but follow through. I booked a direct flight that would get me into New York around 6:45 P.M. I had been a little timid about suggesting to Matt that I come that day, rather than Thursday, but both Thursday morning flights were fully booked and I'd have had to fly standby. With time of the essence, I couldn't chance that.

  Throwing a few things into the suitcase was no big deal. Getting organized to leave on such short notice was. At least I didn't have car pools or soccer practice or piano lessons to deal with, as I once did.

  I called Peter on the off-chance that he could give me a lift to the airport. At an earlier time I might have resisted the urge to ask him for a favor, thinking I'd appear too aggressive or forward. But after all that had transpired between us, I felt strangely comfortable with my newfound knowledge of him, this very dear and complicated man. And perhaps his complexity explained why he had never been more, well, more romantic toward me. Certainly, many times he'd shown true concern, but he always stopped short of the affection I thought was around the corner. But right now, I couldn't worry about that. He'd been so open and honest with me; maybe that was a hopeful sign. Anyway, I needed a ride to the airport. Finding a parking space there was always dicey, plus ever since the taxi I'd reserved never showed, I hadn't wanted to trust my luck. I didn't need any more worries today. I dialed his number.

  Mother calmly said, You'll be more content now, Sterling. You and Peter can freely have what Ben Jonson called a "spiritual coupling of two souls."

  I could live with that. I vowed to convince myself that this was possible.

  The phone at the Salvation Army was busy. I hung up and no more than fifteen seconds later my phone rang.

  "Sterling."

  "I was just trying to call you," I said.

  "And I was trying to call you." He laughed. "How about dinner tonight?"

  "How about taking me to the airport at three thirty?"

  I rattled through the morning's events so uncharacteristically briefly and with such urgency that I left Peter no choice but to agree. "And there's something we need to talk about on the way to the plane," I said just before hanging up, so he couldn't slip a word in edgewise.

  The second thing I did was to call Ed Pavich as I threw a few things into my carry-on suitcase. We went over whether or not it would be necessary to have the pieces that we'd recovered from Jane Finn's house, plus the urn and pin, at the trial-or trials, as the case might be. And in his brusque cop way, Ed proceeded to tell me what to expect from the twelve men and women sitting in the jury box.

  "Those folks won't know Sheraton from Sheridan, or Shaker from Shineola. Add in the fact that the victims were rich, and that's two runs for Sloggins's and Finn's defense. What will help us is that the victims were old and helpless. And, if we're lucky, the jury'll be impressed by the worth of the stuff that SOB was pilfering from them. But the things themselves? Forget it. Some good photographs will work just as well. What will help to build our case is your strong sympathetic presence to pull at their heart strings," he said.

  We agreed that after documenting and photographing each piece, the items could be returned by the insurance company to the Hanesworth children, since there was no telling how long it would be before the case came to trial-or how long things would drag on after that. Clearly it was out of the question for me to take the pin and tureen and other pieces to New York with me. But it did make sense for me to bring the tea urn and Meissen pieces back from Layton's to Leemont for Jane Finn to identify as the ones she had taken from the Hanesworths' home. That would satisfy Babson and Michaels's offer to pay for my trip.

  Only when I was positive I really would be in New York on Thursday did I call Sol. I hadn't wanted to get his hopes up.

  That done, I called Howard Creighton. He had left a cordial message on my machine inquiring when I would be back to finish the appraisal. It would have been easy to ignore his call, but I felt a responsibility to the Creightons, maybe more than to anyone. I almost told Howard Creighton about Jane Finn and the important part that he and Mrs. Creighton had played in breaking the thieving ring but concluded that should wait till another time. Even so, with Howard Creighton's slow and deliberate way, our conversation seemed to go on forever.

  No good deed goes unpunished, Mother reminded me.

  TRUE TO HIS WORD, Peter was at my doorstep at three thirty, plenty of time to get me to the airport. It took about five seconds for him to jump to the heart of the matter. "Just what is it you need to talk to me about?"

  "There's something that's been eating away at me ever since I talked to Sol last night and decided to get back to New York to see him as soon as possible."

  "What's that?" Peter asked as I pulled a manila folder out of my oversized pocketbook.

  "All my worldly goods."

  He gave me a sideways glance. "All of them? Really? What about all those things on Bittersweet Trail?"

  We both laughed.

  "Seriously. That's what this is." I said. "A list-not an appraisal, mind you-a list of those things on Bittersweet Trail that I hold dear. The things I want Lily and Ketch to know about."

  I opened it, took out the stapled pages, and held them so Peter could see them without taking his eyes off the road.

  Instead, he looked at me. "But why tell me? Why now?"

  "Oh, you just never know about life," I said.

  Peter wasn't buying it.

  "Okay," I tried again, "here I am dashing right back up to New York. We all act like world conditions are under control, but-"

  Peter's eyes were focused on the traffic merging from the right,
but his look grew askance.

  "That doesn't sound like you, Sterling. What's up?"

  That sick feeling I had had in the alley behind Joey's shop and later, when talking to Sol, started churning around in the pit of my stomach, then crept down into my legs.

  "I've told you about Sol and Joey-"

  "Yes," he interrupted me. "Which reminds me, we've been so consumed with everything that's been happening closer to home that I haven't spoken my mind about that situation. From what I do know, though, well, let's just say I don't like it."

  "Oh, there's no reason to worry, honest, but-"

  "Don't you know that nothing you say in a sentence before `but' counts?" Peter interjected.

  "Anyway," I said, trying to ignore his comment, "I've agreed to meet Sol and Joey when the man, whoever he is, comes back to get another figure. I don't expect anything to happen, but in case it should I want someone to know about these things that I love and that have historical as well as monetary value. That's all. Lily and Ketch have heard me talk about these things my whole life but with only half an ear." I remembered Matt telling how the Hanesworths' kids had purposely ignored their parents' attempts to tell them about the Paul Storr urn.

  "And even less of a brain," I added. "They're just kids. You have to reach a certain place in your life to understand that things aren't just things. My kids aren't there yet."

  "I understand," Peter said.

  "So here's a copy for you," I continued, relieved that traffic was heavy enough that he was letting me talk. "I started the list a while back, but never finished it, and I didn't have much time to get this together, so this is pretty rudimentary. Anyway, this is what I've done. The pieces with an S, for Smith, came from my side of the family. The ones with a G came from the Glasses."

  "That's clear enough."

  "Then"-though he couldn't look, I pointed to a couple of items on the page-"I put an L or a K for whoever should have the piece, Lily or Ketch. Just in case."

  I slipped the papers back into the envelope and tossed it onto the backseat, then settled back into my seat.

  Peter took his right hand off the steering wheel and laid it on top of mine and left it there. "Sterling, if you're this worried, why are you getting involved? I know you're fond of Sol, but in truth you hardly know him."

  "If you knew him, you'd understand. He's so, well, innocent. And deserving. And defenseless. I couldn't stand for any bad to come to him. And he reminds me of my grandfather. Look at it this way," I said. "I have to go to New York anyway to get things straight at Layton's."

  "And you, my dear, are going to fend off this crook who is coming to get Sol's treasures? Sounds like some plot right out of a made-for-TV movie. What good could you do? To say nothing of putting yourself in danger. Think about it. You're showing me these things you want Lily and Ketch to know about? You should be telling your kids about them, not making up an impersonal list for me to be in charge of. Why, Lily and Ketch hardly know me." He smiled gently, spoke firmly. "Don't go. At least not out to Sol and Joey's. Let them handle it."

  "I have to. I gave my word. You understand that."

  I looked at his profile for some sign of approval. When I didn't see it, I smiled the biggest smile I could and tried another tack. "Anyway, there are those wonderful figurines. Somebody has to protect them."

  "You?" he asked skeptically.

  "Well, I can't trust Richie, the fellow at Layton's, to have Sol's best interest at heart," I said bluntly. "I don't know what else to do. I guess I'm just buying time until I can convince Sol of their value and advise him."

  "Sterling, the figures may be beautiful. And valuable. But they're hardly worth putting yourself in harm's way for."

  "Others have. Sol's grandparents and parents, and now Sol."

  Peter's frown deepened. Then that irresistible smile of his spread across his face. He patted my hand gently.

  "It's pretty obvious your mind's made up." Peter shook his head resolutely but kept smiling. "Tell me, has anyone ever changed your mind? Don't answer that. Just promise me one thing. You'll keep in touch with me every step of the way, and you'll come home safely."

  And just when I was talking myself out of being in love with him. Men.

  I should have known better, Mother said haughtily. Remember, though, she said, her smug tone melting into compassion, friendship into love can turn, but love to friendship-never.

  THE INTERCONTINENTAL ON East Forty-eighth and Madison was a far cry from my Manhattan digs of the week before.

  I was settling into my spacious room when there was a knock at the door.

  "Yes?"

  "A delivery for Ms. Glass."

  I opened the door. A pretty young man, the type who speaks clearly and looks dramatic at all times, most likely an aspiring actor, stood before me holding an arrangement of orchids and roses.

  "There must be some mistake," I said.

  "Ms. Glass?"

  "Yes."

  He delivered his lines perfectly. "These are for you. May I?"

  "Oh."

  He strode across the room and set them on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

  I came to my senses, rushed over to my pocketbook, pulled out two ones, quickly realized that I was in a different league now, and pulled out a five-dollar hill to add to them.

  "Thank you." He bowed ever so slightly.

  I opened the card hidden among the velvety petals. "For your diligence and trouble. Matt."

  I sat down on the sofa, stared at the flowers, and pinched, yes, physically pinched, myself.

  True, Hank Glass had had loads of money and we had stayed in tony hotels and lived well. But those days now seemed very long ago. In my determination to make it on my own after my divorce, I'd almost forgotten about my former life. And the long ordeal of Mother's illness had stripped away many of my physical and emotional comforts. Of late, I honestly had forgotten how luxurious life could be for the privileged few, even though I worked for the wealthy, went into their homes, and was invited to their dinner parties. I had many wealthy friends and beautiful antiques in my own home. But I couldn't spend freely. They could.

  Are you trying to say what F. Scott Fitzgerald said best, Mother goaded me. He said, "The rich are different from you and me." And you do remember Hemingway's rejoinder, don't you? "Yes, they have more money."

  Ignoring her, I read Matt's message on the card for a second time. Had Hank ever sent me flowers? Other than when the children had been horn, not that I could remember-to say nothing of roses and orchids all in one bouquet.

  I jumped up. The bathroom! The luxury hotels always had wonderful bathrooms. I wasn't disappointed. On the counter was an array of exquisite soaps, gels, and lotions. I glanced at my watch. I had a full twenty minutes before Matt called for me. How I longed to pause, have a glass of wine. Instead I splashed a little water on my face, slipped into the same black outfit I had worn just last week and fished my Mikimoto pearls out of the toe of my dress shoes, where I'd packed them for safe traveling.

  Chapter 28

  Dear Antiques Expert: What exactly is a "partners' bureau?" I was reading an old book about English antiques and saw this term describing something that just looked like a large desk to me.

  Your question requires a short lesson on the history of furniture. The chest of drawers was originally called a "bureau." As people began needing a place to conduct business, furniture makers designed a piece with drawers at the sides connected by a "writing board" top. This new form was also called a "bureau." (The term "desk" came along later.) The "partners' bureau" you saw is basically a "double desk." It has drawers at both the front and back and a top large enough for two businessmen (or partners) to sit across from one another and each have his own desktop space. Though these are handsome pieces, they do require a lot of room.

  FIRST THING THURSDAY morning Matt and I met with Nigel Rhodes at Layton's to handle the legal work to ge. Meissen pieces and tea urn released. Nigel was charming, as always, but he s
eemed a little rushed and bothered. With Matt along, I didn't mention Dana Henchloe.

  Then Matt took me over to Babson and Michaels and I realized I'd been preparing for this my whole professional life. They knew insurance. I knew objects. The rest of the morning and early part of the afternoon I met with account executives. Thanks to what Matt had told me about his company, when I was asked questions about antiques or prices, either I had the answer or I could cite a good reference. Long ago, I had learned that knowledge is the tool of my trade. Mother had never tired of repeating the advice given by Samuel Johnson: Knowledge is of two kinds. We know a subject ourselves, or we know where we can find information upon it. I had taken those words to heart. They have held me in good stead.

  Back in Matt's office, I took in the careful decor. Bookcases lined the wall opposite the floor-to-ceiling windows. The desk was a richly grained mahogany partners' desk, the sort that has become increasingly harder to find except in the highest highend antiques shops. A blood red and black Bokara rug was laid on top of a nubby tweed wall-to-wall carpet. On the wall hung an impressive hand-colored eighteenth-century print of the ancient world, much more distinctive than those ubiquitous foxhunting scenes in executives' offices. In the far corner of his office, a narrow console table held a cut crystal decanter, water pitcher, and four highball glasses perfectly arranged on a rectangular silver tray. Here the most sophisticated client would feel at home; take away the few neatly arranged files at one side of his desk and the room would have looked more like a gentleman's club's reading room than a workingman's workplace.

  I pushed a mental snapshot of Peter's makeshift desk in the Salvation Army out of my mind and concentrated on the moment.

  "How free are you to travel?" Matt asked me.

  "Very."

  "I can envision two ways we can use your services. Making appraisals for our wealthiest clients, just the way you do now for our Richmond office. But I think we can expand your territory, so to speak, if that's acceptable to you. Competent, truly expert appraisers can be difficult to find and we have many wealthy clients who choose to live in remote areas. You'd be surprised at the treasures that can be hidden away in some little town in the upcountry of South Carolina or out in some mountain lodge in Oregon." Matt corrected himself. "I take that back. You wouldn't be surprised, not considering your clientele.