by Emyl Jenkins
"I think she's worth more than that, don't you, Anna? You're an expert in the field. You see these figures all the time at Layton's. What do you think it would bring there?"
Anna raised her chin haughtily, making her taller yet.
"Ralph found the figure," she said. "I'm just along to advise him. There's no reason why he should have to pay full value," she cast her eyes around the shop, "here." Anna gave me the most confident smile I've ever seen. Ever.
I bristled. The paralyzing fear that had gripped me earlier had melted away.
"What about the figure you sold at the antiques mall? You overpaid for that one. You had to scramble to get any money for it. How much did you lose on that deal? If I were you, I'd look at this figure more carefully," I said, reaching over and swooping the figure up out of her hand. "Don't want to get stiffed twice."
She looked stunned.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Anna's cohort.
"Oh, didn't you know about that, Ralph?" I gave the man a sympathetic, pitiful look. I looked back at Anna.
"So, you thought if you could get this one cheap, maybe you could make up the difference? Think again."
I was gaining confidence as I went along. "You'd pay $350? Sweetie, you'd be hard put to get $200 for this figure from anyone who knows his stuff."
I shook the figure up in the air for effect. "It's as fake as a Queen Anne sideboard. As wrong as a string-inlaid Jacobean coffee table."
I was on a roll. Funny, New York seemed to bring out the best in me.
Anna's companion seemed to have lost interest in Sol. "What do you mean?"
"Come on, Ralph," Anna said. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."
"Oh yes I do. And Richie is going to be extremely interested when I start talking to him."
Richie was no longer my prime suspect, but on the other hand, never would I have suspected Anna.
"What's this about selling something at the mall?" Ralph said, grabbing Anna's arm. "Who's this Richie?"
Anna yanked back. He held his grip.
"I don't know what she's talking about," Anna said, tossing her head in my direction, then jerking her arm free of his grasp.
"Oh yes you do," I said. "It was last Saturday. You thought Anna was just out to buy some goods," I said, looking at Ralph. "She was doing some dealings on the side. You sold a figure dressed in a fringed skirt and Spanish shawl to Maribelle Mason, didn't you?"
I watched her carefully for any hint of response. She remained stone-faced.
"Don't remember Maribelle's name? Oh? Just her money? Her ten hundred-dollar bills? Don't worry, she'll remember you."
"That's the piece you said would bring between five and ten thousand dollars," Ralph said. "You damn liar." He raised his fist. Anna shrank back. Her shoulders instinctively caved in to protect herself. She turned toward me. Her face, up until now gorgeous, melted down into old and tired. Her eyes met mine.
"You aren't going to tell Richie," she said pleadingly. "I'll lose my job. I can't do that. I can't."
I flinched. "Why not?"
Then I remembered. Her child. Of course.
For a half second my heart went out to her, as it had to Jane Finn. But I'd learned from Peter and Ed that to get at the truth you have to keep chipping away, the way you do when you find a gold vein in a mine and you're looking for a nugget.
"What choice do I have?" I said.
Ralph came straight toward me, grabbing for the figure still in my hand. But as he did so, his shoulder caught the corner of a hutch filled with glass and china. It tipped, and the deafening noise of glass shattering was all around me.
I jumped hack. The wall behind me seemed to he quaking.
I turned and saw it wasn't a wall, but a glass-front china cabinet that could easily crush me. I thrust the figure toward Ralph as I tried to angle out of the way. He snatched it away and held it close.
"Wait a minute. How do you know it's worthless? How do I know you're not lying?" Ralph's thick shoulders pressed against me, pinning me against the glass of the china cabinet.
This was more than I had bargained for. Thinking I might faint, I squeezed my eyes closed so hard that I saw red.
Red. Red lipstick. Red glasses. Red fingernails.
In a blinding flash I saw Maribelle, not exactly Anna's favorite person of the hour, all spunky and confident. You've got to have the eye and the touch, and the years, lots and lots of years, Maribelle had said.
Eyes wide open, I glared at him. "Who are you going to trust? Some young, good-looking babe like Anna here? Or me? One with years, lots and lots of years."
God! How my words stung.
"Anna? Ha!" I laughed at the black hulk swaying in front of me. "She's just a secretary at Layton's-works upstairs, like being in the hack room."
Once you've hung around the New York auction scene, you learn pretty fast that most of the girls the international auction houses hire for the front desk come from loaded families, the kind with paid-for yachts and two summer homes. My bet was Anna hadn't-not with a child and hanging around on a Saturday afternoon with a guy like Ralph. Probably she'd been born with the right kind of looks and just enough smarts to know that rich people have a thing for antiques, especially rich old men. She'd likely gone to night school and aced her computer classes and put that down on her application. That's what had kicked her upstairs working at a desk, instead of down on the first floor, where she might have had the chance to meet a rich man.
That was how Judy Taubman had met her husband, Albert-working at the front desk of Sotheby's. Albert Taubman ended up buying the place, lock, stock, and barrel. Of course, he later ended up in jail for a price-fixing scandal, but she was still filthy rich.
Without the chance to snag a rich man, Anna had tried the next best thing-to make money the old-fashioned way, by outsmarting the competition. Sure, it could be done, but you had to know what you were doing, especially in the wilds of the antiques world where fakes and frauds-the human kind and the inanimate kind-lurked around every corner. Anna didn't. Knowledge of fine things could be learned. Taste could be cultivated. But true connoisseurship came only through experience and Anna was a babe in the woods.
Joey heard the sirens first. He bolted from his spot. In the confusion that followed, Anna darted after him toward the door, knocking him to one side along the way. Ralph turned and leapt over Joey in pursuit of her, dropping the figure as he did so. Joey, undaunted, yelled to us over the wailing sirens. "Fire. They're heading down your way, Sol."
Still fearing for my safety, I stood watching everyone scrambling into the street. Seeing a clear path should the china cabinet topple, I darted forward.
Sol was already down the street.
"Wait!" I called.
In the distance an ominous fiery bright orange stripe spread across the horizon. Golden halos encircled the deserted factories dotting the landscape. In the blackness of the night, yellow fire trucks whizzed past us toward Sol's block.
Forgetting my fear of moments before, I ran back inside and grabbed up my pocketbook, reached for the figure, then thought better of it. I tore down the street after Sol.
"Careful. It's still slippery in spots. Sol. Wait."
I got to his side and hooked my arm into his. When I did, fear struck my heart. The figures. I stopped dead in my tracks.
"Oh, your figures! Your molds." My heart pounded. Dear God, please. Please, I prayed.
Sol looked at me, his eyes filled with confusion.
"My molds? I thought you said the molds weren't worth anything," he said.
"Yes. But they are-the figures, the molds."
A sad smile crossed his face. "I'm not worried about the molds or the figures." His voice remained remarkably calm. "They're safe. It's all the things that others had stored there in my building. In the boxes. I don't know what they are. Who knows what they could be? Other treasures? I just don't want anyone to lose their property."
"Safe? Your figures are safe?" I jumpe
d in. "How? The building. Your molds, your figures are in the basement." Surely he didn't understand.
Sol looked at me and said nothing. Just looked. Then he spoke.
"Ah, I knew you were honest. Now I know how kind you are. Thinking of me."
His mouth twisted into a sad smile. He clasped my hands tightly. "My dear, you never lived like my family did back in Europe. Rumors of war came and we ran. We were always hiding. Running. Trying to keep safe. Trying to protect what was ours. When Joey told me about the ... people-we can't call them men anymore, can we?" He stopped and chuckled, then continued, his brow furrowed. "The way they wanted the figures, and then, when they asked where more were, well, well . . ."
In the distance, the metal fire escape at the side of the burning building came careening down with a dull thud. The fire that was so close to Sol's building reignited and flared heavenward. Light and shadow danced on the dark street.
Across my mind's eye I saw the bombing of London, the destruction of Dresden, the burning of Atlanta. As has happened to so much art in those blazing infernos, Sol's life's work, too, now lay in the path of destruction. Since time immemorial, lives and art have been interwoven. Since time immemorial, lives and art have perished together.
Together we stood there, Sol, myself, and my mother. Mother spoke.
"We cannot know how much we learn From those who never will return, Until a flash of unforeseen Remembrance falls on what has been."
Edwin Arlington Robinson, I thought.
Sol's weak wheezing broke my trance.
"Some fire," he said. Again he chuckled, quietly at first. Then he laughed. His aged face glowed, not so much from the light of the fire, as from delight. His eyes were brighter, more youthful, than I had ever seen them, even more so than when he had shown me his figures for the first time.
"It's a good thing we did it," he said gleefully, excitedly tugging on my hands. "Yes. A good thing we did it."
"Did what?"
"Joey and me, we stayed up all night. You see, my dear, I learned something from you. Remember your story about the Triangle Shirtwaist fire?"
I nodded.
"Well, after Joey got so scared, I remembered the story about that terrible fire and how your great-grandfather had passed it down in your family. I don't even know his name," he said. A puzzled look momentarily crossed his face. "And he didn't know the people who died in that fire, but their story touched him. His story, now your story, touched me, my dear." He clasped my hands even tighter. "It made me think about my family and how they struggled so hard to save their work. And so many times, Sterling. So many times. Now that I am the sole steward of my family's works, it was up to me."
"You."
"Yes," he said, suddenly calm and quiet. "I call it divine intervention." He smiled. "I think you would call it the grace of God. A nonbeliever would call it happenstance. What does it matter? We did it, Sterling, you and I. And Joey. We saved them. You told me the story. I took it to heart. So-"
He paused. I expected him to begin one of his coughing fits. Instead, he became more spirited.
"So. I started packing up my little darlings. All the pieces and parts I had unpacked, I repacked. I very carefully wrapped the ones I already had put together."
When I opened my mouth to speak, Sol smiled at me.
"Do not worry. I kept them separate from the ones I carved. As we boxed them, we labeled them, Joey and I." His face was beaming with unabashed pride at his painstaking work. "Joey called a friend who has a truck and a dolly. We moved them all away, far away where they would be safe. Away from this dark place. To a better home. But more about that later. You were so smart. You called the police. Why didn't they come?"
I fished around in my pocketbook for my phone. I'd been so frantic I'd never even turned it on.
Chapter 30
Dear Antiques Expert: I've found a really nice Empire chest of drawers that's a great buy, but some of the veneer is missing on the drawer fronts. Would it be hard to get it repaired?
Though a piece with richly figured veneer can be beautiful, unfortunately over time veneer does tend to warp and pop off if the piece is exposed to extreme temperature changes or excessive moisture. When that happens it can be just about impossible to match the color and graining of the veneer-plus it can be very expensive. In the long run, you would be wiser to pay more for a piece in fine condition than to think you're getting a deal on a damaged one.
"PETER, YOU AREN'T going to believe what happened today. You'll be so proud of me. Really, really, really proud. But do me a favor, please. Call me back. I forgot to pack my cell phone plug and my battery's low. I think I'm low on minutes, too. Babson and Michaels is paying my hotel bill, but I can't ask them to pay for this call and I can't afford these outrageous hotel phone rates. I'll pay you back. Promise. I'm at 212 ..."
Waiting for his call, I looked at the rose and orchid arrangement that Matt had sent me and felt guilty as hell. If Peter was my Ashley Wilkes, who was Matt? My Rhett Butler? I took a minibottle of Crown Royal and the smoked almonds out of the minibar. My indulgence was probably as expensive as a meal at the bistro around the corner, but I wasn't hungry for food.
I hadn't left Brooklyn until everyone was sure that the fire had been contained. Vagrants sleeping in a nearby building had started it. Sol's building wasn't damaged after all, but I was still concerned about him. I felt better when Joey said he'd take the dear man home with him. Sol and I parted with the promise to stay in close touch.
Now that all of Sol's figures were packed away-againthere wasn't anything I could do. Next time I was in New York, though, I would find the time to take pictures of his inheritance. I was looking forward to helping him disperse his treasures in the best possible way. He promised to keep putting more of the figures together-the parts correctly matched, of course. I was willing to make a special trip back to New York, if that was what it took.
A more immediate problem, though, was what to say to Richie about Anna. Or whether I should even tell him. I remembered Anna's panicked look and her plea that I not tell Richie. A sadness washed over me. I thought about her little daughter. Of one thing I felt sure. Undoubtedly she was beautiful, like her mother. But what would she do with all those good looks, I wondered.
Anna aside, I had to tell Richie about Sol's creation, the one he'd signed S. S., which was in Richie's office. I just hoped it would be possible for Sol to get the money from the sale of the figure. If Layton's would even put it in an auction after Richie heard the whole story, that is. Surely they wouldn't. To the true connoisseur, Sol's masterpiece was nothing more than a fake.
And I had to face up to the fact that I had been too quick to judge Richie, too quick and too harsh. I no longer thought he had any involvement with Anna's scheme. Still though, Richie was out for himself.
I thought then, too, of Dwayne Sloggins and Jane Finn and life's twists and ironies. For years Sol had sat on a treasure trove of art and money and paid it no heed, while Dwayne Sloggins-and Ralph, for that matter-never thought twice about tearing people's lives apart to get what they wanted. Was there any real difference between Sloggins and Ralph, other than their modus operandi of thieving while preying on the weak and helpless-one through deceit, one with force?
Some things will never change, Sterling. Mother's voice came from somewhere in the recesses of my mind. The poets have railed about mankind's unquenchable thirst for wealth since time immemorial. In legend, just as in life, only the most humble are unaffected by greed and power, like Tolkein's Hobbits. Unfortunately, in life that rare breed is dying out. I braced myself for what she would say next. It's a shame people don't read Samuel Johnson these days.
For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,
For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws;
Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys,
The dangers gather as the treasures rise.
"The dangers for those who prey and their victims," I added, my thoughts bol
ting from Sol and Ralph and Dwayne back to Jane Finn and those innocent souls she had scammed. I couldn't help wondering if she hadn't known Dwayne Sloggins whether she would have stolen all those things. Though not on so grand a scale, probably so. After all, Jane Finn's motivation was just like Dwayne's-and Ralph's. Greed. Pure blatant greed.
Thank goodness Jane Finn hadn't killed Sarah Rose Wilkins, at least not intentionally. Then again, I'd read or heard somewhere that if an intruder scared a person to death in his own home, it was homicide. Whether or not Jane Finn would be prosecuted and found guilty or innocent only time would tell. But her lack of remorse was still gnawing at me. On the other hand, Anna's situation begged for more sympathy than Jane Finn's.
Though I felt plagued with what to do about Anna, that didn't keep me from curling up in the lap of luxury while telling Peter about my day.
Maybe it was the Crown Royal combined with the day's events and the late hour that put the idea in my head. But at a little before 1 A.M., I impulsively hung the breakfast order form on my door handle. I never did things like that.
ANOTHER PRETTY YOUNG boy brought breakfast in on a rolling table. I watched as he spread a cloth and painstakingly arranged the breakfast tray, complete with a white porcelain bud vase with two deep purple cymbidium orchid sprays, on the coffee table. Imagine, all that effort for a croissant, some butter and jam, a little juice, and a pot of hot tea with extra lemon.
By 9:10 A.M., I was on the street flagging down a cab to take me back to Layton's.
I JUMPED THROUGH the hoops with the now familiar big-earringed young thing at Layton's front desk and found my own way to Richie's office per his instructions. Much to my relief, Anna was not at her usual perch. I instantly found out why. She was inside Richie's office and she didn't look much better than she had the last time I'd seen her. Maybe even worse. It was probably the first time in several hours she wasn't crying.
"Sterling."
Richie's demeanor and tone were dead-on serious. He closed the door behind me so firmly I had the feeling he would have locked it if he could have.