Stay Calm and Collie On

by Lane Stone

  “But you could! I bet you could if you wanted to,” Ashley called out. She pointed to Shelby and then reluctantly to me. “They know everyone in town. That’s what Henry told me.”

  Lady Anthea shook her head. “I can’t imagine how that would help you. Unless…” She let the word drop.

  “Unless what?” Ashley picked it up, just as Lady Anthea had intended.

  “Well, perhaps if we looked through Henry’s belongings, something might occur to Sue.”

  There it was. Lady Anthea had played her like a violin. She was good.

  “Sure!” Ashley sounded delighted. “I mean, the police took some stuff, but you can look at what’s left.”

  “We’ll come to his apartment and do just that, dear. Are you staying there now, or are you and Lion King still at the hotel?” Lady Anthea asked.

  “We’re at the hotel. I’ve packed up some of Henry’s things already. I can bring the boxes over here tomorrow,” Ashley offered.

  “No,” I said.

  “No,” Shelby said at the same time. We didn’t need her pitching another fit in our lobby, thank you very much.

  Lady Anthea smiled sweetly. “Ashley, you’ve been through so much. We’ll come to you in the morning.” Then she opened the door and ushered the young woman out.

  Chapter 18

  At eight o’clock that night, Lady Anthea, Shelby, and I were sitting in my screened-in porch. Shelby had depicted the summit to Jeffrey as a business meeting. A Grotto pizza box and a big tossed salad took up most of the wrought iron dining table. I had a death grip on my glass of Chianti as I listened to Lady Anthea talk about the paintings we’d seen in the Best of the Past.

  While Shelby and I completed our end of day routine at Buckingham’s, Lady Anthea had stayed in my office and typed, printed, and even talked to herself a little. Based on the ohs and my, mys I’d heard, it sounded like she’d been surprised several times by something or another. When I stuck my head in, she was sitting back in her chair with her hand over her mouth, looking at the computer monitor like it had talked dirty to her. I’d say she’d been stupefied by what she saw.

  Now that she’d had something good to eat and drink, she was ready to report on her findings. “From my research on those paintings, I believe the two we saw to be extremely valuable,” she said. She took a ladylike sip of wine while she let that sink in. “They’re both unsigned, but I think they’re from the school of artists like John Martin Tracy and James Henry Beard.” She waited for our reaction, but we didn’t react. I had never heard of either artist, so what was I supposed to say?

  “Not John Martin Tracy and James Henry Beard!” Shelby shrieked. “No!”

  “Have you heard of them?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Shelby said, and cracked up.

  I laughed too, but that could have been the combination of the joke, the wine, and my fatigue. Whatever the cause, I needed it bad.

  “They’re both nineteenth century American artists,” Lady Anthea said. That seemed to make the gap in our education even more shameful.

  “Still not ringing any bells with me,” I said.

  “I need to do more research but this is what I can tell you from what I know thus far. A painting by James Henry Beard would probably cost in the five- to ten-thousand-pound range.”

  “Wow,” I said. I didn’t need to do any arithmetic on the exchange rate to know what she was saying was important.

  “And, John Martin Tracy was the first famous artist to paint pointing dogs in the States,” she said.

  “Were his as valuable as the first guy?” Shelby asked, leaning in.

  “Oh, you would have to pay much more for an oil painting by John Martin Tracy.”

  Dare I ask? “How much more?”

  “His works sell for one hundred thousand and up.”

  “Not that it matters, but pounds or dollars?” I asked.

  “Dollars.” She’d kindly converted for us, but if the six-figure number had been anything but pennies, it would have been a lot of money.

  “But you’re not saying the paintings we saw at the Best of the Past were by either of them, right? Not even the less valuable one? They were from the school of, right?” Shelby asked.

  “Oh, no! As far as I know, Tracy and Beard always signed their works. Those weren’t signed,” Lady Anthea reminded us. “At least I didn’t see a signature. If I could see it unframed, who knows.” She shook her head. “I would never trust myself to take it out of its frame. For now, dating the artwork will have to suffice. If they are oil paintings from the nineteenth century…” She let her voice trail off.

  I thought I had gotten her drift, but I wanted to be sure. “You can’t determine their value by who the artist is, because we don’t know. You’re going by how old they look?”

  She had been nodding that I was right up until my question. “It’s not how old they look. Any forger worth his salt can make a painting look old. There are very reliable ways to date a painting.”

  The leaves on the Golden Euonymus along the back property line glowed in the night, illuminating my backyard. Lady Anthea’s news showed us what we didn’t know and would hopefully lead us to the right questions. “Collins said those paintings were fine for a bachelor’s apartment,” I said. I looked at Shelby since she hadn’t been there. “He gave us the distinct impression his paintings weren’t valuable at all.”

  Lady Anthea reached for another slice. “I think they’re worth much more than he was leading us to believe. I can’t help but wonder why a gallery owner would be keen to undervalue his merchandise? Is that an American sales approach?”

  Shelby and I shook our heads, no.

  Lady Anthea said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I need to do more research before I can say with any certainty how valuable his paintings are.”

  “How could he not know the paintings’ worth?” Shelby asked. “I mean, he owns the gallery. He should know since he bought them.”

  “He said that Mary Jane Kerwin did the buying,” Lady Anthea said.

  “Yes, but remember he said he had inherited those,” I corrected and had another bite. “Well, we learned that Henry bought a painting from the group—at least one.” I stopped and told Shelby about the piece with the sold notice on it. “Collins said that Henry had bought it, making it his second, but Mary Jane Kerwin said Henry hadn’t paid for it and took the note off.” I pointed at Lady Anthea with my slice of pizza. “Is that why you wanted to get us into Henry’s apartment? So we could see if the first painting was by the same artist as those in the gallery?”

  She raised one eyebrow and gave a devious little chuckle.

  “Good for you,” Shelby said.

  “I have much more to consider,” Lady Anthea said.

  “You were working hard on the computer this afternoon,” I said. “What I don’t understand is how whatever you find on the internet can tell you if a painting in front of you is the real deal.”

  “That’s a good point. Authentication usually relies on connoisseurs. I’m far from that, but when I first saw those paintings I was struck by the composition and those colors.” She paused and lowered her voice. “Those colors—I can still see those colors.”

  “I’m not really an art person but I have to admit, I was awe-struck by both of those paintings,” I said.

  “When we were finally shed of Ashley, I enlarged the photos so I could see the brushstrokes better. When we go to Henry’s apartment, I’m going to look at the paint texture and the frame of the first one he bought,” Lady Anthea explained.

  “Is there anything you need from us?” Shelby asked.

  “Not unless you have a lab for infrared spectroscopy, radiometric dating, or gas chromatography,” Lady Anthea answered. When she saw the blank looks on our faces, she adjusted her request downward. “I could use the help of someone who really knows her w
ay around the internet for provenance research,” Lady Anthea said, looking first at me then at Shelby.

  “Never been to France,” Shelby said.

  That got a raised eyebrow from Lady Anthea.

  “Provenance is who owned the artwork when, right?” I asked.

  “That’s right. Can either of you help with the provenance online research?”

  “Dana can!” we answered at the same time.

  Shelby laughed. “Sure, Sue and I can google, but Dana deep dives into social media sites and groups to find the good stuff.”

  I knew better than to look at Shelby when she said this since the good stuff was mostly background on Frithsden and the duke.

  Lady Anthea sank back into her chair. “I’m delighted and relieved we have access to someone like that.”

  After helping herself to more salad, Shelby said, “I’m glad we have someone like you who knows something about art. How do you know so much? Did you study art history in school?”

  “Yes, and my family has a collection curated over generations,” she said. The end of her sentence had trailed off. Then she shook her head like she was thinking an unpleasant thought away, and laughed. “I have to say, I have laughed more this week than I have in the past year.” She picked up her wine glass to toast us. “I’m grateful to you both for that.”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked. “Which was more fun: finding the dead body, the car wreck…?”

  Shelby interrupted me. “Baring your soul to a newspaper when that was the last thing you wanted to do? Or, wait don’t tell me, was it Ashley Trent’s scene this afternoon?” She had pushed back the heavyweight chair and was getting ready to head out. “Before I go, are we in agreement that the person Henry was referring to as boss on his calendar was Mary Jane Kerwin?”

  “We know it wasn’t Sue he was having sex with,” Lady Anthea said, with what I thought was an uncalled for degree of certainty.

  “I think we can assume it was Ms. Kerwin, but when we see his calendar entry for Sunday night, we’ll know for sure. Remember, Rick Ziegler saw the van on Sunday night, the night before Henry was murdered.”

  Shelby left through the side door to the porch, and Lady Anthea and I brought the now-empty pizza box and salad bowl in through the door to my great room. Abby was already inside and snoozing on the hearth.

  “This is a very comfortable home, Sue.” She scanned the room, even though she’d seen it every day since Monday.

  For some reason, I did the same. I looked over the room though it was even more than familiar to me. “I inherited every single piece of furniture in here. I had the chairs and sofa reupholstered.” The sea motif might have been too busy, but having all three covered in the same fabric kept the room tranquil. The walls were painted the color of sand from an East Coast beach and the floorboards were close to white.

  We put the dinner dishes in the dishwasher, and I went back to sit in one of the two chairs. Lady Anthea sunk into the overstuffed sofa, placing her phone on the cushion next to her leg.

  “It’s been a long day,” I said, trying to cover a yawn. “I didn’t sleep very well last night because I was wired after the wreck.”

  Her phone rang. She didn’t automatically answer the call, instead she picked the phone up and looked at it. “It’s my brother,” she said.

  This was just the excuse I needed to go to bed. “Go ahead and talk to him. Good night.”

  She nodded and answered the phone. I was in the middle of the room and I still heard a man’s voice bellow out. “You mentioned Sandringham to a newspaper?! What are you doing over there?!”

  Chapter 19

  On Thursday I woke up still angry with Lady Anthea’s brother for berating her the way he had. My six o’clock run on the Lewes beach was enjoyable once I stopped planning what I would say to the duke if I ever met him in person. That wasn’t likely ever to occur, so he was safe from the blistering and brilliant attack I had prepared. I hadn’t let on to Lady Anthea that I had heard the opening to his tirade about her speaking of Sandringham to the media because I didn’t want to embarrass her. After getting ready for work I had gone to Buckingham’s to open for the day. When Shelby came in, I went back home to pick Lady Anthea up for our trip to Henry’s apartment.

  “I hope Ashley will give us the key and leave us to go through Henry’s belongings by ourselves, instead of staying with us,” I said, as I clicked my seatbelt buckle.

  “We would be able to communicate with each other more freely if she would,” she agreed. She paused, then said, “Did you read the Southern Delaware Daily article?”

  “It’s out already?”

  “Oh, yes.” She sighed out the words. “My brother read it. He has alerts so he’ll be notified when Frithsden is mentioned.”

  So that was how her brother knew she’d discussed whatever happened at Sandringham with a reporter! Of course.

  “I remember on Tuesday when we saw the article with the dog theft rumor, you said that you had Google alerts set up for your estate, and for friends.” Actually, she’d said, uh, friends.

  “That’s what last night’s phone call was all about,” she said. “He wants me to return to England in case there’s any explaining needed to—” she hesitated, “to our friends.”

  “Friends that live in palaces?” I ventured.

  She chuckled but didn’t answer.

  “I’m so sorry you had to get involved in this,” I said.

  She shrugged off my apology.

  “Do you need to go back?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to,” she answered. She waited then started talking again. “He says the business has gone all to pot. I’m sure he’ll continue to pressure me to distance myself from Buckingham’s until the publicity fades, and that won’t happen until the murder is solved.”

  I drove on without speaking, and wishing she had said something more along the lines of “hell no, I won’t go,” but she hadn’t. The call from her brother topped off my anxiety level, already high because we were a day closer to the gala. Then there was my absence from my surfboard for four days. That didn’t help my spirits any.

  “What else did the article say?” I asked. “Please tell me they mentioned the gala?”

  “Oh yes! They went into quite a bit of detail on the event. In the middle there was a paragraph detailing how the investigation had proved there was no credence to the allegation that the dogs were the target of a kidnapping plot. Don’t you find that interesting?”

  “I guess, I mean the rumor was ridiculous.”

  “I forgot to talk to them about the rumor,” she said. “I think Chief Turner was the source of the retraction.”

  “Nah, that was me,” I said. “I told Michael that Dr. Walton was drunk when he called them.”

  She laughed. “I thought I had found an opportunity to put in a good word for your chief. I’ll have to keep trying. They were very kind in describing the beach location and that the entertainment would be provided by a DJ along with a guitarist.”

  I drove on, taking on board what she was saying. We were out of the Villages of Five Points and onto Highway 1, headed north to Henry’s apartment in Milford.

  She waited for some kind of response from me. When it didn’t come, she said, “I think you’ll be quite pleased when you read it.”

  I took a deep lungful of air. She had gone way outside her comfort zone when she gave that interview. It was time for me to do the same and talk to her. “It’s just that at the beginning of the week I was worried about getting the centerpieces just right, and keeping up with all the extra business your appearance was bringing in. The Pet Parent Appreciation Gala was supposed to help us take Buckingham’s to the next level. We wanted people that used our services every other month to increase that to once a month. If we’ve been seeing them once a week, we wanted them booking twice a week. Now with what we’ve
contracted to spend on food, drink, decorations, and whatever else, it’ll take us a year to get out of the red.”

  “If we repair damage done by the murder and have a successful gala, can we keep up with increased usage of our services? We don’t have a big staff,” she said.

  “Oh, I’d love to have enough business to hire a few more people.”

  “Would you hire me?” she asked.

  That should have been followed by a laugh, but it wasn’t. “In a heartbeat,” I said.

  “I feel I haven’t been much help this week.” Her voice was low and tentative.

  “Are you kidding? Every time I turn around you’re saving my backside.” I looked over at her just in time to see her head jerk. Maybe I’d gotten a little too informal with that last line. “I mean—”

  “I know what you mean. I’ve used the Anglophilia any time I thought it would help,” Lady Anthea said with an unembarrassed laugh. “Seriously, what would you hire me to do?”

  Though I knew this was a rhetorical question she’d gone back to, I did have an idea to throw out. “You’re really good with dogs. I would love to hire someone to specialize in agility training.”

  “Two of my three corgis have won agility competitions.”

  We went back to our own thoughts. Mine had to do with how out of character these what-ifs seemed.

  In a minute or so, Lady Anthea blurted out, “Why haven’t the police done more to find Henry’s killer?” I heard the desperation in her voice.

  “I’m not trying to defend Chief Turner—you know I’m not—but he is trying,” I said. “The Lewes Police Department is small.”

  “Do you know what I think?” Lady Anthea said.

  Just like magic my phone rang, and I could see from caller ID that it was Chief Turner himself. Since I’m a person with free will, I waited for the real live person beside me to finish her thought, instead of answering the call. It was probably all in my head, but I could have sworn the ringtone’s volume increased to show that this bit of defiance against technology had not gone unnoticed and would not be tolerated.