After a few lighthearted digs at Frank's expense, the group grew bored with his allergies and returned to swapping stories about the spectacular antiques scheduled to be filmed over the course of the day. Even Alexandra looked animated as she boasted about a collection of carriage clocks she was putting in the spotlight.
"The largest is almost... oh, let me convert this to your silly American measurements ... thirteen inches tall and the smallest is about five inches. All are signed on the dial and in perfect working order. Quite a lovely bunch."
The group ate quickly, eager to begin filming their segments. Molly, who was an extremely fast eater, had finished her entire lunch before Jessica had even started on the second half of her pimento cheese sandwich. Jessica inconspicuously eyed Molly's empty plate and noted the impatient tapping of the younger woman's left foot.
"Go visit with Tony." She kindly shooed Molly into motion. "He's dying to show you that cop's set of Hot Wheels and I need to clean the pieces we'll be filming. We'll meet you back at our pens at three."
"It's a date," Molly answered. "I hope you two have something exciting to show me as well."
"I've got an anatomy book the likes of which you've never seen," Borris promised smugly.
"That sounds like a come-on line," Jessica teased.
"Only for you, my dear." Borris winked and Jessica smiled at him fondly. Molly could see that the pair had already forgotten about her, but she didn't mind. Those two should just get over their relationship hang-ups and admit they're crazy about each other, she thought.
Molly spent over an hour with Tony as he meticulously reviewed the highlights of the Hot Wheels collection he had filmed that morning.
"This is all Officer Johnston's!" he exclaimed, his boyish smile lighting up his face. "This is one of the best collections I've ever seen."
"Whew." Molly wiped her forehead in mock relief and laughed. "I'm glad I didn't waste your time."
"No way. These are the first ones ever released," Tony gushed. "All of the packaging is mint. And see here"—he pointed to a row of yellow-green and pink cars—"these two colors, the vaseline and pinks, are much more rare than the other colors."
"I'm surprised they even made pink for boys to play with," Molly said, taking photographs.
"Exactly! That's why they're more unusual," Tony enthused.
"What's this collection worth?'
Tony swept his arm over the group of cars. "Close to six grand. Officer Johnston is going to keep them for his son. I told him he'd better get them insured and that he should store them in plastic bins. He's the nicest state trooper I've ever met, probably 'cause I wasn't behind the wheel of a speeding car.” He winked at Molly. “He'll be here for the show on Friday. When I gave him two tickets he mentioned something about bringing some of his Coca- Cola memorabilia."
"That's great, Tony."
After photographing all the Hot Wheels, Molly got some coffee from the vending machine downstairs and wrote up an outline for her article. She decided to write a side story on what people ended up doing with their items once they’d been assigned estimated values by the appraisers of Hidden Treasures. She could follow up this line by conducting an interview with Trooper Johnston. Her readers would love to discover that members of law enforcement were collectors as well.
Molly checked her watch. She still had a half hour of free time before she met with Jessica and then Borris, so she decided to check out the exhibit on Civil War antiques.
As Molly walked through the Great Hall, she felt a bit lost among the bustling mass of activity. Curators and staff members from the Richmond Confederacy Museum were frantically putting the finishing touches on the exhibit they had loaned out specifically for the filming of Hidden Treasures. Molly paused next to a formidable statue of Stonewall Jackson on horseback. The top of Jackson's hat was twenty feet off the ground and the enormous haunches of his mount could easily hold four regular-sized riders. Molly admired the sculpted muscles of the horse's forelegs and the wrinkles meticulously carved into lifelike creases on Jackson's pants.
Just as she reached out a hand to touch the tiny lines forming the horse's marble mane, the lights went out. The windowless hall was completely enveloped in darkness.
And in the sudden silence, a woman began to scream.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 3
With their crushing inferiority complex about English furniture, the Early American cabinetmakers called cherry American mahogany—and usually stained it to look like mahogany. This is something like gilding a lily with mud.
—George Grotz, The Furniture Doctor
Molly stood with one hand on the horse’s marble mane and her body pressed against Stonewall Jackson's cold but reassuringly solid leg. The woman's panicked screaming was close enough to force goose bumps to erupt up and down Molly's arms. She felt vulnerable and frightened as the screams echoed in the rafters of the high ceilings.
"Stop it, Ellen!" a man's voice suddenly yelled and the shrill shrieks abruptly stopped. "For Christ's sake! It's just a power failure."
"But I hate the dark," the woman wailed and began to sob like a child refused its night light. “I’m scared of the dark!”
"Anyone have a flashlight?" another voice called out timidly and Molly allowed herself to breathe.
"Just sit still!" the first authoritative voice yelled again. 'These things never last long."
People in the exhibit space began whispering animatedly. Her back resting against the horse’s hind leg, Molly slid down until her fingers felt the shape of a marble hoof. Sitting on the ground in the protective gap underneath Stonewall's mount and calmed herself. For some reason, the blackout had seemed particularly ominous, as if the lights were going to snap back on only to reveal a bloody corpse.
"Been reading too many mysteries," Molly mumbled to herself. She was amazed that she could see absolutely nothing from where she sat, but then she remembered that the exhibit hall had no windows. She strained her ears for any unusual sounds, but only the nervous whisperings of the people around her could be heard.
Suddenly, she thought she saw a pinprick of light coming from the direction of the display cases against the wall. It bobbed up and down once, then again, and then disappeared. Molly blinked. Had she really seen anything or were her eyes playing tricks on her in the dark?
Five minutes passed, but it seemed more like twenty when the lights were finally restored. Weak cheers arose from the people grouped in the Civil War exhibit. Molly quickly looked around to make sure that her strange hunch about bleeding cadavers was incorrect and then pulled herself off the ground using Jackson’s boot for leverage.
No bodies hung from the track lighting or lay sprawled at the feet of the imposing Robert E. Lee statue nearby, so Molly released a deep breath and her hold on Stonewall's foot. As the museum workers returned to their tasks and a feeling of normalcy resumed, Molly decided to take a peek at the neareset display case before heading to her meeting with Jessica and Borris. After all, by the time the show started the exhibit was likely to be filled by members of the public and it would be impossible to study any of the artifacts at lengt.
The first of three large display cases contained a selection of letters, diaries, and daguerreotypes. Molly carefully studied the black and white images of the young Confederate soldiers. Some of them were mere boys, beardless and skinny, their eyes beaming with pride and innocence. Their uniforms were clean and pressed, still unsoiled by the grit and blood of a real battle. It was difficult to turn away from their young, determined faces and Molly couldn’t help but wonder how many of them had survived and grown old enough to remember their first, glory-studded days as soldiers.
The next case held musket balls, decks of playing cards, domino boxes, and currency. There were several types of Confederate bills displayed on rectangular pieces of black velvet along with an array of coins. A special case boasted a series of rare gold coins that had been found on the unidentified body of a Confederate officer. The
coins had a greenish-gold luster and the face of Lady Liberty on one side with a crown of laurel leaves on the reverse.
Molly read the exhibit notes with a mixture of horror and fascination. The soldier had received two shots to the face, erasing his identity forever. No letters or personal documents were found on his body—just a scorched locket with the remnants of a woman's portrait and these six gold coins.
According to the labels affixed below the coin display, each coin was a three dollar gold piece minted in Dahlonega, Georgia in 1854. To date, only a handful of them were known to exist. The soldier wouldn't have been using the coins for currency, and since they were hidden away inside his pocket Bible—holes had been cut through the pages in order to hide the coins—he may have carried them for luck, but they were otherwise a mystery.
"Didn't prove very lucky," Molly said to herself.
"Guess not," agreed an elderly man with a white moustache, gold spectacles, and a blue seersucker suit leaning on a wooden walking stick. He smiled and his face creased in every direction, his pale blue eyes sparkling with intelligence. "Each one of those coins is worth at least eighty thousand dollars. They're all AU Dahlonega coins with unusually high eye appeal. Only one thousand one hundred and twenty were minted and one hundred are known to still exist. And these three are in unbelievable condition, despite the young man's unfortunate fate."
"Are you a numismatist?" Molly asked, trying to sort out the jumble of coin terminology.
"Used to be. I gave my entire collection to my grandson, so now I just admire the ones I see in passing."
Molly returned her glance to the coins. "What does AU mean?"
"About Uncirculated. Circulated coins have received wear. Mint coins are perfect with no wear. AU coins exist in the realm between extremely fine and mint." The man chuckled. "But I certainly could never afford that level of coin. One of those beauties sold in New York last year for one hundred thousand dollars."
"Wow! So there's almost half a million dollars worth of coins here? Shouldn't a team of armed security guards be watching them?"
The old man pointed with his cane to an empty chair across the aisle. "That's where the guard's supposed to be, but I imagine he went to check on that power failure. Plus, we're all here working and watching. No strangers walking through the halls just yet.” He gave her a playful wink. “Speaking of work, guess I'd better get back to supervising my interns. Enjoy the exhibit."
Molly cast one more appreciative look at the coins and the photographs of battlegrounds. Civil War displays always made her feel depressed and she hated to see the tragic evidence of what had happened to the men and women of a divided nation, so she hastened along to find Borris and Jessica. As she passed by Frank's screened niche, he hailed her over with a wave.
"The slant-front desk is ready to be photographed," he told her. "And I thought you might like to be present when I check for hidden compartments. After all, I owe you a favor for finding me an auctioneer so quickly."
Molly couldn't resist the possibility of discovering some treasure of unspeakable rarity within the desk, so she ran over to Borris's exhibit area to tell him that she would be late, but the camera crew was already filming him with a large, leather-bound anatomy book. Victoria was standing by to film the segue between the segment on the anatomy books and the next commercial break.
"Can you tell him that I'm with Frank and I'll be back in a little while?" Molly asked Victoria, who issued a bored nod in response.
The slant-front desk had been expertly polished and waxed. Its red patina radiated age and beauty as Frank ran his hands tenderly over its surface.
"No gloves?" Molly teased.
"Not on camera!" Frank answered shrilly, oblivious to her jesting. "Take some pictures, then we'll dig around inside."
"Hasn't the owner already searched for secret areas?"
"I doubt it. The owner's an eighty-four-year-old lady who has had this piece in her family for years. She just wants the appraisal for insurance purposes as she's going to leave it to her daughter in her will. Said she just kept a bunch of letters in it and it was kept closed most of the time. That's why the inside has a deeper red than the outside. It was exposed to less sunlight over time."
After shooting several photos, Molly took a seat in a chair next to Frank as he switched on a penlight and began working his fingers inside each pigeonhole. Watching him, Molly could sense his deep appreciation of the workmanship it required to craft the desk's nooks and drawers, careful dovetails, and detailed inlay. Frank closed his eyes as if in a trance, letting his hands search and pry as he tried to get a sense about an extra large hollow space or a thinning of an area of wood.
As Molly leaned closer, she detected a faint, musty odor beneath the heavy smell of furniture wax. It was oddly familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. The interior of the desk had a small, central cupboard surrounded by pigeonholes and drawers. Frank was carefully examining one of the pillar-like pieces of wood that created a fluted border between the cupboard and the pigeonholes.
"Here!" Frank breathed, pulling one of the pillar-like pieces away from the body of the desk. It slid out, revealing a small vertical space in which documents or other thin objects could be stored. Mesmerized, Molly waited while Frank put his pale face against the opening and he flashed his tiny beam of light into the cavity. He began to frown.
"What is it?" Molly asked.
"Someone forced this," Frank replied angrily. "And recently, too. See these scratches." Frank handed her the piece of wood that had formed the fake pillar front and then shone the light beam on similar scratches within the cavity. "Those are made with a screwdriver. And there's fresh wood dust in the opening. If there was something in here ..." He broke off as a powerful coughing fit racked his body. Swallowing great gulps of air, he searched his pocket for tissues. After loudly blowing his nose he frowned and whispered, "It's gone now."
“What did you think happened?” Molly asked.
Frank looked at the desk angrily. "Some moron in the owner's family must have rifled through this piece in case there was anything of value inside. Damn amateurs."
Molly sat with him as he searched the rest of the pigeonholes, but no more secret compartments were discovered. She felt sorry for Frank, odd as he was, for missing out on the desk's treasures. She was disappointed, too. After all, it would make a great article if she had been an eyewitness to the finding of some rare document or precious gem.
Handing the fake drawer front back to Frank, she noticed black smudges on her palm. Frank's hands were also dusted with black smudges and a long streak of pale black darkened the tip of his nose and upper lip. His eyes had begun watering and just as Molly was about to tell him about the marks on his face, he jumped up, rubbing vigorously at his eyes and said, "I've got to get my nasal spray! Excuse me."
Molly watched him scurry off down the wide aisle dividing the exhibit areas. Then she picked up the discarded penlight and directed the beam around the pigeonholes. Black smudges were everywhere, but without direct light on them, they could barely be seen. Molly wondered why Randy and Chris had not done a better job cleaning the desk’s interior. Putting down the pen, she went off to the restroom to wash her hands.
Just as she was drying them off, Jessica entered and headed for the sink.
"We're all eating Italian tonight," she said, rubbing her hands vigorously under the tap. "Garrett's found us a place in Carytown that is supposed to have delicious, authentic Northern Italian cuisine."
Molly examined her curvy figure in the mirror and after tugging her blouse over her hips, frowned. "I could do without all those heavy sauces," she answered.
Jessica appeared next to her at the mirror and deftly applied lipstick in a brownish-rose shade. She ran thin hands through her cropped hair and asked, "Got a boyfriend?"
"There's someone from work I'm interested in. We've been out on a few dates, but our schedules seem to be keeping us apart."
'Take it from me, honey"—Jessica
spritzed on some light perfume with a fruity bouquet—"my husband got too busy for me. Too busy with another woman, that is. That's why we're divorced. You don't want a man like that."
Molly opened her mouth to defend Matt but instead asked, "What's the deal with you and Borris?"
Jessica immediately began to fumble in the depths of her hemp purse. "We're just friends."
"I think he'd like it to be more than that," Molly suggested gently.
"Well, I'm not going down that road again." Jessica quickly changed the subject. "Oh, listen to this. Just before I came in here, I overheard one of the security guards saying that the power failure was intentional."
"Someone hit the switch, so to speak?"
"Yes. I wonder why. Nothing's missing or anything. It was probably Tony, playing a prank. He set off a fire alarm in Sacramento last year. Claimed it was an accident, but no one believed him," Jessica said, rubbing a fragrant herbal lotion on her hands and forearms. "Come on, let's go eat."
Molly thought about the pinprick of light she had seen. It had been right near the display cases housing the rare coins and the daguerreotypes. A shiver ran down her spine, but she pushed thoughts of the blackout away. Someone had a penlight and nothing was missing. That was all. What was there to worry about when good food and Garrett's handsome face awaited her?
~~~~~
The head appraisers were all gathered just inside the museum's front doors. Garrett was handing out sheets of directions to Ristorante Amici. "Everyone set?" he asked.
"I'm not coming," moaned Frank who was sitting in a chair with his head propped back against the wall. He looked even paler than usual and sounded completely congested. Beads of sweat had sprung out on his forehead and a damp ring was forming around the neck of his shirt. His eyes watered and his shoulders were slumped with fatigue. "I'm going to the hotel to lie down," he whined as he rose gingerly and walked off slowly in the direction of the parking garage. The other appraisers watched him silently.
A Fatal Appraisal Page 6