"He looks awful," said Alicia sympathetically, her kind, wide face turning toward the group. "He might really be sick this time."
"Nonsense," replied Victoria dully. "Let's go."
"I'll ride over with you." Alexandra sidled up to Garrett and grasped his arm possessively. Molly stared enviously at Alexandra's trim figure. She looked sophisticated and cool in a bisque-colored linen pantsuit with a chocolate brown silk blouse. Her hair shimmered beneath the track lighting and her makeup accentuated her high cheekbones and smooth hips.
Molly again carpooled with Jessica and Borris while the other appraisers divided themselves amiably between the two other rental cars.
'Take Monument Avenue so we can show Molly the sights," Borris suggested to Jessica.
"The architecture of the historic houses on this street is stunning," Jessica said, turning left onto Monument. "Many of these are million-dollar homes."
Molly's eye was immediately drawn to a statue of a Civil War soldier on horseback. It looked just like the statue she had hid beneath during the blackout, but in a much larger scale. "Is that Stonewall Jackson?" she asked.
"Indeed, it is," Borris said. "The statues on Monument are all dedicated to Civil War heroes, except for the most recent addition of Arthur Ashe. All great men, I would say, but many Richmonders are upset over the latest addition. I've got a friend who lives here and he thinks the Civil War theme should have been left... uninterrupted, but I think it’s a wonderful addition.”
Molly gazed in awe at the enormous mansions lining both sides of the city street. Wrought iron gates surrounded the small yards of four thousand square feet, three-story homes that sat on wide haunches behind tree-lined sidewalks. Even though the rows of large houses seemed uniform, Molly noticed that upon closer scrutiny, the architectural styles were actually quite varied. A colonial was neighbor to a Spanish villa, which bordered a traditional Georgian. Ancient magnolias and oaks stretched their arms out over the neat lawns or front gardens and well-dressed pedestrians walked dogs and exchanged friendly greetings.
"Up next is the monument to Jefferson Davis," Borris continued his role as tour guide. Molly craned her neck in order to view a pillared arc with an obelisk rising from its center. She was more interested in watching the homes pass by, but Borris pointed out Lee sitting astride Traveller and finally, another general on his mount, J.E.B. Stuart.
"Are you a Civil War buff, Borris?" Molly asked.
"Not really. I just pick this stuff up by default. Hazards of the occupation so to speak."
"You mean, becoming a tour guide is your occupational hazard?" Jessica teased.
"No, being smarter than everyone around me is."
The women laughed as Jessica pulled into a parking space on Main Street, right in front of one of the many Carytown antique stores. Molly noticed a long row of boutiques, specialty shops, and eateries lining both sides of the quaint downtown street. The whole area had a lively, colorful atmosphere. No wonder Clayton loves this part of town, Molly thought.
The restaurant featured a narrow downstairs room seating couples only and a cozy upstairs with larger tables crammed next to one another in the style of traditional European caffs.
After their party was seated and had ordered a tantalizing selection of entrees, Molly dipped a thick slice of warm Italian bread into olive oil seasoned with parmesan cheese and sipped a glass of smooth red wine. Once again, she felt extremely comfortable in the company of the appraisers. While they feasted on penne in vodka sauce or Veal Marsala, Jessica, Borris, and Tony entertained their fellow diners with stories of the most ridiculous objects the public had brought them to be appraised.
"A box of used Playboy magazines. And I mean used..." Borris was saying.
"Ha! What about that beehive wig someone brought me in San Francisco?" Lindsey burst in on his story. "That thing was full of bugs!"
Molly enjoyed her homemade gnocchi in creamy pesto sauce and the delightful chatter of the head appraisers. Over frothy cups of cappuccino, she also remembered that Lex and her mother would arrive tomorrow. All she needed was Matt by her side, and all would be right with the world.
Sensing that Jessica and Borris were going to linger over a second cup of decaf, a fatigued Molly joined Victoria and Alexandra in Garrett's car.
"Three lovely ladies in my car, how lucky I am," Garrett said as he drove toward Victoria and Alexandra's pricey hotel located near the museum.
At the front door, Victoria bid them a brief good night while Alexandra hesitated, seemingly trying to think of some way to keep Garrett near her a little while longer. Shooting Molly a nasty look, she asked Garrett to pick her up in the morning.
"Can't put up with a quick ride with Frank and Victoria?" Garrett teased.
Molly watch Alexandra's stiff face force itself into a grin. "It's just nice not to be surrounded by sneezes and tissues for a spell."
"Right-O, see you in the morning."
During the brief car ride back to the bed-and-breakfast, Molly asked Garrett to compare the British and American versions of Hidden Treasures. He pointed out that most of the objects brought to the British show were far older than the ones he saw in America. He mentioned several items from Portuguese side tables to Delft tiles and before Molly knew it, they had reached the bed and breakfast and had climbed the stairs to their rooms. She looked at her watch and was amazed to see that it was after midnight. If she’d been at home, she’d be in bed by ten , curled up with a book and her two cats, Merlin and Griffin.
Turning the key in her door, she was even more surprised when Garrett laid a restraining hand on her arm.
"Nightcap?" he asked. "I've got some lovely brandy in my room."
Brandy, Molly thought. Who drinks that? Having a nightcap in America only meant one thing: sex. Molly wondered if it meant the same thing in Britain, too. But when she raised her bent head to tell him she was too tired, his face was suddenly inches from her own. Molly could feel the warmth of his body as he leaned in against her. She felt frozen in place. She was very attracted to this man, but yet, did she really want to kiss him? What about Matt?
With Garrett's lips approaching hers, Molly knew that her indecision was about to lead to a kiss, and she resigned herself to being swept away by the moment. However, her lips remained untouched as another one of the guest room doors creaked open and Garrett immediately leapt back to a respectable distance.
Borris stepped out of his room still wearing his suit jacket. He and Jessica must have returned just minutes before Molly and Garrett. Looking at them in concern he said, "Listen, I've got Victoria on the phone. Frank never returned to their room. You didn't see him on your way home did you?"
"No," Garrett answered while Molly tried to discern the gravity of the situation.
"Has he ever stayed out all night before?" she asked curiously, thinking about what Jessica had told her about Frank and Victoria having different bedrooms at home.
"No," Borris answered. "Okay, I'll have to tell her we have no news. He may have gone back into the museum for some reason."
"Could he have gotten locked in?" Garrett asked.
Borris looked thoughtful. "Don't think so. All the night guards would identify him by his Hidden Treasures badge. He could get in or out if he really needed to. Well, let me get back to Victoria. Good night."
"Good night," said Molly to both men, rushing into the safety of her room. Adrenaline was surging through her veins as she pictured Garrett's face moving closer and closer to her own. Garrett had almost kissed her and she had actually been prepared to let him!
Molly averted her own eyes as she stood before the bathroom mirror brushing her teeth. She was too disgusted to look at herself, so instead she considered the possibility that Frank was truly missing. He had looked absolutely awful as the group left for dinner. Perhaps he really was sick. Maybe he drove himself to the hospital instead of going back to the hotel.
Wondering briefly if she should suggest this possibility to Borris, Molly
decided she’d look foolish if she called his room with such a theory. After all, Borris knew Frank much better than she did. Frank would probably be in the exhibit area in the morning as usual, blowing his nose and barking at Randy and Chris. Sliding under the rosewater-scented covers, Molly was sure Frank was absolutely fine.
However, she couldn't have been more mistaken.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 4
When a tree is cut down its life support system comes to a halt. Even the parenchyma sapwood cells gradually die as the wood is dried. In no sense can wood be said to breathe after it is dead.
—The Art of Making Furniture
The next morning was an exciting one. Molly arrived at the museum happily satiated by a three-cheese omelet, crisp bacon, and two slices of raisin toast home made by Mrs. Hewell. She was amazed to see the throng of people lined up for the opening of Hidden Treasures. The show had pre-sold over three thousand tickets, with one thousand people arriving per day. Those lucky few in possession of rare or extremely valuable objects would be invited back for further filming on Saturday morning.
Once the show wrapped, it would take the road crew another two days to dissemble the show and pack the hundreds of tables and chairs, lighting fixtures, booth structures, and the show's signage into an eighteen-wheeler before heading to the next city. Jessica had previously mentioned to Molly that the appraisers were looking forward to a week off before opening the next show in D.C.
After working in Tampa, Charlotte, and Atlanta with no break, everyone was ready to go home, however briefly. For Jessica, home was Charlotte, North
Carolina. Borris lived in Wrightsville Beach and Tony was from Baltimore. Hidden Treasures made its headquarters in Washington D.C. and most of the appraisers lived south of the Mason-Dixon line. Victoria and Frank were closest to D.C.. They lived in an historic home in Alexandria, where Frank's successful antique store thrived on tourists visiting the charming waterfront.
"I could have worked for Southeby's, but there's no good sweet tea in New York," he had stated the other night at Casa 'Rita. Most southerners would agree with Frank that strong sweet tea was an important part of any southerner's diet.
Molly longed to see what items the public had chosen to bring for appraisal and wanted to slowly walk along the line of ticket-holders, but Garrett husded her forward. Once inside, they flashed their ID badges to the security guards and, after being eyed curiously by those waiting in the front of the line to be called by an appraiser, headed for the Great Hall. Before they could reach the Civil War exhibit, Victoria intercepted them with a frantic wave. She quickly spoke to a group of cameramen and then approached Molly and Garrett in long, rapid strides. Victoria's face looked drawn and haggard. Even a careful application of makeup didn't disguise the bluish, swollen bags beneath her eyes.
"Frank never came back last night!" she exclaimed with an uncharacteristic display of emotion. "We can't spare any of the other appraisers looking for him." She tapped her watch face. "The show starts in five minutes! Can you two help?"
"Of course," Garrett assured her in soothing tones. "But where do we start?" He lowered his voice discreetly. "Did he ever return to the hotel last night?"
"No." Victoria eyed the front door nervously. Hidden Treasures crew members wearing black T-shirts were lining up in order to show the public which queue to go into upon entering the museum. "I even checked with the front desk. No one saw him. And you know Frank, with all his sniffing and coughing, he's ... well, hard to ignore."
"Where's his car?" Molly asked. "We dropped you off last night, so he had the car, right? Was it in the hotel parking lot?"
A spark ignited in Victoria's eyes. "No! At least I didn't see it. I last saw him when all of you did. He could be anywhere!"
"When we all last saw Frank he was heading for the car," Molly said calmly, though inside she was growing excited about the possibility of finding the missing appraiser and winning the undying admiration of all the other appraisers. She conjured up a rosy fantasy of them toasting her around a dinner table while Garrett beamed at her adoringly. Taking a firm hold of Garrett's arm, she announced, "We'll check the parking garage first and go from there. Don’t worry, Victoria. We’re going to find him."
At that moment, the front doors were unlocked and people carrying a myriad of different objects began flooding into the entrance hall. "I've got to get going." Victoria turned away. "Thank you," she shouted over her shoulder as she hustled off.
Garrett turned to Molly. "Sherlock? Shall we?"
"Carry on, Watson," Molly replied, then flushed guiltily for she remembered having called Matt "her Watson" just a few months ago when she had tried to unravel the mysterious death of a pottery collector. Following Garrett out of the entrance past a middle-aged woman holding a large Delft platter, a young man carrying a tiny Tunbridge box, and a pair of white-bearded twins each bearing a lamp with Tiffany poinsettia shades, Molly's heart began to race at the sight of hundreds of intriguing objects flowing into one building.
Itching to take photographs and meander among the mass of collectors, Molly was torn between looking for treasure and searching for Frank. After a moment's hesitation, in which the pull of the objects almost turned her from her task, Molly squared her shoulders resolutely and quickened her pace toward the garage. She tried to remember if the boat like sedan she had seen Frank drive was dark blue or black. Unfortunately, the garage was packed with cars.
Not a single spot was empty. Even the handicapped spaces were all taken.
"Why don't you take the top floor and I'll start on the bottom," Molly suggested. "We can meet somewhere in the middle."
"A woman who takes charge. Very sexy." Garrett smiled roguishly and headed for the elevator.
Molly walked slowly up the first row of cars, marveling at the number of minivans and SUVs squashed in the narrow parking spaces like bloated cows stuffed into corrals meant for sheep. Of course, it was impossible to be a collector without owning some kind of vehicle with what Molly's mother called "schlepping ability." Because these types of cars were elevated far off the ground, Molly couldn't see over to the next row, so she had to walk up and down every aisle.
Finally, having investigated the entire area, she headed for the next floor. On this deck, half of the cars were under cover and half were exposed to the elements. She decided to begin with the row of cars baking beneath the powerful September sun and get it over with. Frank's dark blue sedan occupied the last spot of the long row. Molly hastened over to the driver's side and stopped dead in her tracks.
Frank was inside. Hunched over the steering wheel, his face was completely hidden. Molly rapped timidly on the window, afraid of startling Frank awake. She was close enough to see the dandruff flakes clinging to the few thin strands spread over his pasty scalp. Molly began to sweat. Why didn't Frank move? Was he drunk? Had he passed out from the heat? She knocked again, harder this time.
"Frank!" she called, wiping sweat off her brow.
Then, she noticed his hands.
Clutching the bottom half of the steering wheel, Frank's two hands were bloated to twice the normal size and their color was completely alien in appearance. No traces of pink skin or thin rivers of blue veins created contrast on those colorless canvases. They were stark, pale white, like two large hunks of Havarti cheese.
"Did you find him?" Garrett yelled from three rows away, startling Molly.
Molly turned and stared at Garrett blankly, her mind not registering that someone was calling to her. She turned back to Frank's hands, unable to take her eyes away from them, unable to take in their grotesque shape and color.
"Molly!" Garrett began sprinting towards her.
The heat surged through Molly's clothes and robbed her lungs of air. She sagged against the side of Frank's car and stared up into the cloudless sky.
Garrett gave her a little shake and she could hear him speaking as if from far away, but none of the words made any sense. Darkness began creeping in at the
edges of her vision.
"He's dead," Molly muttered to the heavy air, and then she fainted.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 5
All day long the machine waits: rooms,
stain, carpets, furniture, people
those people who stand at the open windows like objects
waiting to topple.
—Anne Sexton, "The House"
When Molly came to, she heard the sound of Garrett's voice from a great distance, as if she had sunk underwater in her hotel room's deep claw foot bathtub.
She slowly became aware that her head was nestled in Garrett's lap and that she had been moved into the shade. As her senses returned, she could smell the earthy scent of his cologne and feel the rise and fall of his chest as he spoke. Pebbles from the concrete lot dug into her thighs and her first thoughts were irrational, focusing on the wrinkles that must be forming on her linen pants and whether or not her mouth had been hanging open during her faint as it so often did during sleep.
"Hang on a tick, she's coming 'round," Garrett said softly into his cell phone and looked down at her with a concerned smile. "Feeling better?"
Molly tried to sit up, but felt immediately dizzy so she sank gratefully back into Garrett's lap.
"Don't get up just yet," Garrett cautioned. "I'm on hold with the police. You just stay where you are for the moment. I’ve got you."
He placed a cool hand on her forehead and gently stroked her damp hair until her entire body relaxed under his touch. For a few heavenly seconds, she could pretend that the combination of heat and an incredible shock hadn’t caused her to make a fool of herself.
"Right, we'll be waiting in the car park," Garrett said confidently into the phone and then stuffed it into his shirt pocket. "Awful fright." He spoke to Molly tenderly. "That the first corpse you've seen?"
Molly eased herself into a sitting position. Suddenly feeling awkward and shy, she looked around, taking in the fact that they were both seated in an empty parking space just under the cover of the deck. "No, it's actually not the first time I've seen a dead man," she answered, staring fixedly at a chipped toenail on her left foot. "In the beginning of the summer I saw a well-known pottery collector collapse at a kiln opening. Turns out he had died on the spot. Later, I discovered his wife's body in their mansion. She’d been shot in the chest. Sometimes I see that awful image in my mind before I go to sleep." Molly shivered, despite the intense humidity. She wanted to change the subject, having no desire to rehash those dramatic events with a relative stranger.
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