"Clarkson," Robeson said without looking away from Molly. "Get a team over to Strawberry Street. Pick up the desk Sterling was working on as well. If there's a trace of mold on that desk, I want it found."
"Right away." Clarkson scurried from the room.
Orders given, Robeson settled his wide shoulders against the back of his chair and examined the lines on his palm for what seemed like an eternity.
"Um ... do you mind me asking the cause of death?" Molly inquired quietly.
Robeson flicked his eyes at her and then studied his short, clean fingernails. He seemed to be weighing whether or not he planned to answer the question. Finally, after inspecting each nail, he sighed and said, "He basically had a severe asthma attack that triggered both a massive heart attack and stroke at the same time. In short, the guy couldn't breathe and then his body just shut down. It wasn’t a pleasant way to go."
"Can mold cause a reaction like that?" Molly asked bravely.
"Sure, if you're really allergic to it," Robeson shrugged. "The question is, was Ms. Sterling aware of what that mold could do to her husband?"
As Robeson relapsed into his silent mode, Molly pondered his question. Why would Victoria kill Frank? She couldn't think of a single reason. Locking eyes with Robeson, Molly plucked up her courage and responded. "I highly doubt she did, in fact. Look, I know I don't know this group that well, but I can't think of any obvious motive on Victoria's part. Frank gave her what she wanted most. Why kill him?"
"In these kinds of cases, nine times out of ten, the spouse has done the deed. Either it's money or it's jealousy that spurs them on. Ms. Sterling has no concrete alibi. She was alone in her hotel room and she gets all his money upon his death. That doesn’t look too good."
Molly shrugged. "She had his money already. They seemed like a contented, if not enthusiastically happy married couple. The other appraisers seemed to believe that even though Frank and Victoria seemed mismatched, they had an amiable relationship most of the time. And I can't imagine Victoria had anything to be jealous of where Frank was concerned. Have you seen a photo of him?"
Robeson slowly stood. "That's what Ms. Sterling said, too. Just so you know, she hasn't been charged with anything ... yet. That'll be all for now. If you can think of anything else, here's my card." He dismissed her by opening the door to his office. Molly struggled to think of something useful to say, for some poignant question to ask, but she could think of nothing.
"Thanks," she said meekly and tucked the card into her purse. So much for her dreams of assisting the police. But if Victoria was innocent, and Molly firmly believed that she was, since she was simply too indifferent to be a killer, there was still a murderer out there.
That murderer had made one mistake already. He or she had not counted on Molly being with Frank when he searched the slant-front desk for hidden compartments. All she had to do now was subtly pry into the private lives of the other appraisers to see who had something to gain from Frank's death. She also had to find out who had access to the mold growing in bathroom of Mrs. Sterling’s Strawberry Street house.
Feeling reassured that her destiny as a crime-solving reporter was firmly revived, Molly took Garrett's proffered arm and headed out into the balmy evening.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 7
Rotten wood cannot be carved.
—Chinese Proverb
The phone rang with a shrill determination that pierced Molly's sleep, but not enough to make her remember that she was in a strange bed-and-breakfast in Richmond and not curled up in her own bed with her two cats, Merlin and Griffin, asleep near her feet.
Confused and groggy, Molly expected the phone call to be from Matt in Ohio. Without opening her eyes, she croaked out a "hello" and waited for Matt to begin speaking.
"Madam, are you up?" Clara's voice burst into Molly's ?ear.
"Ma? What's going on?" Molly fumbled for her watch.
"Look. Lex and I have a lot to do today and we realized that we can't get started without the wife... what's her name ... signing off on our contract. I mean, what if we pack up that house and bring it back to Hillsborough for auction and she suddenly changes her mind or doesn't like the terms of our commission or—"
"Okay, okay, I get the picture," Molly rasped. She took a sip from the water glass on her nightstand and washed some of the night’s dryness from her throat. "So we need to visit Victoria at her hotel and get her signature."
"Exactly!" Clara trilled. "Now get up and let me in, I have coffee for you."
"Bless you, I think." Molly hung up the phone and stumbled to the door.
~~~~~
At Victoria’s hotel, the desk clerk looked as though she had been deprived of a good night's sleep. Reluctantly, she noted that neither Molly nor her mother carried bags and were therefore not paying guests intending to check in but two women bent on giving her more work to do.
"We'd like to know what room Victoria Sterling is staying in please," Molly asked sweetly.
Happy to be able to deny Molly's request, the clerk shook her head until her wispy bangs shot back and forth across her forehead and issued a thin, false smile. "Oh, we can't provide that kind of information. You may speak to her using our house phone, but I'll have to dial it for you."
"Fine," Clara said curtly. "Dial away."
The clerk gave Clara a dirty look, but punched in the numbers using long purple nails airbrushed with silver flowers. Molly found herself mesmerized by the flash of the woman's fingertips.
"No answer," the clerk informed them triumphantly. "I'm sorry."
Molly dug out Detective Robeson's card and quickly formulated a lie. "I need to see Ms. Sterling this morning. I am assisting this detective with a case and have important interviews at the museum in another hour for which I cannot be late," she added with what she hoped sounded like the authoritative tone of a very busy important person. "Please dial the room until someone answers."
The desk clerk eyed the card carefully, and then seemed to be sufficiently impressed by Robeson's credentials and Molly's snappish manner. "Let me just try again."
"Thank you." Molly smiled smugly.
Victoria answered the phone on the first ring and the desk clerk handed the receiver to Molly. Molly quickly explained the nature of her visit.
"Come on up to my room," Victoria said blandly. "No wait, I'll come get you. Give me five minutes to get dressed first."
"Sure. We'll grab some coffee in the lobby," Molly said and hung up.
As the two women sat at a square wooden table sipping cups of burnt, lukewarm coffee in the small lobby, Clara dug a multi-grain cereal bar out of her purse and held it out to Molly.
"Hungry?"
"No, thanks." Molly drummed her fingers impatiently on the table. Finally, Victoria appeared looking tired and fragile. Wearing wrinkled slacks and a plain cotton T-shirt, she looked much more vulnerable than usual. Without her designer clothes and makeup, Victoria seemed to have shrunk overnight. All the glamour and poise she usually exhibited were gone.
"I'm surprised to see you," Victoria said after Molly had introduced her to Clara and all three women headed for the Sterling’s room. The double beds were both made and the couple's clothes were hanging neatly in the closet Two suitcases sat side by side on the floor and the night-stand held a copy of Antiques magazine and a romance novel. Victoria gestured for Molly and Clara to sit down on the two side chairs while she sank onto the nearest bed.
"I admire your composure." Clara told Victoria with the utmost sincerity. “And if you feel up to it, I’d like to review the terms of our contract.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her purse.
Victoria listened halfheartedly to Clara's request for a signature, signed the contract without reading a line of it, and then turned her weary, green eyes to Molly.
"I want you to know that I didn't kill my husband, but I don't have much time to talk about it right now. My lawyer drove down yesterday and will be picking me up in a half an hour to accompany me to the statio
n. They've got nothing on me except that I don’t have a rock-solid alibi, but they plan to question me all over again today. I'm not looking forward to getting grilled. I still feel numb about the whole thing."
"I'm glad you'll have your lawyer present. You shouldn’t be alone right now," Molly offered by way of comfort. "And of course I don't think you murdered your husband."
"Well, that's nice," Victoria replied dryly, "but in the meantime, someone else will be doing my job until this gets straightened out." She brushed a few locks of tangled hair off her forehead. "I wonder what gave Frank that attack. True, he got on my nerves on a regular basis, but I never wanted him dead."
"The police didn't tell you what killed him?" Molly was surprised. She decided there was no harm in filling Victoria in about the mold.
"Who would do that?” Victoria was clearly flabbergasted. “I know Frank was annoying with his constant health problems, but I'm the one who lived with his ... persnickety habits."
"Someone else must have had a reason to hate your husband," Molly pointed out. "Can you think of a likely suspect?"
Victoria shook her head. "If he offended someone that much, I don't know about it He was extremely fair over the prices of the items in his shop and he never insulted people who brought him bad pieces of furniture to appraise, even if they were complete fakes. He had too much respect for his role as the Great Educator to be rude to anyone who brought him a piece of furniture to examine." She sighed. "I just don't get it"
"Did anyone else go inside Mrs. Sterling's house except for those of us that came with you?" Molly asked.
"Not that I know of. Frank told me he gave you the keys."
Molly started. "That's right! Well, that narrows the group down to Jessica, Borris, Alicia, and Garrett. Besides myself, they were the only ones who knew about the mold."
Victoria waved her hand in dismissal. "No motive there. That crowd gets along with everyone."
At that moment there was a knock on the door. "Mrs. Sterling?" a deep voice called. "Are you ready?"
"That's my lawyer." Victoria stood up. "Come in!" she called and the door was opened by a portly man wearing an exquisitely tailored business suit. "One moment, Mr. Fielding." Victoria told the lawyer before turning back to Molly. "I'll see you at the appraisers dinner tonight. I sure could use a good meal," she added with an attempt at brevity, but Molly thought her eyes looked heavy with worry. Molly said goodbye to Victoria, exited the room with Clara, and closed the door. In the lobby, she linked arms with her mother.
"I'll drop you off at Mrs. Sterling's house. I've got a lot to do today at the museum. I need to photograph antiques, get a few more interviews, and somehow find out who had it in for Frank."
"And tomorrow is the last day of the show, right?" Clara asked.
"That's right. I'm running out of time!"
"Just be careful," Clara warned. "Maybe you should take that handsome Garrett along when you start doing your snooping."
"But he was in the house," Molly argued as she got in her car. "He could be a suspect."
"So no one mentioned the mold afterward?" Clara asked.
"Oh!" Molly slapped her forehead with her palm. "It was mentioned. In the cafeteria, in fact. Everyone was listening to me talk about how nasty the bathroom was. I went on and on about how it had taken over the entire room. Half of the cast and crew were sitting right there as I described everything in detail. Oh, now I'll never find out who did it!"
"You will because someone needed those house keys. Find out who took them and you’ll have your man. Or woman," Clara added. "Did you have the keys on you the whole time?"
"No. I put my bag in the staff office while I had lunch. I have no valuables in there except for my digital camera and I didn't think anyone would mess with it."
"Well..." Clara pulled down the sun visor, checked her reflection in the mirror, and added a coat of rose-colored gloss to her lips. "Try to think who wasn't in the lunchroom with you. That person took the keys from your bag, got into the house, and brought the mold back to the museum while you were eating. Think of who was missing."
Molly pulled up in front of Mrs. Sterling's row house only to find Lex pacing on the front lawn like a dog on a short leash. He was talking animatedly into his cell phone. He wore a vexed look that instantly evaporated when he spied Clara. She waved the signed contract out of the car window like a victory flag.
"Thanks, Ma," Molly said, patting her mother's free hand. "You've given me a place to start."
"Sure thing." Clara slid out of the car and then leaned in the open window. "But like I said, be careful while you're snooping. Guilty people are most unpredictable."
~~~~~
It was after opening time when Molly finally arrived at the museum. The people who’d lined up early had already begun to filter their way inside, leaving the rest of the crowd to dart quick glances at the sky with justifiably anxious expressions. An ominous tier of thunderclouds had begun to gather above them and a hint of a breeze began to tickle strands of hair here and pluck at a scarf there.
A breeze in Richmond in September meant that a storm was about to arrive and the waiting members of the crowd were wondering whether their foresight in bringing an umbrella would be enough to prevent any rain from spalshing on their precious possessions. Those without umbrellas were looking desperately ahead, clearly willing the line to move faster.
Molly decided to interview members of the group who had already made it inside. They would be much more relaxed than the sky-watching throng outside. She was immediately drawn to a young, African-America woman in her early twenties who held the hand of the most beautiful little boy Molly had ever seen. The boy had creamy brown skin, the color of a rich latte, huge blue-green eyes winking with excitement, and a mop of unruly, frizzy hair that bobbed up and down as he danced a merry jig around his mother’s legs.
"I'm sure you hear this all the time, but your son is so cute," Molly said, staring at the little boy. She then introduced herself to the mother and asked if she could conduct a short on-the-spot interview.
The woman seemed a bit uncomfortable. She was Molly's height—almost five feet nine, but while Molly was all curves, this woman was bone-thin and had the long, languid legs of a flamingo. Her bright brown eyes looked downcast and she put a protective arm around her son, stilling his movements.
"I really don't know anything 'bout this stuff. My late husband left me a coin and I've never thought of selling it 'til now, but I need the money. He said it was in his family since before the Civil War and if I ever needed cash, to go sell it. Otherwise, he wanted Erik here to get it."
Molly gazed into Erik's twinkling eyes. "Well, you definitely need to find out how much it's worth before you try selling it. It was smart of you to come here." Molly complimented the nervous woman and she seemed to relax.
"I'm Jasmine," she finally said. "Jasmine Jones. Yeah, it was a good idea, but Erik's getting awfully antsy and I've got to get to work. Here's the coin." Jasmine unwrapped a small, dingy bandana.
Molly picked up the treasure and examined it She was no coin expert, but she recognized the bust of Lady Liberty. Stars surrounded her head and below her shoulders the year it was minted was represented by a stamped ‘1836’. Turning it over, Molly saw an eagle grasping an olive branch in the left talon and a bunch of arrows in the right. A shield covered the feathers of his breast. The text read, "United States of America 50 Cents." The coin was shiny and looked as if it were newly minted.
"I can't believe what good shape this is in," Molly said as she returned the coin. "I know the woman who does the coin appraisals. She won't mind if I let you skip this line. I think it would be the best thing for you to get her opinion of what it's worth and where you should sell it. Just follow me."
Jasmine's grateful smile rendered her instantly beautiful. "Thanks!"
Molly led Jasmine and Erik through the complicated stanchion maze until they reached the next room where the head appraisers were meeting with members
of the public or waiting for a camera crew to arrive. When Molly and her companions reached Alexandra's area, she was surprised to find Garrett seated at her table instead. He was peering intently at a coin with the aid of a jeweler's loop.
Garrett straightened and returned the coin to its owner, an attractive middle-aged man wearing a neatly tailored light blue suit.
"I'll take it, Jared. I'll drop by your shop later this afternoon to see what else you've got. Put this aside for me, will you?"
The older man nodded as he and Garrett shook hands.
"Friend of yours?" Molly asked.
"He's a coin dealer. Operates a small shop in a place the locals call the Bottom. I hate to even ask what that stands for... I see you've picked up some locals of your own. Keeping busy, are you?" Garrett smiled kindly down at Erik.
"Actually, I'm looking for Alexandra. This young lady has a coin that needs to be appraised."
"Then look no further." Garrett puffed out his chest. "I am here to save the day. Let's have a peek, shall we?"
"You?" Molly gaped.
"Sorry to shock you, but Alexandra has taken over Victoria’s hosting duties and as I told you a few days ago, coins are one of the things I collect." Garrett faced Jasmine. "If I can't give you a proper value, I shall send you to Mr. Freeman, the dealer who just left. He is a fair and honest chap, to be sure."
Jasmine, won over by Garrett's easy manner, handed him her red bandana. Garrett examined the coin carefully using his jeweler's loop and though Molly studied his expression closely, she couldn't tell what he made of the coin's value just by watching his face.
Suddenly, Molly heard her name being called from farther down the aisle. Alicia was beckoning her excitedly.
"Excuse me a minute," Molly told Jasmine and hustled toward Alicia's area. Propped on an easel was the most detailed and colorful painting Molly had ever seen. The scene was of New York City, complete with billboards, taxis, and hundreds of tiny pedestrians walking the sidewalks. In the distance, a folksy Statue of Liberty held a bright light bulb aloft as glossy tugboats surrounded her in the harbor. Every inch of the painting was covered in bright, shiny paints—down to the tiny skyscraper windows and the waves in the water.
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