The group fell silent, digesting the powerful line along with their food.
"What is it with you Americans and this war?" Alexandra said and looked to Garrett for support. "Do you understand it? And this General Lee," she snorted. "You'd think he was some kind of demigod. There are monuments and shops named after him all over this city."
"He's much like your Lord Nelson," Clara said calmly, though Molly could see annoyance in the way her mother's lips had drawn into a thin line. "He was a great commander and a good man."
"Yes, but Nelson won," Alexandra sneered.
"I agree with you, Alex," Patrice shook his head. "That war needs to be forgotten down here—and Lee along with it."
"Lee is a hero," Lex said, his voice thick with emotion. "He was honorable, courageous, and like the quote said, humble. He was just a man protecting his home. I was raised in Virginia, and I'll tell you one thing. If an army tried to invade Her today, I would stand, my feet planted firmly on Her soil, and fight them off."
"Well said!" exclaimed Borris and clanked his beer mug against Lex's wineglass.
"Did any of you look at those daguerreotypes from the exhibit?" Lindsey asked, a hand futilely trying to replace stray hairs back into her bun. "Some of those boys ... it's painful to look at them and wonder if they made it through the war."
The group exchanged animated murmurs about the exhibit until Alexandra raised her voice once more. This time, her face was aglow with triumph. "I'll tell you what's painful," she began.
"What's that, dear?" Lindsey leaned forward, her owl-like face waiting expectantly.
"Painful is how obvious those fake Dahlonega coins are!" Alexandra pronounced and Jessica's hand abruptly jerked sideways, knocking an untouched goblet filled with red wine into her lap.
"Oh!" she yelped and jumped up as a ruby stain bled over her pink floral skirt.
"I left a message for the curator of the museum to call me at my hotel first thing in the morning," Alexandra continued as if nothing had happened. "It's insulting to be a part of an exhibit with such blatant fakes. Someone is bound to notice."
Garrett sat staring at Alexandra, his mouth ajar in astonishment. The other appraisers looked just as shocked.
"Are you sure?" Borris asked. "You haven't actually handled them, right?"
"No," Alexandra said flippantly as she beckoned the waitress. "I'll have a decaf with nonfat milk. If you don't have nonfat I'll settle for two percent. Anyone else having coffee or dessert?" She turned her cold, lovely face to Molly. "Molly? I'm sure you're having dessert."
Molly struggled to contain the anger that surged through her body. What a bitch!
"How can you be so certain that they're fakes just by looking at them?" Garrett rephrased Borris's question. Molly sank back in her chair, relieved that the focus was quickly taken off of her.
"Simple, darling," Alexandra cooed at Garrett. "The reverse should have a Letter D, for Dahlonega, but someone put a P there instead. Or it's a D with a tail. Either way, it's a major mistake that isn't some minting error. Once the curator really takes a look, he'll see that I'm right."
"Why do you know so much about American coins?" Lex asked, obviously deciding to play devil's advocate. "It doesn't sound like there's much you like about our country."
"I like coins." Alexandra sipped delicately on her decaf. "I like them regardless of what country minted them and I know my coins well."
"That you do," Victoria said quietly. "So it's a good thing you can get back to your regular job tomorrow as the show's coin appraiser then, isn't it?"
Alexandra shot daggers at Victoria while Garrett busily calculated everyone's share of the bill. The other appraisers were yawning as they handed Garrett money. Jessica was still blotting hopelessly at her skirt with a napkin dipped in ice water.
Molly looked over at her mother. "Score one for Victoria," Clara whispered. Out loud she said, "Madam, you must taste my flan. It's just as creamy and smooth as your beautiful skin."
~~~~~
The science museum was quiet at night. The clamor that filled its enormous halls during the day died away by six o'clock in the evening. Except for the two security guards making their usual rounds past the dark exhibits, no footsteps echoed noisily down the wide corridors. To save money, the museum administration had decided to keep lights on only in the entranceway, so the guards were forced to use powerful Maglite flashlights as they toured the vast building.
Just before midnight, the guards moved off to the small break room near the front door. The middle-aged guard named Chuck poured two cups of coffee and emptied a packet of sugar into each cup. The second guard, a young man named Bruce, shuffled cards with the quick, practiced motion of someone who has played many rounds of poker.
"What'll it be first?" Bruce asked his partner.
"Let's warm up with Hearts," Chuck said, placing the coffee cups on the table as Bruce dealt their hands.
"What did your wife fix you tonight?" Bruce asked as he examined his hand.
Chuck peeled back the aluminum foil covering his sandwich and moaned. "Bologna and peanut butter again."
Bruce laughed. "I've got salami, ham, and Swiss. Ah, the life of a bachelor."
"At least I've got the good chips this time," Chuck said, ripping open a bag of sour cream and onion Ruffles. Over the noise of the crackling bag, the guards heard a pounding resound through the front hall.
"What the—" Bruce began, but Chuck was already on his feet, his flashlight raised though not yet switched on.
"There's someone at the front door," Chuck said, pointing toward a waiting figure.
As Bruce approached, the figure held up a Hidden Treasures identification badge and pressed it against the glass for inspection.
"Ah, just one of those nutty appraisers," Bruce grumbled. "Some time of night to be working." He wrestled with a large bunch of jiggling keys until he had succeeded in unlocking the door's formidable deadbolt.
"Evening ma'am." Chuck smiled at the woman. She blinded him with a brilliant smile and her beautiful face immediately captivated both men.
"So sorry to trouble you both," she purred, holding open the heavy glass door, "but I suddenly recalled a mistake I must correct before the show opens tomorrow. I'll only be back there for an hour or so."
At that moment, the woman dropped her trendy, rectangular purse and several items spilled out and rolled hither and thither across the marble floor. Bruce bent to retrieve a lipstick case and a pair of sunglasses while Chuck picked up an expensive fountain pen and a roll of breath mints.
"Oh, how clumsy of me!" the woman cooed, taking advantage of the distracted guards by quickly sticking a piece of duct tape firmly over the door latch so that the knob could not automatically lock when closed. She released the door and watched with satisfaction as it closed but did not issue the soft click indicating that it was locked.
"Thank you ever so much," the woman said as Bruce returned her purse with the gawkiness of a teenage boy. He watched the woman's model-thin figure as she walked with elegant grace in the direction of the Great Hall. She paused outside of the door leading to the Ladies Room.
"Ma'am?" he called after her. "You need a flashlight?"
"No, thank you," she called back over her shoulder. "I've got my own torch."
As the woman's figure melted into the blackness, Bruce looked inquiringly at Chuck.
"What's a torch?" he asked his partner.
Chuck returned to the office and took a healthy bite from his sandwich. "Means flashlight," he chewed. "She's English. They have different names for things over there." After crunching on a handful of chips, he reexamined his cards. "Come on now. Let's get this game going."
"What mistake do you think she's fixing?" asked Bruce as he fanned out his cards. After a moment's thought, he placed an ace of spades in the discard pile.
"Who knows?" Chuck replied, studying the ace with carefully concealed interest. "Whatever it is, she can't get into too much trouble back there."
Bruce nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. We’re in for another long, quiet night. And if you’re lucky enough win this hand, I’ll give you half of my Banana MoonPie.”
That being said, Chuck examined his cards, forgetting all about the English woman.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 9
The basis of any cabinet, sideboard, wardrobe, cupboard or bookcase is a carcass. . . .
—Kenneth Davis and Thom Henvey, Restoring Furniture
Chuck and Bruce were relieved at seven by the next shift. Their replacements, a stocky Italian from New Jersey by the name of Paolo and an African-American woman in her mid-forties named Crystal, arrived with steaming cups of coffee and a dozen donuts from the local grocery store. Paolo grumbled about Krispy Kreme’s unavailability but helped himself to a chocolate donut and bit into it with gusto.
Bruce helped himself to a glazed donut as he related the details of their late-night visitor.
"When did she finally leave?" Paolo asked as he slicked a strand of slippery, black hair back into place behind his ear.
Chuck shrugged as he collected his belongings. "Dunno. We did rounds about an hour after we'd let her in and she was gone, far as we could tell. 'Course we had the alarms turned off just in case she decided to let herself out. Good thing we did, too."
"Strange time of night to come to work," Crystal said after taking a deep gulp of coffee. "I heard these antique people were kinda crazy, now I know it's the truth."
Paolo, who was a closet collector of Marvel comic books, looked at the floor sheepishly and confessed, "I watch that show, Hidden Treasures." As he met the raised eyebrows of his three coworkers, he squared his shoulders and added in a whispered bravado, "Ever seen the host? She's a hottie. Me, I'm hoping to get a glimpse of those long legs in person today."
"Yeah, too bad she's been in jail for your other two shifts, Romeo," Crystal teased.
"Ah, I heard all that on the TV, but I never thought she did it. Now, I wouldn't put it past that French guy, what's his name?"
"Got me," Crystal said and gave him a playful nudge in the shoulder. "You're the one who watches the old ladies' antiques show, not us. Plus, why you always gotta go dissing the French guy? You remember last year when you swore off French dressing and French wine on account of that French girl who dumped you? That what got you so hung up on the poor French? Huh?"
Paolo stroked his stubbly chin. "Jacqueline. Now she was a beauty, mama mia."
Chuck and Bruce clapped Paolo on the back on their way out and smiled warmly at Crystal.
"You two enjoy your shift, ya hear?" Chuck said, opening the front door for Bruce. "Bachelors before old married men." He bowed to his partner.
"You're just angling for your own salami and cheese tonight," Bruce said as he exited.
"Got that right," Chuck replied as he released the door.
Crystal waited in the hall so that she could listen to the front doors automatically click shut, indicating that they were still locked. Paolo began whistling as he moved down the hallway, switching on the seemingly endless rows of overheard lights as he strolled along.
Assuming that she couldn't hear the lock click into place over Paolo's frenzied whistling rendition of "Stayin' Alive," Crystal settled down in the break room to enjoy her breakfast before she took her post at the front door. From her uncomfortable plastic chair, she would check the ID badges of everyone who tried to enter the building. No badge, no entry until the museum was officially open at nine. Crystal had six children and she had heard every fib known to man. She was impervious to tears and unrelenting when it came to abiding by and enforcing the rules, whether she was at home or at work.
So when Molly arrived at the front door just after eight, Crystal stood up from her stiff, gray chair and opened the door just wide enough to ask, "ID, please."
"Oh! Sure." Molly immediately began shuffling through her bag as Crystal looked on with the same patient, bemused expression she wore while waiting for one of her four daughters to finish getting dressed for church.
"I think I left it in the car," Molly said, unsure if this was indeed the case.
"Can't let you in without it, ma'am," Crystal explained using her pleasant, but official tone.
Molly took one look at Crystal and knew that trying to get in without a proper badge would prove impossible. When the badge wasn't anywhere in her car, Molly suddenly had a vision of it sitting on top of her nightstand back at the Traveller.
"This is what happens when I only have one cup of coffee," Molly grumbled crossly, and then headed back to the bed-and-breakfast to retrieve her badge.
On the way upstairs, she heard Jessica and Borris speaking in hushed tones in the hallway outside of their rooms. There was no sign of Garrett Clara was already at the Strawberry Street house supervising the loading crew who would be packing up all of Mrs. Sterling's possessions over the next few hours.
Unable to control her nosiness, Molly slowed her ascent and listened to her two friends.
"You know we could make it work," Borris was insisting.
Jessica sighed heavily in exasperation. "How? Are we going to sign a contract, exchange drops of blood, what? There's no guarantee!"
"Look, I'm just telling you that I want out of this whole greedy business."
"Oh, Borris," Jessica said gendy. "Money does matter. You've got to be more realistic about that."
At that moment, Molly shifted her weight and one of the wooden stairs groaned loudly. She quickly ran to the bottom, open and shut the front door, and then began her ascent once more, this time making the appropriate amount of casual noise.
"Hi there," Jessica said as they passed on the stairs.
"Forgot my badge." Molly smiled. Jessica's face looked drawn. Behind Jessica's tiny figure, Borris looked slightly defeated, but still held his body with the rigidity of a determined general.
"See you down there," he mumbled.
Molly watched them leave, grabbed her badge from her room, and then returned to her car. She was perplexed by the odd conversation she had just overheard. Were Jessica and Borris discussing a personal relationship or a business matter? Molly couldn't tell.
When she arrived back at the museum, the line that had begun to form outside the front door instantly distracted her. It looked like several hundred of the thousand ticket holders had already staked their places. Eager faces with hands or arms grasping treasures waited to discover whether or not their valuables belonged in a museum or in their next yard sale.
"Have fun." Molly smiled at the first few men and women in line and raised her ID badge for Crystal's examination.
"Come on in," Crystal said cheerfully. "I don't think you missed anything excitin'."
~~~~~
Having finished switching all the lights on, Paolo should have returned to his station guarding the Civil War exhibit, but he could not resist the urge to speak with Tony the Toy Man about his comics, so he lingered on the fringes of Tony's booth, peering around the comer of the white screen in order to see what Tony was up to.
"Are you spying on me?" Tony asked kindly, without looking up from the tin toy price guide he was reading.
"Um, no." Paolo edged closer to the booth. "Expecting a big crowd today?"
"Yep. There's a guy outside right now with a suitcase full of Popeye tin toys. Thought I'd better check my references before I see him." Tony raised his merry eyes to Paolo's. "You collect anything?" he asked.
Paolo nodded enthusiastically. "Marvel comics."
"Oh yeah? Which ones?"
Paolo stood up as straight and tall as his stocky body would allow. "I've got the number one X-Men. From 1963. Never read. I've got it in a plastic cover. Thing's beautiful, man. Not a crease or a wrinkle in sight."
"That's a keeper," Tony agreed. "I saw one go on eBay for just under a grand last week."
Paolo's face radiated pride and he squared his shoulders as he shouted happily at Tony. "So I've got something good!"
"You certai
nly do, my friend," Tony said, clapping Paolo on his broad back. "Now, if you'll excuse me ..."
"Oh, sure, sure." Paolo retreated out of the booth and began whistling once again. By the time he had made his way back toward the Civil War exhibit, members of the public were already streaming inside and arranging themselves around the velvet stanchions.
Paolo was just about to turn the corner and head for his appointed gray chair when he spotted Victoria Sterling greeting several members of the crew. She wore a form-fitting pantsuit in sage green with a white blouse, her triple strand of pearls, and a black and white striped handkerchief. Her hair was puffed and sprayed in place and her makeup was far too heavy and dramatic for daytime wear, but Paolo thought Victoria looked absolutely stunning.
He smiled at her widely as she passed by him in a fog of cloying floral perfume. Dumbstruck, he watched her pass, fantasizing that she would suddenly stop, turn, and see him as the man of her dreams. But the sound that pierced his stupor was not a sexual invitation from Victoria Sterling's sensuous painted lips. The sharp sound was out of place among the echoed murmurs of the museum patrons.
Someone was shouting. A man. No, not shouting. He was screaming, "HELP! HELP!" at the top of his voice.
Paolo's body finally jolted into action. He broke into a run as several other people ran past him in the opposite direction, clutching valuables and screaming.
Was there a fire? Paolo's mind raced. Where were the alarms?
"HELP!" the man bellowed again, a plea then taken up by a woman who began screaming it over and over in a hysterical tirade.
When Paolo finally got to the source of the screams, he immediately reached out toward the man and woman in order to try to calm them down. He briefly noticed shards of some kind of pottery scattered across the floor. The man shoved him roughly aside and pointed at something above and behind Paolo's back. The women stooped, sobbing, and began to mindlessly retrieve the yellow-brown shards of pottery.
Paolo swiveled his broad shoulders, utterly confused.
A Fatal Appraisal Page 13