A Fatal Appraisal

by J. B. Stanley

  "My god," he whispered as his eyes registered the terrible sight before them.

  A larger than life statue of Robert E. Lee stood against a wall painted with the state flag of Virginia. Lee held a sword in one hand and his army cap in the other. Above his meticulously detailed beard, his mouth looked grim, his jaw locked in earnest determination. Only the eyes, nestled beneath shaggy brows, betrayed a look of proud gentility mixed with a trace of deep sorrow. His uniform was obscured. Not by a piece of marble sash or by the mane of his horse, but by the long, thin body of a dead woman.

  Hanging from Lee's neck, to which she was tied with her own Hermes scarf, the dead woman's head drooped at a severe downward angle and her expensive leather pumps had been kicked off and lay useless at the base of the statue. Black tracks from where the heels had scraped across the marble crisscrossed Lee's thighs like fresh wounds, but he didn't seem to notice.

  Alexandra looked like a statue herself. She was white and cold and utterly still.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter 10

  Most broken legs can be repaired, the simpler ones even replaced. But if you come across an elaborately curved leg with a compound fracture, involving splits down the grain and loss of timber, remember that you will not be able to mend or replace it yourself unless your skills resemble those of the original maker.

  —The Illustrated Guide to Furniture Repair and Restoration

  Molly watched people whisk by as they raced for the exit in a complete panic, clutching their valuables to their chests as they shoved one another aside. Murmurs that there was a dead body in the Civil War exhibit flooded through the front hall like a swift wind.

  Shooting a nervous glance at Crystal, who was listening to Paolo's frantic garbling over the walkie-talkie as she edged toward the phone in the break room, Molly pointed toward the front doors.

  "Should I lock them?" she mouthed to Crystal as she twisted her hand in a pantomimed locking motion. The female security guard rapidly nodded while reaching for the phone.

  "No one is allowed in!" Molly opened the door and shouted at the curious group of people pushing forward, their intent on entering the building obvious. "There has been an incident inside! Please back away from the doors!" She turned the deadbolt and took her stand by the door, shooing away determined members of the public who banged on the door or shouted to be let in, waving their tickets indignantly.

  Several members of the Hidden Treasures crew quickly took up Molly's cue and began ushering the people waiting in line within the front hall outside, making sure that no Nosy Nellies slipped through the doors while this mass exodus was taking place.

  "Thanks, I got it from here," Crystal said, suddenly appearing at Molly's side. "The cops are comin'."

  "I'd better make sure no one else slipped by," Molly offered helpfully as she hustled off toward the Civil War exhibit. Her motivation to see if the rumor about a dead body was true should have come from a professional desire to investigate the scene as a first-rate reporter, but Molly didn't give a moment’s thought to her job as she wondered what had happened deeper inside the museum. Pure and simple curiosity propelled her toward the dark-haired security guard who stood staring up at the dead body of a woman strung up on a statue of the city's most beloved general.

  "Alexandra," Molly whispered and stopped short at the sight of the limp figure and the stream of copper hair that covered the dead woman's face like an inert curtain. Molly put her hand over her mouth as if to contain any sound that might bubble up uncontrollably through her throat as she looked from Alexandra's drooping head, to Paolo's gaping mouth, to a woman sitting cross-legged on the floor fondling a pile of yellow-brown and black pottery shards nestled in her lap. The woman's long skirt had formed a soft bowl for the pieces to sit in and the woman fingered them repeatedly as she glanced up at Alexandra's body.

  As Molly bent over her, asking if she was all right in a soft whisper, the woman cried, "My Rookwood floor vase!" She held up two shards with traces of floral decoration for Molly to see. "Ruined! And it was signed, too! I saw ... I saw ... and it just slipped from my hands! Oh ... Lord ..."

  "It's going to be all right," Molly said gently, touching the sobbing woman on the shoulder. She then marched over and grabbed Paolo roughly by the arm.

  "Snap out of it, man!" she ordered. "Can't you see this woman is in shock? Get her to the cafeteria and give her something to drink. Crystal's called the police. They're on their way."

  Paolo finally blinked as he looked away from Alexandra and turned his wide brown eyes toward Molly. "Who are you?" he asked, reality slowly setting in.

  "I'm with the show," Molly snapped, brandishing her badge. "Now get her out of here!" She pointed at the woman on the floor.

  "Nasturtiums," the woman was sobbing as she swayed from side to side. "Van Briggle ... lost... my beautiful nasturtiums..."

  Paolo tenderly removed the shards from the woman's lap and placed them in the overturned cardboard box near her feet. The woman watched Paolo as he moved each piece of pottery as if he were transferring a baby bird to a new nest. She seemed immensely comforted by his delicacy. Finally, she allowed him to help her stand. She gathered the box in her arms and let herself be steered away from the exhibit.

  "I'll make sure no one else gets in," Molly assured Paolo as she marveled at her own nerve. Who was she to be giving orders to the security guard? Still, she believed he wasn't quite the man of action one needed during an emergency.

  Molly made a full circle of the room, but could see no traces of evidence indicating how Alexandra had been hung from Lee's statue. Aside from the presence of a dead body and Alexandra's discarded shoes and Gucci purse, which was lodged between Lee's marble boots, nothing seemed out of place around the exhibit. There were simply no telltale traces of the violent act that had been committed in this space.

  As Molly double-checked the display case filled with coins, documents, and daguerreotypes, Jessica and Borris entered the exhibit area.

  Jessica immediately shrieked and covered her eyes with her hands. Borris turned toward Molly with a completely astonished expression before enfolding Jessica in his arms. The other appraisers came running into the room en masse. Yelps and shouts of surprise and dismay filled the air, but everyone remained a careful distance from the corpse.

  Time moved in a slow-motion crawl as Molly stared at the other appraisers. A shiver ran down her spine as she realized that there was no chance that Randy had killed Alexandra. Was someone else in this group a murderer? She scanned the faces of Lindsey, Alicia, Tony, Victoria, Patrice, Garrett, Jessica, and Borris, but they all registered only horror mixed with pity over their coworker's gruesome ending.

  Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to break the trance. As the minutes ticked by, a heavy feeling of unspoken accusations and nervousness descended on the silent group.

  Finally, Tony cleared his throat and said, "Guess she talked shit about the wrong general last night." He tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a strangled squeak and as the others glared at him in disgust, he squatted down on the floor and put his head down in his arms. "What is happening in this goddamn museum?" he asked in a muffled plea. Alicia softly touched his mop of brown hair and he leaned against her leg like a small child.

  "Who could have done this to her?" Lindsey asked, pulling a tissue out of her cavernous needlepoint handbag. "I wish we could get her down. She looks awful up there."

  "I'm going to be sick!" Jessica clamped her hand over her mouth and ran off in the direction of the Ladies' Room.

  Borris turned to follow, hesitated, and then looked in silent appeal at Molly. She simply nodded and headed after Jessica, relieved to be in motion and heading away from Alexandra's corpse.

  As she headed for the restroom, a team of policemen jogged down the hallway. Molly recognized the burly, redheaded figure of Officer Combs.

  "You again?" he asked, none too kindly. "I don't like how bodies seem to pop up when you're around. Where ar
e you rushing off to?"

  "Look." Molly's eyes narrowed. "I didn't find this body and I'm going to the bathroom to check on a friend of mine. I think she's sick."

  "Well, get her and go straight to the cafeteria. We'll be questioning all of you antique freaks from there." Combs signaled at one of his officers. "Make sure they go straight downstairs." He uttered a tired sigh as he continued down the hallway. "Robeson's not going to like this mess."

  Molly threw Combs a look of malice, but he was already on his way toward the Civil War exhibit and the group of stunned appraisers.

  Quietly opening the bathroom door, Molly found Jessica leaning over one of the sinks, splashing cold water on her face and into her mouth. Tracks of black mascara ran down her cheeks and her face was covered with red blotches. She glanced at Molly in the mirror but didn't speak.

  "You okay?" Molly asked in a whisper. She felt that there was something extremely fragile about Jessica in this moment.

  Jessica mechanically patted her face dry with a paper towel and then pressed her hands against her temples. "No," she replied so softly, that if Molly had not seen her lips move in the minor, she would not have know that the other woman had spoken at all. Jessica’s fingers were trembling and she pressed them deeply into the paper towel.

  "The police are here...." Molly faltered. She was never good at comforting people and could never seem to find the right words to say. "They'll make this right. There's a really good guy in charge of this... tragedy. He won’t let it go unpunished."

  Jessica turned away from the mirror and looked at Molly. Her eyes were filled with despair. "You don't understand. I... I may have had something to do with ... with Alexandra's death."

  Molly froze. "What do you mean?"

  Jessica reached for another paper towel and blew her nose into it. "I can't talk about it. Not yet." She gazed at her disheveled reflection in the mirror. "What will Borris think? Oh god..."

  Molly moved closer to her friend until she stood beside her. In the mirror, her own reflection looked wide-eyed and pale. "Jessica, the police are here. If you know anything, anything at all, you'd better tell them. This Detective Robeson isn't one to jerk around. If you've got something to hide, he's going to find out."

  Jessica shook her head from side to side. "I know, I know. Damn it!" she shouted, her voice banging off the tiles like a cannon shot. "He'll never forgive me ... he'll never understand!"

  "Who? Borris?" Molly asked. Then she grabbed Jessica by the shoulders until the older woman looked up and faced herself again in the mirror. "Listen, Borris loves you. If you love him, then tell the truth."

  "I will, I will!" Jessica promised. "But to him first, before the police."

  Molly hesitated. She dropped her hands from her friend's shoulders and moved off to the side. "Do you want to try it out on me first?" she asked as gently as she knew how.

  Jessica threw her wad of paper towels in the trash and ran her hands through her cropped white hair. "No, thanks. I will tell Borris, though, as soon as we go. I promise you."

  That would have to be enough, Molly thought. She noticed that half of Jessica's damp paper towels had missed the trash bin. Automatically reaching down to gather them up, she spied a small square of white paper laying on the ground.

  Picking it up, she unfolded it and saw a note that could only have been scrawled to Alexandra.

  A—

  Meet me at the Civil War exhibit just after midnight.

  I must see you.

  I've wanted you, but I had to wait.

  All will be made clear tonight.

  Jessica sucked in a sharp breath as she looked at the note. "I got one of those, too. Same handwriting."

  "Did yours say to show up here last night?" Molly asked.

  Jessica stared at the paper, her dark eyes opened wide in disbelief. "No. I got mine weeks ago. It's from the same person, though. I see that writing in my sleep."

  "Who is it, Jessica? Tell me!” When her friend didn’t answer, Molly’s voice turned harsh and demanding. “People are dying, Jessica! Who is it?"

  "I don't know exactly!" Jessica yelled frantically. "I don't! Mine wasn't signed either!"

  "What did it say?"

  "I have to tell Borris first." Jessica abruptly turned toward the door. "After that it doesn't matter who knows." And she went out, her shoulders slumped in despair.

  Molly put the note inside a paper towel and folded the towel in half. She approached the policeman who’d been waiting outside the restroom for her. She watched Jessica's small figure move down the hall and wondered what on earth was happening to the appraiser.

  "This was in the bathroom." Molly handed the cop the paper towel. "There's a note inside. I believe it might be a piece of evidence."

  "Did you touch this?" the officer asked.

  "Yes. I picked it up and read it I didn't know it was important at the time."

  "Okay," the officer said. "I'll give this to Detective Robeson. Let's get you to the cafeteria now. And you'd better get some coffee," he suggested kindly. "It's going to be a long day."

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Fredericksburg, Virginia 1778

  "They call themselves the 'Hazard Club' after the dice game, but it seems clear that their name has a more dire meaning," Elspeth said and she stood up, leaning heavily against the slant-front desk for support. "I will burn this letter, and then no one will know of the club's wicked assignment or of my shame."

  "No!" Thomas grabbed Elspeth's hand as she reached out to release the parchment into the blazing hearth.

  Elspeth's blue eyes grew round with surprise as she watched Thomas's dirt-smudged hand close upon her own white-laced sleeve. "Pardon me, miss, but if you burn that letter, the others in the Hazard Club will not be revealed. We must let them believe their secret place is yet undiscovered and then catch them in the act of... um, what is it they have planned?"

  "They plan to destroy the munitions factory," Elspeth said folding the parchment neatly into a small square once again. "In two nights, on the full moon." Elspeth passed the document to Thomas and he replaced it within the hollow niche in the slide support and then pulled the writing lid back down. His hand lingered on the smooth, simple finish of the black walnut and he was instantly comforted by its reliable strength and durability.

  "My father is just like this piece you made, Mr. Fleming—full of secrets. And my own brother, my dear Charles! He has marched north to join with General Washington and my father betrays him even now, as Charles faces battle for the first time. Why he's barely more than a child, but he ran off and enlisted before my father had a chance to talk sense into him. Now I know why Father was so upset when he found out." She spoke the word “father” as if it tasted foul to her tongue. "He wasn't concerned for his son's welfare, but that his own child had chosen the wrong side!"

  "I'm sorry, miss." Thomas searched for something to say. "You can help your brother by protecting our weapons. I know a few men who can be trusted through thick and thin. We shall stop the plans of the Hazard Club, never fear."

  "And what shall I do?" Elspeth asked angrily. "Serve my father tea and cakes as if nothing has happened?"

  "He must not know you have discovered his secret. Your life could be in danger, miss—"

  "—Elspeth, please. You and I are in this together now." Elspeth managed an almost indiscernible smile.

  "Thomas Fleming, at your service," he said with an awkward bow. His game leg had long since robbed him of any hope of grandiose gestures, but Elspeth was moved by his composure and felt assured that he was the type of man who was exactly as he appeared: simple, loyal, and honorable.

  "We shall form our own society, Thomas. You and I will bring down the Hazard Club with a single blow. If there are any complications, then I shall come to your shop and warn you.

  Now, I shall give you all the details of the planned attack against the munitions factory so that you can share them with our fellow patriots. In return, I want to see my father arrested, but
not harmed. Agreed?"

  Thomas nodded his assent, feeling a growing respect for this young woman's pluck.

  Elspeth related the details of the short letter. Once she had finished, she removed a ribbon the shade of cornflowers from her hair. "Give me your hair tie," she demanded. "We shall trade to show our allegiance to one another."

  "It matches your eyes," Thomas stated shyly, holding the delicate piece of silk in his large palm.

  Elspeth smiled a bittersweet smile, taking the piece of leather Thomas held out to her. "At least I have made a friend today. It eases the pain a trifle."

  "Aye, that you have. If any trouble should arise for you, miss ... I mean, Elspeth, seek me out and I shall protect you."

  "My thanks, but you had better go now. My maid is half-witted but not so half-witted that she would believe it would take this long for you to measure our dining mom. Good luck and go with care."

  "You as well. I shall see you again once all the traitors are under lock and key." Thomas moved to the front door. "You are a brave young lady. The patriots are fortunate to have you on their side."

  "You as well, Thomas Fleming. I shall see you in three days," Elspeth said as she shut the door.

  Outside, Thomas glanced down at the blue ribbon in his hand. He brought it to his face and smelled a hint of jasmine. Clutching the ribbon gently in his fist, Thomas rushed back to the workshop, where he began to plan the fall of the Hazard Club.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter 11

  Pray, for what do we move ever but to get rid of our furniture, our exuviae; at last to go from this world to another newly furnished, and leave this to be burned?

  —The Writings of Henry David Thoreau

  The cafeteria was filled with anxious appraisers and Hidden Treasures crewmembers in their black T-shirts. The subdued whispering coupled with all of the black clothing created a funereal atmosphere. Molly's eyes darted about in search of Jessica, but at that moment Detective Robeson and a host of other burly, stone-faced policemen entered the room.