A Fatal Appraisal

by J. B. Stanley

  As the French doors dividing the parlor from the hall opened, Molly and Clara watched Borris expectantly. He glanced at them briefly, sorrowfully, his stately face mottled with red patches where he had dragged his hands roughly across the skin. With an expression of anger mixed with confusion, Borris opened his mouth as if to speak, then abruptly turned and burst through the front door. He slammed it so hard behind him that the glass panes rattled.

  Mrs. Hewell scurried into the hall from the kitchen. "Hello?" she called as she approached. "Here for tea?" She stopped as she noticed Molly and Clara already seated in the dining room. "Oh good! I was worried the bread pudding would go cold."

  "It's absolutely delicious," Molly quickly assured her.

  "And where is the charming Englishman and that delightful couple who usually join you? Busy at work?" Mrs. Hewell looked around.

  Trying to distract Mrs. Hewell before she spotted Jessica sitting forlornly in the parlor, Clara jumped up and said, "Oh, I would just love to know more about your collection of sterling tea strainers. I snooped around your kitchen yesterday and saw them hanging above the sink. Where on earth did you find them all?"

  Mrs. Hewell beamed. "Each one has its own story. I'd love to tell you about them, my dear. Come along with me."

  Confident that Mrs. Hewell would be tied up for longer than Clara might like, Molly made her way quietly into the parlor.

  "How did it go?" she asked Jessica softly.

  "Well, now he thinks I'm a total schmuck, but what else could he think?" Jessica looked up. Tears swam in her eyes but she refused to let them fall. "I didn't tell the detective the whole truth this morning, so I'll have to go back in now."

  "Would you like me to come along?" Molly asked, gazing at her friend anxiously.

  Jessica's shoulders sagged in resignation. "Thanks. I could use the company."

  "I'd better let them know we're coming," Molly said. "Let me go upstairs and get my keys. I'll call Robeson and then take you down to the station."

  "I'll be here." Jessica leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. "It's time to face the music."

  ~~~~~

  You believe that you’re an unintentional accessory in Ms. Lincoln's death?" Robeson asked calmly. From his chair set back in the corner of the room, Combs stared at Jessica like a hungry wolf that’s suddenly happened upon a wounded sheep.

  "Yes, Detective," Jessica said, taking a swig of water from the plastic bottle she always seemed to have with her. "But I need to start from the beginning in order to explain all of this. And it's a long story."

  "We've got all the time in the world," Robeson replied casually. "You just tell us what you came here to tell us. However you need to do it is up to you."

  "Thank you," Jessica nodded in gratitude.

  "It all started with me and Saul, my ex-husband. We met back in college. He was studying business and I was trying out all different branches of the arts, but I found my real passion when I took a class in metallurgy. Seems I had a natural, god-given gift for jewelry-making. In fact, I sold so much of it during the last two years of college, that I was able to save enough money to pay for graduate school.

  "The summer after our college graduation, Saul and I got married. Boy, I thought our future was so neatly mapped out. Saul got an MBA and I began to make a name for myself as a jeweler by creating copies of famous pieces of historical jewelry, mostly antiquities. I could copy anything from an Egyptian necklace to a pair of Byzantine earrings. Of course, my jewelry was much more affordable. Saul worked as an investment banker, but it wasn't long before he quit and we opened a jewelry store featuring my work as well as all of the other regular stuff, like watches and engagement rings. We also carried antique furniture and some old art.

  "We were living in Atlanta then. Everything was going great. I gave birth to beautiful twin boys named Jacob and James. Over the next two or three years, our store, Rosen Jewelry & Antiques, made so much money that we opened a second store, and then a third. It was this success that was to spell the end of my marriage. You see, Saul hired a retired jewelry appraiser to run our third store, but this man didn't want to work weekends, so Saul also hired a ditzy blonde named Barbara to cover those hours. She seemed honest, reliable, and even had some retail experience, but she knew nothing about jewelry. Saul said he had a good feeling about her, so he hired her anyway.

  "Good feeling? Ha! He felt her all right. Apparently, they had an affair through the entire second half of our marriage—that would be eight years. When I began to grow increasingly suspicious, Saul started to plan his escape. He transferred all kinds of funds to secret accounts and put everything he could in his own name, from our new house, to cars, to the third store—you name it. I was too busy designing jewelry and raising our sons to bother too much about the financial side. Oy vey! Would I come to regret that!

  "The day after the twins graduated from junior high, we threw them a huge party. It was the last time they would ever see their father. The next day, Sunday, Saul got up before everyone else, put a suitcase in the car, and disappeared. Every dime in our accounts, including the trust set up for the boys' college funds, was gone. Even the money in the store tills was taken, along with the entire inventory of three shops. Of course, Barbara was gone, too.

  'To make a longer story a little less long, let me say that I hired a private investigator who eventually found Saul sunning himself at a mansion in Coconut Grove, Florida. My P.I. served Saul with a lawsuit and divorce papers at the same time. Little good either one did me. Saul died two days later from a heart attack. Personally, I think an angel struck Saul down with some invisible lightning, but believe it or not, his death left me even worse off than before. He left everything to Barbara, who’d given birth to a baby girl shortly after they moved to Florida. I am still contesting Saul's will."

  Jessica took a big breath, and then exhaled slowly as if releasing some of the anger she had gathered in the telling of her tale. "My boys are hard workers. They helped me stay afloat with one store until I was invited to join Hidden Treasures. I bought a duplex in Charlotte and my mother moved in with us. Jacob and James, they took part- time jobs instead of playing sports or dating or doing all the things high school boys should be able to do. Both of them are going to apply to N.C. State this spring, but even with financial aid, I'm not making enough to send them both. The damned lawyers... they've been sucking me dry for years ..."

  Here Jessica had to pause. Talking about her dutiful sons and her husband's betrayal was something she had never done, not with anyone. Emotions were welling up in her chest and making it difficult for her to breathe.

  "Give yourself a minute," Robeson said kindly. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

  Jessica shook her head. "No. Let's just get this over with. This is the second time I've told this story today and I'm not getting any better at it."

  Combs shifted impatiently in his chair.

  "Three months ago, a man called me at home, before I started taping this season's show, and asked me if I could make him six gold coins. He said he had seen my work replicating Roman coins, and wondered if I could do the same with some old American coins. He was going to use them to make a 'special gift' for his wife. He wanted six, three-dollar Dahlonega coins because his wife was from that part of Georgia. He said his name was David Smith and that he would pay me eight thousand dollars in cash to make the coins. He said he didn't care what the coins were really made of, just that they looked like gold and were as authentic-looking as possible. He mailed me several excellent photographs of the three-dollar Dahlonega coin he wanted replicated, detailed dimensions, and a money order for two thousand dollars.

  "Now, I know I should have questioned Mr. Smith a little further on why he wanted these coin fakes, but I didn't. I knew the story about a gift to his wife was garbage, but I needed the money. He gave me three weeks to get them ready. I made the coins and sent them to a P.O. Box in D.C. and he mailed me a money order for another six thousand dollars.
r />   "I thought this was the end of my dealings with Mr. Smith, but a few days after I banked the money order, and just before I left to start this season's taping in Tampa, I found a small, handwritten note placed under my windshield wiper. I don't remember it verbatim, but it said something like, ‘Tell no one about the coins. You will be given more opportunities to work for us.'"

  Robeson lifted his eyes from his legal pad. "Are you sure that it said us and not me?" he asked.

  "Pretty sure." Jessica frowned in thought.

  "Do you still have that note?" Combs demanded.

  Jessica swiveled around in her chair and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, but she answered the question by refocusing her attention on Robeson's face. "It's back home in Charlotte. I don't know why I didn't throw it out. Of course, I knew then that the coins were likely made for some illicit purpose, but what could I do? I had taken the money. What was done was done."

  Robeson tapped his pencil against his chin. "How did you make the coins?"

  "It wasn't that hard." Jessica shrugged. "I had all of the raw materials from my days in the jewelry business. Saul took the entire inventory of jewelry, but I kept all of the tools. First, I created a model of the original coin out of Plaster of Paris—that took the longest because I had to do a ton of detailed carving for that step—then I used silicone rubber to produce a negative mold of the plaster. I made seven of those. One for each coin Mr. Smith requested and an extra in case I screwed up."

  "Do you still have the molds?" Combs asked curiously.

  "The extra one? No, I tossed them after I banked the money order. After that, I melted down a bunch of nickels and filled the silicone molds. Once the coins were out, I dipped them in gold plate and checked over the fine details. Everything looked good except that they were way too shiny."

  "But you were able to fix that," Robeson stated.

  "Yes. I used a tool like the dentist uses to polish your teeth. With a soft pad, I buffed the finish and removed the shine. I don't remember making a tail on the letter D, but the smallest slip of the wrist and any mark could have gotten on the original mold. Alexandra must have really had a good eye to spot that mistake, but anyone who really knew coins only had to hold one of my fakes to know both the weight and color was off."

  "What did you think about the Dahlonega coins you saw in the Civil War display?" Robeson asked. "Didn't you recognize them?"

  Jessica leaned forward. "That's the thing! I never checked that exhibit out. I've been pretty busy and frankly, wars just aren't my thing. I'm tired of battles, Detective." She fixed her eyes straight at Robeson and said earnestly, "The first I heard of the Dahlonega coins were at dinner last night. That's why I spilled the wine. I knew that those fakes were mine. This morning, I was heading for the exhibit to examine them when I heard about Alexandra... about her death. I still haven't seen the coins, real or fake."

  Robeson set his eyes on the small woman sitting before him and issued the fiercest, most daunting stare in his arsenal of deadly looks. After a few seconds, which seemed to last forever to Molly and Jessica, he obviously decided that Jessica was telling the truth. His rigid body relaxed and his dark eyes returned to his pad. "Are there any other details you can think of that might tie into this investigation?" he asked.

  "Just that the handwriting on my note was the same on the note Alexandra received. Whoever she met that night, it was the man I knew as David Smith."

  "We need your note, I'm afraid." Robeson turned to Combs. "Find a man to go to Charlotte. He'll need to leave today."

  "Does that mean I'm going home?" Jessica's voice rose hopefully.

  "It does. If we need anything more from you, you'll have to return to Richmond." Robeson stood. "I appreciate your coming forward with this information. I cannot say that there will not be repercussions concerning the forgery of the coins, but I will do my best to exonerate you in exchange for your help with this investigation." Combs spluttered until his shock at what he considered his superior officer's leniency became a spasmodic coughing fit. "However, I must advice you not to leave North Carolina and to give us your contact information, including home and cell phone numbers. Regardless of your coming forward, you are still very much involved with an ongoing murder investigation."

  Jessica bowed her head meekly. "I understand. I just want to spend some time with my boys."

  "Officer Combs will be by your hotel with a statement for you to sign. Please read it over carefully. He will also be bringing with him an officer who will accompany you to Charlotte. Please give this officer the note and any materials you used in making those coins."

  Molly put her arm around her weary friend and ushered her from the room. "You did the right thing, Jess. It'll work out, you'll see." But Molly didn't know whether she believed her own words, and she turned away so that Jessica wouldn't see the doubt and anxiety flashing through her gray eyes.

  ~~~~~

  Outside, Jessica paused before getting in Molly's Jeep. She looked out into the oncoming twilight and allowed one tear to escape down her smooth cheek. "I've loved Borris for three years, Molly. I didn't want to, but I do. I swore I'd never be with another man, that I'd never let anyone threaten the peace I have with my sons, so I've been fighting him off. He kept trying to show me that I could trust again and I kept driving him away." She wiped at her face as another tear slipped out and then examined her wet palm, as if wondering where the moisture had come from. 'Today it looks like I've finally succeeded."

  ~~~~~

  Jessica was gone by sundown. The Traveller was oddly still. Borris had not returned and Garrett was nowhere to be seen. Clara waited for her daughter's return in the parlor. A Welsh mystery set in a remote mountainous village lay open on her lap and a highball glass filled with Crown Royal and soda perched on a stand within easy reach.

  "How did it go?" she asked, her gray eyes soft in the lamplight. "I saw Jessica leave with a policeman. She's not being arrested, is she?"

  Molly flopped down in the other wing chair. "No. She made a mistake, but she's no murderer. She could have been, though, with what her husband did to her."

  "Why don't you tell me over dinner?" Clara asked, taking a sip of her cocktail. "Mrs. Hewell said there's a neat restaurant called the Olde Tobacco Warehouse within walking distance. They’re supposed to have a four-story atrium that takes your breath away. Doesn't a plate of chicken cooked in sherry sauce sound good about now? And she also highly recommended the roasted garlic mashed potatoes."

  "Yes, let's go!" Molly jumped up hungrily. "Boy, I'd never survive on one of those no-carb diets."

  "Well, there are no carbs in this drink and I'm going to finish it, so you may as well fill me in on what happened at the station while you're waiting."

  Molly sank back down into her chair and gave a condensed version of Jessica's sad tale.

  "That poor woman!" Clara exclaimed. "At least your father took off right after you were born. Her sons must not know what to think—their father just up and leaving them like that. What scum!"

  Molly didn't want her mother to launch into some bad-father tirade, so she quickly said, "So let's assume that Mr. Smith is really one of the Hidden Treasures appraisers. He commissioned the fake coins, arranged the blackout, switched the coins, and killed Alexandra."

  "Which men do we have to choose from again?" Clara asked, draining her glass.

  Molly stood and beckoned for her mother to follow her outside. Arm in arm, they strolled down the sidewalk towards the Olde Tobacco Warehouse.

  "Patrice, Borris, Tony, and Garrett. Those are our suspects."

  "Hrmph," Clara snorted. "Patrice couldn't pull a body up twenty feet into the air any more than I could. It could only be Borris if he was just pretending to be in love with Jessica while, in fact, the whole time he was manipulating her into unknowingly help him commit several crimes."

  Molly shook her head. "I don't believe that. Anyone can see Borris sincerely loves Jessica, unless he is an incredible actor."<
br />
  Clara frowned. "No. He's the genuine article. And it simply can't be that charming Englishman, though he'd make an excellent actor. And I don't know anything about this Tony fellow."

  "Tony is a big teddy bear. That overgrown kid doesn't have a malicious bone in his body," Molly said firmly.

  "Since we don't know these men from Adam, we can't really deduce what would drive any of them to murder. That's why there's a police force, Molly," Clara nagged. "You don't have the slightest idea what secrets were divulged during today's questioning of the appraisers."

  "That's true, but I do know that the motive revolves around money. There was a robbery before there ever was a murder," Molly replied defensively and then abruptly stopped in her tracks in the middle of one of Shockoe Slip's cobblestone side streets. The sudden lack of movement caused Clara's linked arm to jerk backward roughly.

  "What are you doing, Molly?" Clara snapped. "I think my arm just came out of its socket!"

  Molly stood paralyzed, her eyes wide with the shock of comprehension. "What would you do with six stolen coins, Ma?" she finally asked.

  Clara shrugged impatiently. "I don't know. Hide them in the litter box?"

  "You can't just put them on eBay." Molly's words flowed so quickly that she began tripping over them. "You'd have to have a buyer or know how to pawn them off in a black market."

  "Which one of those men would know of a market for stolen coins?" Clara asked, her interest in the case returning.

  "A coin collector!" Molly screeched excitedly, and then realized exactly what this conclusion meant. She covered her face with both of her hands and wailed in despair, "Oh my god, and I kissed him! I made out with the killer!"