Liv had no intention of leaving and neither had Grossman. He pulled his authorization letter out of his pocket and waved it at Frank. “I’m here by appointment. I have this authorization letter to prove it. So if you will excuse me I’ll start setting up my equipment.” He didn’t wait for an answer but carried his equipment across the room.
“Now, wait just a minute,” Frank began, but Hildy cut him off.
“He has a right to be here. You don’t,” Hildy said. “I’ll see you out, and if I catch you trying to sneak back in, I’ll call the sheriff.”
“Hildy, you can’t really keep me out. I am the heir after all.” Frank Gallantine, who Liv was already thinking of as Frankie G, winked at Liv, as if saying, What can you do? “Nice to meet you, Ms. Montgomery. I’ll let myself out.”
He sauntered across the room under Hildy’s alert gaze. But not alert enough. As Liv watched him go, she noticed a bump in the pocket of his sports jacket. She automatically turned to the table where he’d been standing; the figurine he’d been holding was gone. Only the clean circle in the dust remained, marking the spot where it had been.
So the nephew wasn’t just obnoxious; he really was a thief. And a brazen one at that. Was it possible that he was Hildy’s thief and not the teenagers like she’d thought? Evidently he knew how to get in without the housekeeper knowing about it, and he most certainly knew how to sneak things out.
Hildy finally remembered they were in the room. “A piece of work that one. Mr. G gave him and his mother everything they wanted. They always wanted more.”
And if Henry Gallantine was dead instead of just missing, they might have it.
The housekeeper seemed to recollect herself. “I suppose it’s okay to let you go on and do your picture taking. Mr. G didn’t tell me any different. Didn’t tell me you were coming back at all. Just don’t make a mess. I got my work to do, and I can’t stand here watching you.”
She frowned at Liv. “You just make sure nothing gets broke. I’m holding you responsible.”
“Thanks, Hildy.”
Hildy just grunted and left the room.
“Formidable woman,” Grossman said.
“Yes, she is,” Liv agreed.
“That nitwit is Henry Gallantine’s nephew?”
“Apparently.”
“I wonder if he really is the heir.” Grossman began setting up his gear, and Liv wandered over to the window to look out, partly so Grossman wouldn’t think she was hovering over him and partly because she wanted to call Bill.
She’d just give him a heads-up that the nephew, Frankie G, was in town. She deliberated on whether to tell him about the theft or not. She hadn’t actually seen him take the piece, but he had been holding it, then it was gone, and there was that bump in his pocket. Pretty damning.
But she didn’t want to make any accusations that might raise alarm and send Frankie running for cover before Bill had a chance to investigate him thoroughly. If he was pocketing things from this house, what else was he helping himself to? And how far was he willing to go to get it?
The sound of a vacuum drowned out that thought as well as any possibility of having a phone conversation. She’d have to wait for a more opportune time.
Liv sat down at a round Queen Anne side table in the window alcove to tweak her presentation for the committee meeting that night, but soon her eye wandered out to the lawn.
The bleachers had been removed. She’d have to send a special thanks to the cleanup crew. They’d done an excellent job. The lawn was as pristine as it ever was, except for a few gouges and trampled grass where Daniel Haynes’s horse had reared up as the general gave the order to attack. Thank heaven it hadn’t been a cavalry unit.
Grossman moved from place to place, taking long shots, close-ups, and making notes in a spiral notebook. Occasionally, he would pick up some chest or box to study it more closely.
The first couple of times, Liv held her breath, wondering if he had authorization to snoop as well as document. Once she looked up to find him picking up a lamp of a ceramic Chinese guardian figure and turning it upside down to look at the base. The lampshade started to fall, and Liv had a horrible vision of the antique ceramic breaking into hundreds of pieces. But somehow he managed to save both the lamp and the lampshade and put them back on the table intact. Another time she caught him kneeling on one knee, studying the stones of the fireplace, which seemed like an odd thing to be doing, since the fireplace was hardly a furnishing.
The man was beyond thorough; it was going to be a long day. She went back to her meeting agenda. But her mind soon wandered back to the night of the murder.
The patriots moving silently onto the lawn. Rufus’s group from the left copse of trees and Roscoe’s from the right. She couldn’t see Roscoe’s position from where she was sitting; it was in the trees behind the house.
And the general. He must have been waiting on horseback behind the house.
Had Haynes or one of the patriot soldiers seen anything suspicious? Like a man jumping from the roof? Or were they too busy playing at war to notice? Surely Bill had asked.
A “hmmph” from across the room interrupted her thoughts. “Just look at this.” Grossman pointed to where two crossed swords hung above the fireplace.
Liv looked, but she had no idea what was wrong with them. They were polished. There was even a brass plaque below them. Clean and already documented. “What’s the problem?”
“Props—from a movie.” The curator made a sound as if something nasty was caught in his throat.
“Really?” Liv said, not knowing what reaction he expected.
“Must have been one of the movies Gallantine was in. Treasure Island. Really. Fakes hanging here on the wall above a collection of Fabergé eggs and two Sèvres urns.” He huffed out a disgusted sigh.
“I saw part of it last night. I thought he was really good.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The movie, Treasure Island.”
Grossman darted her a look that made her shrug and go back to studying her computer screen. She worked for a while, dividing her time between her agenda, watching Grossman, and staring out the window.
The reenactment had been spectacular until that SOS signal. So what if it was historically inaccurate? It was entertaining and it was authentic-ish.
The general appearing on horseback between the trees and silhouetted by the lake and night sky had been pretty effective. The soldiers swarming down to the water and jumping in boats to row out to the British ships. The way the boats were rowed toward the ships, then fanned out to disappear from view, with perfect timing, as the night fell into darkness and the first fireworks appeared.
She didn’t want to lose this venue. It was perfect.
She needed to find a way to approach Grossman about leasing the property back to them for the reenactment, somehow convince him that, although it was inaccurate, it was educational. Heck, they would even put a disclaimer in the program.
She wasn’t optimistic. The man was a fanatic about the truth. But time was running out, and she hadn’t even approached him.
When he folded up the tripod and moved into the back parlor, Liv grabbed her mini and followed him. He set camera and tripod up again and began the same process of long shots and detail shots. At this rate she would be here all day and maybe tomorrow, too.
“Can I help in any way? I’m supposed to be expediting your visit.”
“Oh, and I thought you were making sure I didn’t make off with the family silver.”
It was now or never. “Actually, it was to persuade you to continue Mr. Gallantine’s agreement with the town to use the grounds for the reenactment each year.”
Grossman snorted. “I believe you heard my opinion of your ‘reenactment.’” The last word dripped with air quotes, even though Grossman’s hands were busy with his camera.
Grossman straightened. “It didn’t happen. By performing this mock battle, the town is perpetrating a lie. Among others.”
“It’s a celebration.”
“Of a man who may or may not have betrayed his country?”
“I thought he was exonerated.”
“After he died and some numbskull in the Continental Congress convinced the others to restore the family’s good name. That’s what power and influence can do.”
That seemed a particularly harsh view of the matter. These historians took their work very seriously. As they should. She understood that mentality and respected it. She was the same way herself. “You think he really was a traitor?”
“If you must know, yes, I do. And I plan to right the historical records.”
“Why is it so important?”
He looked at her, incredulous. “Because I’m a historian first and museum curator second. And I think there’s evidence that will prove me correct.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was after four o’clock when Liv looked up from her iPad to see Grossman standing at the bay window looking out. He’d taken hundreds of photos, knocked on panels, opened and closed doors, but Liv drew the line at watching him daydream. It was time to call it a day.
She came to stand beside him, looking out to where he was looking. He seemed oblivious to her presence.
Was he merely daydreaming? Or calculating uses for the lawn when the museum took over? Liv bet his plans didn’t include the Battle of the Bay reenactment.
She was just about to ask if he was close to finishing when he said, “I’ll think I’ll stop for the day,” and abruptly began collecting his equipment.
He left immediately, not bothering to thank Hildy or Liv, or offering Liv a ride back to Town Hall, just raised his hand as he left by the front door.
That was fine with Liv; it was only a few blocks, and she wanted to have a minute with Hildy alone. More than once, Liv had noticed Hildy coming to the door to the parlor, looking in, and leaving again. And Liv imagined she had made more trips than Liv was aware of. She took her duty of protecting all things Henry Gallantine seriously.
By now, Liv was sure that Grossman had no intention of honoring Gallantine’s agreement with the town. In fact, he seemed intent on destroying the family name. Which didn’t make sense now that she thought about it. Onyx must think people would flock to a museum of a traitor as well as of a hero.
Of course they would, Liv thought. Look at the torture museums, the wax museums: criminals drew the crowds.
This is not what she envisioned for Celebration Bay. And she needed to make sure that Henry really understood what the Onyx Historical Conservancy was planning. If they could only find him.
Maybe Hildy knew. Maybe she would tell Liv once she heard that Grossman intended to prove Henry’s illustrious ancestor a traitor.
So when Hildy stood at the door after seeing Grossman out, Liv, instead of following him, said, “I thought he would never leave.”
Hildy’s expression said she didn’t know why Liv hadn’t left with him.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“I’m busy.”
“It’s important. About Mr. Gallantine’s ancestor.”
Hildy narrowed her eyes until they were black slits.
“What about him?”
“Could you give me a cup of tea? It was a long day and I’m parched. I hope it didn’t disrupt your work too much. I know it did mine. But now I’m glad I came.”
Liv hoped her confiding tone and the little bit of question she’d left in the statement would open the taciturn housekeeper’s mouth. And also that, if she didn’t mention being found trespassing the day before, Hildy would forget all about it.
“Well, it did, and if he thinks he’s going to make himself at home here, like that no-good nephew, he can think again.”
“Good. The only reason I agreed to come was because the sheriff didn’t think Mr. Gallantine would want him in here alone.”
“He got that right at least. Is that what you wanted to say?”
“There’s something else.”
Hildy gave her a long look. “I guess I can give you some tea.” Without another word, she started toward the kitchen.
“Thanks.” Liv followed and sat down at the kitchen table while Hildy put water on for tea and got down two mugs.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” she asked, turning around.
“There are two things really. I thought I should say something. I don’t want to be overhasty, but I think I saw Mr. Gallantine’s nephew pocket one of the little figurines on the table he was standing next to.”
“Why that little— Turn my back for one minute and he’s helping himself. Never was no good, that one. Next time he tries to get in here, I’ll meet him with my shotgun.”
“Maybe you should call the sheriff and let him handle it.”
“Bill Gunnison? I’ve been telling him people have been stealing things for the longest time. If it isn’t the no-account nephew, it’s them teenagers. They’re all robbing Mr. G blind. And now this museum man, saying he’s gonna buy the house and the furnishings.”
“I can’t believe Mr. Gallantine would want to sell this beautiful old house,” Liv said. “It must have been in his family for years.”
“Years and years. All the way back to the colonial period.” Hildy plopped tea bags into two mugs.
“So how on earth did Mr. Grossman talk him into selling?”
“He didn’t. Leastways he hadn’t when he left from his last time here.”
The teakettle began to whistle. Hildy poured water into the mugs and put one down in front of Liv and placed another on the opposite side of the table. She placed an empty saucer between them—Liv guessed it was for the tea bags, since Hildy hadn’t offered milk or anything to eat—and sat down.
“I wonder what made him change his mind?”
Hildy dunked her tea bag several times while she frowned at her cup. She looked up suddenly.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure he did. Last time that museum man was here… he was picking up things like they were already his, asking Mr. G impertinent questions. I don’t know how Mr. G stood it.” Hildy lifted her tea bag out of her mug and swung it over to the plate, where it landed with a splat. Then she leaned forward. “It was all I could do not to toss him out on his ear.”
And Liv bet she could. “Good for you.”
For the first time ever, Hildy smiled. The smile quickly turned back to her habitual frown. “What I don’t get is why Mr. G didn’t send him packing.”
Liv made sympathetic noises.
“Everything’s out of whack around here. Mr. G’s not been acting like himself lately. He always goes to his sister’s for summers, beats me why. She’s a money-grubbing little so-and-so. But he does. He doesn’t even like going. Says it’s his duty. Mr. G has a strong sense of duty. Only this summer he seemed like he couldn’t wait to go. Real excited like.”
“That sounds strange.”
“Don’t know why this time was any different from all the other summers. Does the same thing ever since he moved them out of here. But that’s like Mr. G. Good and generous, and everybody taking advantage of him.
“I don’t know what got into him this time. I asked him about it, but all he said was he had plans. Wouldn’t tell me what, just acted all secretive, but like it was a good thing.”
Liv wondered if she’d told this to Bill, but she wasn’t about to ask now that Hildy was talking. She’d clam up for sure if Liv mentioned the sheriff.
“And he gave Grossman that letter?”
“I guess so. The week before he goes, he tells me that while he was gone this museum person would be back to take an inventory of the house and… and
… I forget the word, but make sure all his stuff was real. Well I coulda told them that. Mr. G didn’t like fake things—or people.”
“What about the swords over the fireplace? Mr. Grossman said they weren’t authentic.”
“A lot he knows. They were the actual swords used in Mr. G’s movies. If that ain’t real, what is?”
“Maybe he meant historically.”
“I’d like to know just what business is it of his?”
So would Liv. “You know he came to the mayor when you wouldn’t let him in the first time. And good for you. You don’t know what kind of people you might be dealing with.”
“That’s what I told Bill Gunnison; didn’t do no good. I tried calling that dang lawyer, but he didn’t call me back yet. He’s another one. Too busy playacting at being some fancy general that died hundreds of years ago to take care of people who pay him.”
“Daniel Haynes? I thought just about everybody in town used Silas Lark.”
Hildy shook her head. “Mr. G did at one time. But when Daniel Haynes set up his shingle, Mr. G said that the old families should stick together. Like Silas Lark isn’t just as good as them, even though his family’s only been here since the Depression.”
And Liv had thought it was strange when BeBe, who had lived in Celebration Bay for over twelve years, was still treated like an outsider. Silas’s family had lived here for almost a hundred years and still didn’t measure up to the DAR.
“But I’ll tell you right now, that man’s not coming in this house again until I hear from Daniel Haynes. And you can just tell him that.”
“I don’t know if I’ll see him again. I don’t have time to run around after somebody that’s snooping where they don’t belong.” Like Chaz and me. “And I don’t blame you not wanting to stay in the house with a stranger roaming around. Especially when Mr. Gallantine isn’t here. Where do you think he could be?”
Hildy shook her head slowly. “I can’t figure it out. He never leaves until after the reenactment.”
Liv nodded. “You thought it was him on the roof the night Jacob Rundle died.”
Shelley Freydont - Celebration Bay 03 - Independence Slay Page 16