by Diane Noble
Bingo. “So Collin knew you were from the US, even Tennessee, before you met him?” Immediately, Kate made note of that fact, though she couldn’t yet connect that particular dot to the rest.
“Well, he may not have known I was on that particular coach, but I suppose he might have noticed me when I got off to shop.”
Kate’s mind was racing. Why would Collin pinpoint a tour group from Tennessee? Or had he been watching for any group from the United States? Either way, if the meeting was planned, Collin could have tailed her through the maze of shops and waited for the chance to bump into her. The cloudburst was perhaps a bit of good fortune, giving him reason to come to her aid like a gallant knight of old with a sweep of his cape and elegant umbrella. He even called her his lady.
“When he said he was traveling the same route, was that before he knew which tour you were on?”
Renee blushed again. “Actually, we decided that together once we both felt the electricity between us. We really didn’t want to be separated. He’d rented a car while he was in Italy, and since our tour was completely booked and our coach full, he followed us along our entire route.” She sighed happily. “It was heaven until the day we had to say good-bye.”
Kate gave her a gentle smile. She didn’t want to tell Renee her concerns about the urn or about Collin. At least not until she knew more.
As she helped Renee clear the luncheon dishes and carry them back into the kitchen, she thought how devastating it would be for Renee to find out she was being used, to find out that Collin’s affection wasn’t genuine.
Then there was the mystery of the urn itself and its real value. She made a mental note to check her e-mail the minute she got home. She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t heard from Dr. Hosea—unless he had suddenly fallen ill or had been called out of town.
KATE HAD JUST WALKED in the door at home when the phone rang. She ran to the kitchen to pick it up.
It was Melissa. “Mom, we really need your prayers.”
“You’ve got them, honey. Has there been a change?” She was almost afraid to ask.
“Nothing yet. The pediatric cardiologist was here for most of the morning and recommended more tests.” She gave Kate the details. “But it’s waiting for the results that’s so hard. That and thinking about our baby having surgery.”
“I have a verse for you, honey,” she said. “One with an image you can hold dear through all this.” She could hear sniffling on the other end of the phone line. “It’s this: ‘He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.’ That’s you, sweetheart,” she said, “and John that he’s gently leading.”
“And it’s Mia, too, that he’s carrying close to his heart,” Melissa added softly. After a moment, she said, “Thank you, Mama.”
Melissa hadn’t called her that in years. Just the sound of the word brought tears to Kate’s eyes.
Chapter Seventeen
As dawn crept through the bedroom window, Kate woke with a start. Through much of the night, she had tossed and turned and fluffed her pillow, only to toss and turn and fluff again. Mostly Melissa, John, and Mia occupied her thoughts, but she also spent some staring-at-the-ceiling time trying to figure out the mystery of the urn, only to keep circling back to her concerns that Renee’s Collin was involved in the museum heist in Oxford.
She didn’t want to consider it for Renee’s sake, but he seemed to be at the center of the dots she’d already connected. If she was right. And that was a big if.
Without disturbing Paul, she grabbed her robe and slipped it on as she padded down the hall to put on the coffee.
She mulled over her nighttime conclusions as she ground the beans.
Collin obviously sought out Renee, possibly because she was with a tour from the United States, perhaps even because she was from Tennessee. He sized her up as a shopper, which was probably not difficult to do: her bright clothing, jewelry, and flamboyant accessories were eye-catching. Plus, a few minutes of observing Renee in any shop would tell even the dullest sleuth that “born to shop” was one of her personal mantras.
A museum piece matching the description of Renee’s urn was stolen from a museum in Oxford, conveniently close to Collin’s hometown.
In Florence, he talked Renee into purchasing a “similar” piece of ancient art. Was it one and the same?
Her suspicions about him grew, and she shivered, wondering what Renee had gotten herself into.
She poured the fresh grounds into the paper filter, added cold water, and flipped the toggle to turn on the coffeemaker.
If the urn was the real McCoy, it was priceless. How better to get it out of the country than to arrange for some unsuspecting tourist to carry it home packed as a souvenir?
She leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
He was coming to visit Renee under the guise of his affection, even to the point of asking her to marry him. Kate thought about the glow on Renee’s face every time she said his name, and Kate’s heart ached for her friend.
Still, there were some disconnects. How did the urn get from the museum in Oxford to Florence, Italy? And why was it taken there?
Was there a connection between the Carrot-top and Curly duo, who seemed interested in stealing the urn? Or were they simply out to make a quick buck after reading about the urn in the paper?
Another disconnect: the Chronicle said nothing about the urn being more than a copy of an ancient piece. It would then be of no great value to the duo, unless they knew more about it than was mentioned in Livvy’s article. And if they did know its real value, how did they? Who told them?
Who was the boss they mentioned?
Could it be Collin Wellington? She pictured Curly and Carrot-top rumbling down Main Street in their GTO, then thought of Renee’s description of Collin, from his upper-class British demeanor down to his expertise on everything from antiquities to making a “real” cup of English tea . The professor and the duo in the moonshine car sure didn’t appear to make a believable team. But, then, maybe that was precisely the point.
Was it too much of a coincidence that the duo had turned up in town just before Collin had told Renee that he planned to visit her?
She put the dots together in a likely pattern: Collin was in on the heist from the Oxford museum; the “hot” urn was speedily taken from England to Italy; Collin then prearranged for a shop owner who probably owed him some favors to sell the original as a copy to the unwitting Renee; she brought the stolen urn into the United States; Collin Wellington and his gang plan to steal it back again and sell it through the underground to someone with a private collection of such antiquities. Was a tour from Tennessee chosen precisely because the man at the top—the collector—lived there?
The coffee stopped its brew cycle, but Kate barely noticed. She was too busy trying to wrap her mind around the scenario she’d just laid out.
Then a new thought flew into her brain: Why would Collin insist on all the attention with photographs and articles? That didn’t make sense if he was trying to fly under the radar.
She poured her coffee and sighed.
It made no sense at all.
KATE HAD JUST FINISHED her quiet time of Bible reading and prayer when Paul shuffled around the corner in his robe and slippers. He grinned at her as he headed to the kitchen, then returned with a cup of coffee and the carafe to refill her mug.
He sat down on the sofa. “You had a bad night?”
“I hoped I wasn’t keeping you awake.”
“I was awake anyway.”
She nodded, knowing that nestled deep into their hearts and minds was the image of a tiny little girl they loved.
“I hope we find out something definitive today,” Paul said.
“Melissa said she would call as soon as they hear anything. I’ll be in and out today, so I told her to try my cell if they can’t get anyone here.”
Paul took a sip of coffee. “Good think
ing. I’ve got some early morning meetings at church and a couple of appointments out of the office, so I’ll be in and out as well.”
Kate couldn’t help but wonder what the appointments out of the office were all about, but she bit her tongue and strained to keep her promise to trust Paul. It was so difficult, especially since they’d usually been so open with each other, sharing readily their plans and activities.
She prayed silently, Lord, give me patience...and love.
“How about you?” Paul asked. “More sleuthing?”
She shrugged. “I’ve just about given up on the elusive Dr. Hosea. Still no e-mail from him. I’m thinking about contacting some other experts, maybe through one of the university Web sites.” She leaned forward intently. “The clock is ticking. According to Renee, Collin will be hopping across the pond before the end of the month. Her emotions are building, and I’m concerned she’s being set up for a huge emotional fall. I have to find out if—or maybe I should say how—he is connected to all this.”
“You don’t think she’ll figure this out on her own, once he gets here, I mean?”
“You have a point.” Kate paused, thinking about the story Renee told her about her background. “But with the heartaches she’s endured, I don’t want to see her go through another.”
PAUL LEFT FOR HIS FIRST MEETING, and Kate showered and dressed for her day, then she headed to the computer to check her e-mail.
She sat back and waited for the slow connection to bring up her e-mail program. Finally, the program loaded onto the computer, and the tiny icon in the bottom corner of her screen showed that she had mail.
She clicked on the icon, and her program opened. The first post was from Dr. Hosea. At last!
Dear Mrs. Hanlon,
I am so sorry for the delay getting back to you. I was unexpectedly called out of town and have just now arrived home. Please call me at your earliest convenience at the number below. I am still extremely interested in the urn.
Sincerely,
Reginald Hosea, PhD
Kate wasted no time trotting to the kitchen and picking up the phone.
The phone showed that she had missed a call, probably while she was in the shower.
Perhaps it was Dr. Hosea, she reasoned, since she had given him her phone number earlier.
But when she pressed the button to listen to the message, the recording of a woman’s voice caught her by surprise. Even more alarming was the message.
“You need to wire an additional three thousand dollars,” the crisp, professional voice said, “in order to bring your account up to date. This must be done by the twentieth of the month, otherwise...” the voice cut out. It sounded like the caller was on a cell phone that had lost its signal.
Kate fell into a chair at the kitchen table, stunned by what she’d just heard. Another three thousand dollars? Their budget had been too tight to allow for a trip to Italy. Now this? What kind of financial trap were they caught in?
Chapter Eighteen
Kate was still in shock over the voice-mail message about the money when she dialed Dr. Hosea. She tried to push it from her mind as she waited for him to pick up.
He finally answered on the fourth ring. Again he apologized for not getting back to her. He was professional, yet surprisingly warm and cordial as they spoke, and when she suggested he travel to Copper Mill from southern Tennessee to examine the urn in person, he readily agreed. Kate bit back her disappointment when he said he was booked for a couple of weeks. Then after a moment’s pause, he added, “Though if I can rearrange some appointments and meetings, perhaps I can come up tomorrow.”
Kate let out a pent-up sigh of relief. “That would be great.” She started to give him directions to Faith Briar.
He surprised her by saying, “No need. I already know where it is.” Before Kate could react to that curious news, he laughed and added, “My GPS. I never leave home without it.”
WEDNESDAY MORNING, just before ten o’clock, Kate turned the Honda into the parking lot at Faith Briar. At the same time, a nondescript minivan approached from the opposite direction and pulled in to park beside her.
She exited her car and waited as a rumpled-appearing man with a round face and rather unkempt beard got out of the minivan. He wore khakis and a plaid shirt, sleeves rolled midforearm, and an Indiana Jones hat. Central casting couldn’t have chosen a better look for an archaeologist.
Kate couldn’t help smiling. “Dr. Hosea?”
He assessed her with piercing blue-gray eyes and an engaging smile. “Yes, and you must be Mrs. Hanlon.”
“Please, call me Kate.”
“Well, thank you, Kate. And please call me Reg.” He laughed heartily. “Reg as in ‘I pledge’ to present you with the best information possible about this interesting urn that’s landed in Copper Mill, Tennessee.” His accent was intriguing. A bit Southern, a bit British, or possibly Australian.
He rounded the van, opened the sliding side door and reached inside. When he came back around where Kate was standing, he was carrying a worn leather satchel, the size and shape of a pilot’s flight bag. “All right, then. I’m ready.”
As they headed toward the church, Kate said, “Oh, and Dr. Hosea, I’d appreciate your discretion, because I haven’t yet told the owner about the urn’s potential value.”
He raised a bushy brow. “I’m quite aware you mean Renee Lambert. And I’m assuming you’ve also not told her it might have been stolen?”
Kate drew in a sharp breath. “You know about that?”
“Oh yes, of course.” He paused when they reached the church entrance. “I’ve been following the reports very closely.” He held the door open for Kate, and she stepped through.
The spotlight in the glass case cast an ethereal glow on the urn, and Kate noticed that Reg was as taken by it as she had been. Perhaps even more, judging from his expression.
Kate excused herself momentarily to go to Millie’s office to get the key, while Reg set his satchel on the floor by the case.
“May I?” Reg shot Kate a questioning look after she opened the door.
“Of course. You can remove it from the case if you’d like.”
Instead of removing it, however, he cautiously touched the urn. His expression told Kate that he took great pleasure in his work. Without removing the urn, he turned it slightly to the right, inspected it closely, then continued to turn it a fraction of an inch at a time until he had studied the relief art on the two longer sides as well as on each end beneath the cherubim guardians. He moved the piece, touching the figures of Francis and Clare with his fingertips, as if assessing how they might have been carved. Or perhaps if they had been carved, which she wondered might indicate the urn’s age.
He turned to the satchel, clicked it open, and then pulled out a small folding table and set it up with a snap. Next, he put together a telescoping stand, attached a spotlight, and arranged it so that it brightly illuminated the table. Kate spotted various containers at the bottom of the satchel, and a separate open compartment containing tools and brushes. She was impressed with the array of testing materials.
Finally, Reg covered the small table with a thick padded top that appeared to be made of black felt.
“Now, let’s see what we’ve got,” he breathed as he went back to the glass case.
He lifted the urn from its glass shelf and, moving slowly, placed it on the table, adjusted the light, and then picked up a magnifying glass.
“What do you make of the symbols?” Kate asked. “They strike me as odd.”
“They are unique, and not many people can interpret them. But after studying the photographs you sent, and now that I see the urn, I’ve identified at least some of the symbols and have translated a portion of the writings.”
“Does it tell the story of Francis and Clare, their relationship, I mean?”
“That’s exactly what it tells, though not in detail, of course.” He turned to look up at her. “No one knows the true story.”
; For a half hour, Reg remained bent over the urn. He seldom spoke but kept working in a rhythmic fashion as if he’d done this thing dozens, if not hundreds, of times. Every few minutes he reached for a different tool or brush, opened a bottle of this or a jar of that, applied a minute dab of chemical or powder, then sat back as if to watch some sort of reaction from the alabaster that Kate couldn’t see.
Kate gave him plenty of room to work so he wouldn’t feel like she was breathing down his neck. She was particularly curious to see if he would try to open the urn by pressing on the cherubim and wondered if he knew about the secret steps to opening the urn.
Finally, he sat back and shot her a pleased look. “This is preliminary, of course, and we can’t know without further testing if it’s the crematory urn missing from the Exeter. At this point, I can’t even tell you the age. Of course, I can give you some parameters, but not anything substantive.
“I would like to take it with me, with your permission, of course, to run a more thorough test. I believe it’s simply a good copy, but we can’t know for certain.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible. We would need to get Mrs. Lambert’s permission,” Kate said. “And knowing her, I really doubt she’d let it go.”
Just then, Paul opened the door between the foyer and the church offices and looked in. “How’s it going?”
Reg glanced up from his work and gave Paul a nod. Kate thought she saw a shadow of irritation.
It disappeared when she said, “Reg, this is my husband, Pastor Paul Hanlon.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were the minister’s wife,” Reg said. He stood and shook Paul’s hand.
“One and the same,” Kate said.
“How did you get involved with the details of the urn?”
“Kate’s an amateur sleuth.” Paul shot her a proud smile.
“And Collin Wellington is a friend of mine.”
A lightbulb went on in Kate’s head. “Do you know Collin?”
Reg laughed. “Everyone who’s anyone in our related fields knows the great Sir Wellington.”