Chapter Seventeen
When I arrived home Friday evening, Aunt Lydia was sitting in the kitchen, staring at a plastic-wrapped platter of sandwiches on the kitchen table.
“Do you want to leave the lights off?” I asked as I leaned against the doorjamb.
“What?” Aunt Lydia looked up, her eyes wide as those of a startled deer. “Oh, sorry. I guess I was lost in my thoughts.”
“Apparently.” I pointed toward the sandwiches. “Are those for an event?”
“Actually, I made them for supper. I wasn’t sure when your brother would return, but I thought he might be hungry, so …” Aunt Lydia rubbed her eyes with her fists as if awakening from a stupor.
“Still no word?” I asked as I strolled into the kitchen.
“No. Have you heard anything?”
I shook my head as I sat down, facing her across the table.
Aunt Lydia toyed with a loose edge of the plastic wrap. “I should put these in the fridge, then. Who knows when he’ll show up.”
“No one, apparently.” I frowned. “I checked in with Mom and Dad, and they’ve had no messages from Scott either. He’s gone dark.”
“It might be something required by his line of work, but it is worrisome.” Aunt Lydia stood and picked up the platter. “I guess I should ask if you want a sandwich before I carry these off.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll grab one later.” I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes until I was supposed to meet with Kurt in the garden. “While it’s still light out, I’d like to get in a little weeding. Maybe I can also work off some of my nervous energy.”
“Sounds like a good plan, but be sure to wear your gloves. The wedding is two weeks from tomorrow, and you certainly don’t want chipped and broken fingernails for the photos.”
I rolled my eyes, even though I knew she had a point. “I promise to protect my hands.”
“You’d better. Anyway, it will be a help to me if you weed, especially since I need to do some laundry. Well”—my aunt said as she slid the platter into the refrigerator—“I don’t absolutely need to. But it will keep me occupied.”
I rose to my feet and patted my pocket. “I’ll leave my cell phone on, just in case Scott does message me.”
“Let me know immediately if he does,” Aunt Lydia said, leaning back against the closed door of the fridge.
I assured her I would before dashing upstairs to change into proper gardening attire. Which, in my case, was a pair of cotton shorts and a well-worn T-shirt, along with a pair of battered sneakers.
Before I headed into the garden, I grabbed a pair of suede gloves and a trowel from the storage bin beside the back-porch steps. If Kurt kept his appointment, I probably wouldn’t actually do any weeding, but I knew it was possible that he would bail on me.
But he was already waiting when I reached the middle of the garden, which was screened from view of the house by the lilacs and verbena that filled the beds surrounding a whimsical metal sundial.
“Fairies?” Kurt touched the delicately wrought wing of one of the two entwined figures that served as a base. They appeared to be dancing together as they balanced the face of the sundial on their uplifted hands. “That’s a bit risky. Considering some of the local legends, I wouldn’t think that Lydia would want to encourage a visit from the Fair Folk.”
“Aunt Lydia—like me and, I suspect, you as well—respects the folklore as story but doesn’t believe the fae are still roaming the Blue Ridge,” I said, repressing the memory of orbs of light dancing above a mountain forest.
“‘There are more things in heaven and earth,’” Kurt said, with a sardonic smile. “But never mind that. I don’t want to waste your time with a lot of chitchat.”
“That suits me. I have a list of questions for you. Most importantly, what you might know about my brother’s business. Do you have any idea why he was sent here or who he might be tracking?”
Kurt held up one hand, palm out. “I have some suspicions, but I really don’t think I should share them. Not even with you.”
I placed my balled fists on my hips. “Why not?”
“For one thing, it’s probably classified information.” Kurt met my frown with a sardonic smile. “Yes, I often know things I shouldn’t. That doesn’t mean I share that information with others. I’ve helped out a few federal agencies over the years, you know. If I ever wish to work with them again or, more importantly, count on their assistance in certain matters, I must show the proper discretion.”
“I should’ve known this would be all about what you want or need,” I said. “So why exactly did you agree to meet with me?”
“That I can explain. I might have a story to tell you that will clarify a few things concerning this Oscar Selvaggio business.” He motioned to one of the garden benches that faced the sundial. “Shall we sit?”
“If you wish,” I said, following him to the bench. As I sat down, I noticed slight discoloration at his temple surrounding a gash almost hidden by his thick hair. “By the way, how’s your head?”
“As good as ever,” he replied. “And yes, I did see someone about it. They gave me a clean bill of health. Well”—he shot me a grin—“as clean as I can get at this point in my life, I suppose.”
My lips twitched into a smile in spite of me. “I won’t ask for any details.”
“Probably wise.” Kurt’s expression sobered. “Getting back to the business at hand—I must delve into a little personal history to explain my connection to Selvaggio and the Kelmscott Chaucer.”
I leaned against the back of the bench, stretching out my legs. “I thought the connection was that you both wanted to buy a copy.”
“That’s the most recent one.” Kurt cleared his throat. “You already know your late uncle was involved with some rather dubious people in the art world.”
“Wait, this has something to do with Uncle Andrew?” Just like Zelda said … Even though I knew Aunt Lydia couldn’t see us from the house, I cast a quick glance toward the back porch.
“Unfortunately, yes. Which is one reason I’ve been trying to keep my history with Selvaggio under wraps.” Kurt tapped my arm, forcing me to look at him. “Andrew got mixed up in a sale of a Kelmscott Chaucer, one that also involved Oscar Selvaggio.”
My jaw dropped. “Not the one Selvaggio sold to Adele Tourneau’s father?”
“I’m afraid so.” Kurt ran his hand through his thick hair, wincing slightly as his fingers brushed over the injury at his temple. “I suppose he needed the money. If only he’d told me …” Kurt shook his head. “But I imagine he was too embarrassed. I’d given him the Chaucer as a gift, you see.”
“And then he sold it?” I straightened, pulling my back away from the bench. “You gave him a Kelmscott Chaucer? That was quite a present.”
Kurt shrugged. “I was assigned to read Chaucer in my junior year in high school and was at something of a loss, as my background hadn’t included much exposure to classic literature. Andrew tutored me and helped me to understand it well enough to make a decent grade in that class. So years later, when a copy of the Kelmscott Press edition of Chaucer’s works came on the market, I acquired it.”
“Legally?” I asked, tapping the trowel against my bare knee.
“I think I’ll take the fifth on that.” The lines bracketing Kurt’s mouth deepened. “I should’ve known better, but I thought it was just going to sit in the library at Andrew and Lydia’s house, where few people would see it.”
“But Andrew decided to sell it instead.” I lifted the trowel and stared at my reflection, warped by the concave metal surface. “He was often short of funds, as we know from his unfortunate dabbling in forgery.”
“And I suppose he didn’t feel he could go to Lydia for the money. Or me.” Kurt exhaled a deep sigh. “He suffered from a drug problem from time to time, you know.”
“I’m aware.” I laid the trowel next to me on the bench and swiveled to face Kurt directly. “You think he needed money to buy drugs?”
> “No, he was clean at that point. But he still had debts. Not the kind anyone can avoid paying if they want to keep all their fingers.” Kurt smiled grimly. “And being a painter, that was rather important to Andrew.”
“Are you saying he sold the Chaucer because he owed money to dealers?”
“I assume that was the reason. He wouldn’t have confessed that to Lydia, of course, and even though I knew about his on-again, off-again problems with drugs, he wouldn’t have come to me either.”
“Why not? Weren’t you the one who introduced him to drugs when you were younger?”
“To my eternal regret.” Kurt leaned back and gazed up into the sky, which was tinted violet as twilight approached. “I did help him out, quite a few times, including paying off some of his debts. I felt I owed him that much. But the last time I did so, Andrew told me he would never ask again. And he never did.”
“He sold the Kelmscott Chaucer instead.”
“Apparently.” Kurt lowered his head and met my stern gaze. “I didn’t know anything about it. Not until the scandal erupted and Adele’s father was caught in the middle of it.”
“But I researched that story, and no one ever mentioned Andrew Talbot. They all reported Oscar Selvaggio as the seller.”
“Oscar was just a broker. He always claimed he had no knowledge about the Chaucer’s provenance, which was actually true. Since Andrew didn’t know that the book had a questionable background, Oscar wouldn’t have known that either.”
“So his innocence on that point was real. It must’ve convinced the authorities, anyway, since no formal charges were ever brought against him.” I frowned. “But why didn’t he name Uncle Andrew as the actual seller, then? There’s no mention of that in any of the reports I read.”
“Because I warned Oscar not to, of course.”
I studied Kurt’s face. It was shadowed by a weariness that betrayed, for once, his true age. “You threatened him?”
“Not exactly. Technically, I bribed him. But it had the same effect. He told the authorities he had bought the Chaucer in a bundled deal; that it was just one piece in a collection he’d purchased from someone overseas.” Kurt bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile. “Someone who couldn’t be located later, I’m afraid.”
“One of your aliases?”
“Perhaps.”
I leaned back, stretching one arm across the top rail of the bench. “I see. Employing the old quid pro quo. You helped Selvaggio by providing a cover for his supposed purchase of the Chaucer, while he kept quiet about Uncle Andrew’s involvement in the matter.”
“Exactly. And it would’ve ended there, but …”
“But Jasper Brentwood died, and his daughter, Adele, decided to sue Selvaggio when the authorities failed to charge him with a crime.”
“They really didn’t have a strong case,” Kurt said. “But I was afraid the investigation launched by the private detectives Adele and her siblings hired would reveal Andrew’s involvement. So I stepped in again to make the matter go away.”
“Did you know Adele at that point?”
Kurt shook his head. “We were not yet acquainted. I knew who she was, but only because I had an interest in the arts and followed some dance companies.”
“So what did you do?”
Kurt stretched his arm over mine. “I bought off Adele’s lawyer. Which doomed her case to failure, of course. I wasn’t proud of that,” he added, laying his hand on my shoulder. “But I had to protect Andrew.”
I wriggled my shoulder to try to loosen his grip, to no avail. “Is that why you were so generous about supporting Adele’s dance charities later on?”
“Partially. But I also believed in what she was doing. And, of course, I wanted to help Richard. My belated way to repay the generosity of his great-uncle Paul.”
I met Kurt’s calm gaze with a glare. “You never told Adele any of this?”
“Of course not. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t enlighten her. Or Richard, if you can see your way to keeping anything from him.”
I finally yanked my shoulder free and dropped my arm into my lap. “I may keep quiet about it, if only so he’s not completely disillusioned by you.”
“As you are?”
“I never had any illusions to start with. Anyway, your story clarifies your connection to Oscar Selvaggio and Adele, but it doesn’t exactly exonerate you. In fact”—I tipped my head to study his implacable face—“it gives you all the more reason to murder Selvaggio. I mean, you may have killed him to keep everything quiet about your involvement with another Kelmscott Chaucer in the past.”
“That is a logical assumption, although I must correct one thing—it isn’t another copy of the Chaucer.”
I leapt to my feet. “You and Selvaggio were trying to buy the exact same copy that you originally gave Uncle Andrew?”
“We were.” Kurt flashed me a humorless smile. “To be perfectly honest, I still am.”
“Surely not from Adele,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“No, the family sold it to another collector soon after Jasper Brentwood’s death.” Kurt stood to face me.
Or rather, I thought, to loom over me. “And you want it back because it is another connection to my uncle?”
“Partially, but also because it will put a final nail in the coffin of one of my more foolish youthful indiscretions.” Kurt shoved the sleeves of his ivory cotton sweater above his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms. “I preferred to bury the book in one of my storage vaults rather than have Oscar attempt to sell it again.”
“Which might raise some ugly skeletons?”
“Indeed. Especially since there are a few people digging a little too deeply into some of my past actions.”
I thought of Hugh and Fred Nash. They were trying to track down just this type of evidence of Kurt’s questionable former art deals. “Why are you telling me this?” I asked, dropping my arms to my sides. “You know I could go to Brad Tucker and relay what you’ve just confessed. Not to mention I could tell Hugh Chen everything.”
Kurt lifted his bushy eyebrows. “I am aware you can do so. But will you?”
Taking a few steps back, I dug my heels into the loose gravel of the path. “I should.”
“Of course you should. That would be the sensible thing to do. After all, as you noted, I do have a reason to have desired Oscar Selvaggio’s death.”
“So why risk everything by talking to me?”
“Because I want you to know that I am doing whatever I can to protect you and those you care about.” Kurt spread out his hands. “How do you think Lydia would feel if all this information about Andrew came to light?”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s not the only reason. You also don’t want Richard or Adele to know the truth about your initial involvement in her affairs.”
“True enough. But I’m more concerned about the safety of you, or anyone else, who digs too deeply into this matter. There are other factors that might have led to Oscar’s death, things I can’t discuss at this point. I just wanted to share what I could, so you would know that I am not trying to deceive you when I say that you, and Hugh, and anyone else, need to tread very carefully.” Kurt’s blue eyes grew icy. “There are more layers to this than you can possibly imagine. My involvement with the Kelmscott Chaucer in the past is only the tip of the iceberg. And trust me, my dear, this danger is just as unexpected and deadly as the one that sunk the Titanic.”
A puff of wind ruffled my hair, carrying with it the scent of lilacs. “That man at your house, the one who struck you,” I said, speaking slowly as the thought formed in my mind. “Is he connected to all of this?”
Kurt’s sardonic expression shifted to stony stillness. “That’s another thing altogether.”
I looked him over, noticing that while his arms hung loosely at his sides, his hands were clenched into fists. “It occurred to me,” I said, although the thought had just popped into my head, “that he might be the killer. He looke
d like hired muscle to me. I can’t help but wonder if he was working for someone else who wanted the Chaucer. Maybe he was told to get you out of the way as well as Selvaggio.”
Kurt’s glower told me I might be on the right track. “He’s nothing. Just one of those people I sometimes have to deal with in the course of doing business. Don’t concern yourself with him.”
“And then there’s the fact that Oscar Selvaggio appeared to recognize my brother. Who works in some top-secret capacity for the government and just happened to show up here about the time Selvaggio did. It’s all a little puzzling, to tell you the truth.” I lifted my chin defiantly. “Perhaps I should at least mention that much to Brad Tucker.”
“I wouldn’t. Not before talking to Scott first,” Kurt said, his tone razor-sharp.
Emboldened, I took a step forward. “Do you know why Scott was tracking Selvaggio? Because I now believe that’s what he was really doing here.”
“As I said before, I have my opinion, but it’s not something I’m going to discuss.” Kurt reached out and grabbed my hand. “Listen, Amy, you need to be careful. The Kelmscott Chaucer is one thing …”
I met his intense gaze and held it without wavering. “There’s something else?”
“Isn’t there always?” he said, his tone suddenly light. He squeezed my fingers before he released my hand. “You can tell the authorities whatever you want, as long as you allow them to do their job without your help. I’m sure they’ll uncover Oscar’s murderer soon enough.”
“Even if it’s you?”
Kurt grinned. “If it’s me, they will find that out, but they may not find me.” Sweeping one hand through his thick white hair, he added, “I do own a passport and a few properties overseas.”
“So you’d run?”
“If necessary. But it won’t come to that.” Kurt gave a little nod. “Good evening, Amy,” he said, before turning away and striding off.
I watched until he left the garden before I sat back down on the bench and considered the information he’d just shared, and why.
The why still puzzled me. Sure, he might be explaining his behavior and guaranteeing my silence by claiming that he was trying to protect the reputation of someone he’d loved. And by extension, protect that man’s widow, who was someone I loved. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. I knew how deeply Kurt had cared for my Uncle Andrew.
A Deadly Edition Page 17