A Fatal Appraisal (12 page)

The dark walnut glowed warmly in the afternoon sun and
Thomas was pleased to see how dignified his piece looked among the fine objects
the captain had collected by means of his wealth and trade connections.

"So I guess you know all about the secret panels,
since you built them."

Thomas met Elspeth's unapologetic gaze for the first
time. " Yes, miss. I know where they are." And then he boldly asked,
"Do you?"

Elspeth pulled out the two slide supports located on the
sides of the top drawer and placed the lid gently upon the supports. This
created the writing surface of the desk and revealed the pigeonholes. Ignoring
the documents neatly arranged in the pigeonholes, Elspeth quickly showed her
knowledge of the secret compartments within. "They're always empty though.
What good is such wonderful craftsmanship if you have nothing to put inside? No
love letters, no treasured portraits or silhouettes, or locks of hair, and no
details of where the redcoats will attack next..." She laughed lightly and
then quickly sobered. " I guess with my mother gone, my father's life has
become all business."

Elspeth suddenly looked so forlorn that Thomas longed to
make her smile again. Against his better judgment he whispered, "You've
missed one. There is another hiding place."

"Where?" she asked breathlessly. "Please
do show me. My father is in Washington, so we need not fear his wrath."
She drew herself up proudly but with a trace of self- mockery. "I am
mistress of the manor today."

Thomas hesitated, but the pleading blue eyes of his
hostess broke down his resistance and he gingerly closed the lid and began to
pull out the slide support on which the writing surface rested upon.

"Behind there?" Elspeth peered into the narrow
opening.

Thomas shook his head with a smile. "The secret is
in this piece of wood." He pulled at the hidden end of the support and a
piece of wood measuring a mere four inches came off in his hand.

"But no one could have known that was there. There
are no marks, no lines!" Elspeth exclaimed. "I see a tiny grove now,
but you made it along the grain so it is impossible to see." Elspeth took
the piece of wood from his hand. "Look! There's a piece of paper hidden
within!"

 For some unknown reason, Thomas felt a wave of dread
pass over him as Elspeth unfolded the paper. Minute handwriting covered the
page and as Elspeth read, her face grew alarmingly pale and her breathing
slowed almost to a standstill.

"Miss ? Are you ill? " Thomas looked around for
the maid.

Before he could move to aid her, Elspeth crumbled onto
the ground, the paper clutched in her hand.

Beads of sweat lined her ashen forehead and wisps of
honey-colored hair clung to her damp cheeks. "Miss? Shall I get
help?" Thomas asked pleadingly.

"Help?" Elspeth whispered. "Only God can
help me now. My father is a traitor!" She thrust the paper towards Thomas.
"A traitor!"

"I cannot read," Thomas answered softly,
ashamed.

"I shall tell you who has written it then,"
Elspeth hissed vehemently. "These are orders from His Majesty's Humble
Servant, General Henry Clinton."

"Clinton!" Thomas exclaimed. "Word tells
that he plans to march on Philadelphia. He is a great enemy to our cause!"

"Yes, he is a great enemy." Elspeth held the
letter aloft and her blue eyes blazed with the anger of betrayal. "But at
least we knew him as such, unlike my father, who has pretended to help us when
all this time..." She trailed off, her overwhelming emotions prohibiting
her from speech.

Thomas leaned on the desk, remembering the day he had
applied the final coat of polish to the smooth and sculpted wood. How proud he
had been when it had been loaded onto Captain Tarling's coach and several
townsfolk had stopped to admire its dignified beauty.

 It had been betrayed as well. It was Virginian black
walnut and pine, the nails made from the local blacksmith, glue from animals
living in the forest. Every piece of it, from its case to its drawer pulls, was
made in The Colonies. The desk's very lines marked it as an American; there
were no flourishes or ornate feet as with pieces from The Continent. It should
have graced the home of an honorable, industrious gentleman. Instead it had
become the property of a dangerous and loathsome scoundrel who placed the
direst of secrets within its innocent nook.

~~~~~

But the trouble with pine is twofold. First, it doesn't
have the strength to stand up under use in thin members in chairs. Second, the
wood is so soft that it is easily dented.

—George Grotz,
The Furniture Doctor

Clara stepped down from Lex’s cargo van with a deep scowl.
She quickly embraced her daughter and whispered in her ear, "Lex has been
on the phone with Kitty for two of the two and a half hours it took to get
here. I've never heard so many
darlings
or
honeys
in my life! I
nearly suffocated myself with a plastic bag.”

Lex and his wife Kitty were known for their outward displays
of affection. Even though they worked together at the auction company and
therefore spent every waking moment with one another, the pair didn’t like to
be parted for long. Molly found their mutual tenderness endearing, but Clara
was far more cynical when it came to marriage.

Molly and Kitty had once taught together at the same private
school. One day, Molly had invited Kitty to work Lex's Saturday sale as a bid
spotter. It was love at first sight between Lex and Kitty and they were married
a year later. Kitty quit her job as the school's art teacher to help manage her
husband's auction company.

Clara had once owned her own antiques shop, but the burden
of holding regular store hours combined with the hassle of dealing with
unreasonable customers forced her to close for good. When Lex approached her
with an offer to join his staff as floor manager, she jumped at the
opportunity.

Now, as Lex dug around inside the van for his briefcase,
Molly shook her head in mock sympathy and asked softly, "What do they talk
about for two hours?"

"Nothing!" Clara rolled her gray eyes and put her
hands onto her crown of short, thick brown hair. As she was several inches
taller than her daughter she had to lean forward to ask rhetorically, "How
many times can you ask someone 'How are you, dear?' or 'Do you miss me?' when
you've just seen them?"

"They're in love. It’s really kind of sweet,"
Molly said as she tried to ignore the typical stab of jealously she experienced
whenever she thought about the couple's happy marriage. "That's how people
who love one another act."

"Love?" Clara snorted. "Love is a
twenty-pound apricot tabby named Tiny Purr who will sit on your lap all night
while you watch the Discovery Channel and make biscuits on you in the morning
when it's time to get up or..." She trailed off as Lex came around to
their side of the van and looked at Molly expectantly.

"Hey, Moll.” He smiled and held out his hand. “Got the
keys?"

"Right here," Molly said, handing over the key
ring.

As soon as the trio entered the house, Lex sprinted ahead to
turn on lights and open blinds. Molly followed closely on her mother's heels as
Clara inspected the contents of the downstairs rooms.

"Not bad," Clara said as she examined the
collection of Staffordshire in the office. "I just love a pair of
Staffordshire poodles, don't you?"

"I need to talk to you," Molly began.

"In a minute, cupcake." Clara replaced the poodle
on its shelf and headed upstairs. "You know I can't concentrate on
anything when there's a house waiting to be rooted through." Lex was busy
in one of the front rooms examining an oil on canvas of two women in Victorian
gowns gazing at a caged canary.

Once upstairs, Molly followed her mother around one of the
guest bedrooms and practically fell on top of her when Clara stopped abruptly
to examine a piece of carnival glass from the 1936 World's Fair held in
Cleveland. Irritated, Clara swung around and squawked, "Stop hovering!
You're acting like a man in the mall! What is with you anyway?"

Feeling admonished, Molly took a step back and whispered,
"I'm just impatient to talk to you. You see, there's been a murder. One of
the appraisers ..."

Clara's eyes flew open wide. "What?
Oh
! I hope
it was that intensely annoying, overly pompous Frenchman who drools over the
worst
pieces of porcelain."

"It wasn't him." Molly put her finger to her lips
in an effort to keep her mother's voice down. "And he's not really French.
It was Frank, the furniture appraiser."

"No!" Clara was shocked. "He had such
wonderful taste! Think of all those pieces of southern furniture he highlighted
on the show. The man did wonders for the furniture of our region. Oh, now that
is
a shame."

"Ma." Molly was exasperated. "Never mind his
loyalty for southern furniture. Did you not hear the part where I mentioned
that he was
murdered
? And
I’m
the one who found his body."

Clara's interest was now divided between examining the last
room left in the house and listening to the details of her daughter's story. Hesitating,
her attention was captured by the more present mysteries awaiting her in the
master bedroom. Once inside, she headed straight for the display case of dolls.

"Hold that thought until I finish this room," she
told her fidgety daughter. "Then we can go back to your hotel and you can
tell me everything over a cocktail. I cannot focus without Crown Royal."
Clara wrinkled her nose. "This house smells worse than most."

"Fine." Molly sighed in resignation, knowing her
mother was immoveable when faced with a house loaded with collectibles. She
found herself gravitating toward the biology experiment growing in the master
bathroom.

As she pushed open the bathroom door, she stared in renewed
horror at the extent of mold growth on the walls and tub. For the first time,
she looked down at the pink carpet and saw that black splotches of mold
surrounded the base of the tub and gave the appearance that the carpet had been
burned. The smell that hung about the house only hinted at the powerful, musty
odor that filled every nook and cranny of the bathroom. It was so strong that
it distracted Clara as she peered beneath the petticoat of a bisque doll in
search of the name of its maker.

"Good Lord, what
is
that stench?" she
asked, putting the doll gently back into its stand. Her lip curled in disgust
as she came to stand beside Molly. "That is one serious mold
problem."

"I think it's more than a problem," Molly said,
looking down at the black dust on her fingertips which had come off on her skin
when she’d touched the bathroom door. "I think it's the murder
weapon."

~~~~~

Molly had asked Mrs. Hewell if she and Clara could take
their tea upstairs in her room. The cheerful proprietress had readily agreed
and arrived moments later with a tray laden with tea service and a plate of
fresh lemon squares. Molly was vigorously scrubbing her hands with soap and
scalding water for the second time when the plump proprietress came bustling
in.

"What a lovely establishment!" Clara praised Mrs.
Hewell as she gazed appreciatively at the Limoges tea set. "Are all of
your rooms occupied?"

"Not anymore, dear. The couple who booked the Majolica
suite had to cancel, poor things. The young wife got her heel caught in a
sidewalk grate and twisted her knee. They won't be rafting on the James this
week, that's for sure."

"That's why I only wear sensible shoes," Clara
said smugly. "Could I have that suite then?" She turned to Molly and
whispered out of the side of her mouth. "After all, Lex is paying."

"Of course you can, dear." Mrs. Hewell's smile grew
even more magnanimous. "Enjoy your tea and I'll give you the key when I
come back to fetch the tray."

Clara picked up a lemon square and took a bite. Powdered
sugar drifted like snow onto her navy T-shirt. "Delightful woman,"
she said, brushing off her shirt. "I thought I'd stay here while we pack
up Mrs. Sterling's house. Lex can stay at one of those chain hotels, but I need
a good breakfast in the morning and I have a feeling I won't be disappointed at
the Traveller."

"Is Lex still taking inventory at Mrs.
Sterling's?" Molly asked.

"Yes, but he's almost done. We have a clear enough
picture of the estate’s value to draw up a simple contract. I hope you're right
about Victoria being willing to go through with the auction. Otherwise, this
trip will be a mighty waste of time and money."

"I'm positive she'll want to sell everything. There
isn’t a sentimental bone in her body." Molly poured two cups of steaming
tea. Setting her cup on a side table, she sank into an overstuffed chair with a
lemon square in hand.

"Now, tell me what's going on," Clara said as she
sipped her tea. “It’s not a cocktail, but it’ll have to do.”

Molly polished off a lemon square in record time and loaded
a second onto her plate. "Do you remember the day we went to the Valley of
the Kings?"

Clara's eyes lit up. "Do I? Our whole trip was like a
dream! The cruise up the Nile, the pyramids, our gorgeous guide..."

"Focus, Ma. Do you remember what our gorgeous guide
told us what he believe to be the real cause of Lord Carnarvon's death?"

"Instead of the mummy's curse? Let me think."
Clara stared at her teacup, wishing she could instantly transform it into a
Waterford tumbler containing a nice cocktail as she recalled their visit into
Tutankhamen's tomb. "Are you referring to the theory that the fungus
trapped within the tomb caused the death of Carnarvon and possibly others as
well?"