A Fatal Appraisal (3 page)

She could almost hear her mother saying, "Now, if you
had gone on to be a lawyer like I thought you should be, it wouldn't take you a
year to save up money for one piece of furniture."

Officer Johnston returned, holding out a clipboard so that
Molly could add her name to the signature line, acknowledging the receipt of
her ticket. She noticed that the fine for an expired inspection was only
twenty-five dollars.

"Thanks so much," she told Johnston gratefully.

"See you at the show, miss," he tipped his cap.
"And don't let me catch you speeding on your way home to North
Carolina," he added firmly.

"No, sir!" Molly started her engine in time to Van
Morrison's "Brown-Eyed Girl." Before pulling back onto the highway,
she glanced gratefully at the folded copy of
Collector's Weekly
and
smiled.

"Thank god for collectors," she said aloud in
jubilant relief and once again headed north for Richmond.

~~~~~

Molly pulled up in front of a stately trick row house in
the heart of Richmond's Fan District A wooden sign reading TRAVELLER with a
painted silhouette of Robert E. Lee on horseback welcomed guests to the quaint
bed-and-breakfast.

 The front of the house had gleaming bay windows topped by
small, horizontal panes of multicolored stained glass. An orderly garden filled
with English ivy, red and yellow dahlias, fuchsia coneflowers and budding
chrysanthemums were alive with the frantic hum of bees and a cluster of
skittish monarch butterflies. Molly lifted the brass horseshoe doorknocker and
rapped twice.

The door was quickly opened by a short, plump woman rubbing
flour-encrusted hands on a polka-dotted apron. Her light gray hair was cut in a
bob, accentuating full, pink cheeks and the two dimples which sprang into place
as she smiled.

"Mrs. Hewell?" Molly asked.

"That's me, dear," the woman drawled in a genteel
southern accent. "Come in, come in. You must be Molly."

"Yes," Molly replied, looking away from the
friendly woman to inspect the sunny hall. Her eyes fell on a Victorian coat
rack decorated with vintage hats. Nearby was a porcelain umbrella stand filled
with antique wooden walking sticks. Photographs and framed prints of Lee and
his famous horse, Traveller, lined the walls.

"You're in luck," Mrs. Hewell bustled her forward,
"I've just finished making my famous cinnamon scones. We have teatime here
at Traveller. Don't let it be said that Richmond doesn't have class. Let me
show you to your room first."

Mrs. Hewell led her up a curved mahogany staircase to a wide
hall with two doors on each side and one on the end.

"How many bedrooms do you have?" Molly asked.

"Five. Mr. Hewell and I live out back in the converted
garage. That's where you can find us if you ever need anything," Mrs.
Hewell chirped, opening the second door to the right. A placard on the door
read
THE FLOW BLUE
in delicate script.

"All the rooms are named after porcelain," Mrs.
Hewell explained. "I've been collecting for years and it seemed like a
good theme for the guest rooms. I do like displaying my goodies for everyone to
see. There's no point in having them locked up inside some china cabinet.
Besides, no guest has ever broken a single piece, and we've been running this
place for twenty years."

Molly stepped into her room. The first thing she noticed was
a large four-poster bed covered in an off-white quilt with a cobalt and white
plaid coverlet folded neatly over the bottom half of the bed. Dark blue and
white toile curtains with sheer shades allowed soft light to fall upon a large
and plump blue floral side chair sitting next to a cherry drop- leaf side
table. Above an antique chest of drawers, three plate racks held Mrs. Hewell's
collection of Flow Blue dinner plates. Rimmed with deep cobalt, the plates had
pink and yellow rose designs blooming in the center. Above the small mahogany
writing desk was another set of plate racks holding serving platters with the
same pattern. A thick indigo and cream plaid rug covered most of the hardwood
floors.

"The Flow Blue in the bathroom is just a reproduction
set, so don't worry about how you handle it," Mrs. Hewell said.

Molly loved her room. The soft light combined with all the
whites and blues made her feel immediately cozy.

"It's wonderful!" she turned to her hostess.
"What are the other rooms like?"

'Take a look for yourself," Mrs. Hewell beamed. "A
gentleman is staying in Wedgwood, but the guests staying in Limoges and Blue
Ridge haven't checked in yet I believe all three guests are appraisers on that
lovely TV show about antiques. The doors are all unlocked, as I've been misting
the rooms with some delightful hyacinth-scented room spray. The Majolica suite,
the big room at the end of the hall, isn't being occupied until tomorrow. Come
down when you're all settled in and have some tea."

"Thanks," Molly smiled. She was so glad she had
persuaded Swanson's secretary to spend the extra twenty-five dollars a night to
book Molly at the Traveller instead of the humdrum chain hotel originally
chosen for her. Molly had insisted that if she stayed at quaint
bed-and-breakfasts, she might discover material for another article.

Digging her digital camera out of her suitcase, she knew
that her hunch about staying at the bed-and-breakfast had paid off. She decided
to write a short piece on Mrs. Hewell's charming establishment and thought she
should quickly photograph the other rooms before their occupants checked in.

The room directly across from her was the Wedgwood room.
Completely forgetting that it was supposed to be occupied, Molly opened the
door and was surprised to see such a room entirely different from her own. The
bed was a tall sleigh bed made of deep mahogany with a scrolled headboard and
footboard. The coverlet was smoky green and a fluffy, white shag blanket was
folded at the base, nestled up against the footboard. All of the furniture was
more ornate than the ones in hers. Heavy, dark pieces with an abundance of
decorative carving gave the room a more masculine air. Racks covered every
wall, displaying Wedgwood plates and platters in pale olive greens and
grayish-blues. Molly peered closer at the classical figures embossed in white
on the plates. Most were of cherubs or couples kissing.

A Wedgwood vase on the dresser showed the procession of a
group of harpists wearing togas. A thick bunch of dried lavender tied with a
purple ribbon scented the room. Molly took several pictures and then looked
around once more to see if she had missed anything.

"Beautiful," she sighed.

"From where I'm standing, I would agree," said a
deep male voice with an English accent.

Molly jumped and turned to see who had snuck up behind her.
She came face-to-face with a man of equal height with sun-streaked hair,
honey-brown eyes, and thin lips pulled aside to reveal a neat row of square
white teeth. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and had a healthy tan. His
lean body was clad in jeans, a white button-down shirt, and a red tie patterned
with fleur de lis.

"Inspection complete?" he asked, grinning.
"Shall I do a twirl?"

 Heat rushed to Molly's face. She had been scrutinizing him
as if he were another attractive object in the room. She dropped her eyes to
the leather tote bags in his hands, noting that they were vintage Louis Vuitton
and probably worth more than her car.

"I'm sorry. Is this your room?" she asked, still
flush with embarrassment.

The man put down his bags and held up a set of keys.
"Right-O. Mrs. Hewell is setting up for tea, so I told her I'd find my own
way," he said glancing around the room quickly before his eyes settled
back on Molly's face. "And you must be Ms. Appleby, the talented writer
for
Collector's Weekly
."

"How did you know that?" Molly was startled once
again.

Instead of answering, he smiled enigmatically and presented
a strong, square hand for her to shake. "My name is Garrett Huntington.
I'm one of the researchers for Britain's
Hidden Treasures
. I'm here for
a few weeks to observe the American version of
our
show," he said
teasingly. “And it’s a pleasure to meet such a lovely Southern belle straight
away.”

"It’s nice to meet you as well." Molly returned
his easy smile and shook his hand. Garrett held hers for a long moment. He
exuded a powerful aura of sexual intensity and electricity that seemed to surge
through his fingers.

Eventually, Garrett dropped her hand and moved towards the
bed. He tossed his bags carelessly on the coverlet. Every movement of his body
spoke of confidence and effortlessness. He turned a grinning face toward the
mirror and examined his reflection.

"You see, we're trying to figure out how to make ours a
true road show. For the moment we're based in the London area. We do a few
episodes in Birmingham and Edinburgh to spice things up a bit, but things have
turned rather stale. And ... speaking of stale"—he gallantly proffered his
arm—"let's not allow those delicious scones to cool. Shall we go down to
tea?"

~~~~~

The tantalizing smell of cinnamon filled the dining room
as Molly poured Garrett a cup of tea. Trying to reclaim some poise after being
bedazzled by the Englishman's magnetism, Molly averted her eyes from him and
focused on the charming dining room.

Other than a walnut sideboard the room's only other
furniture consisted of two gateleg tables, each surrounded by armless upholstered
chairs. Only one table was set for tea with a linen-colored lace tablecloth and
an ivory and pink floral Limoges tea set. Delicate silver-plate utensils with
roses spiraling up the handles sparkled in the afternoon sun. Molly's fork
parted the warm, flaky layers of her scone and a waft of melted butter caressed
her nose. She dreamily noticed the generous drizzling of cream cheese icing
before delighting her salivating taste buds with a sugary bite of scone.

"Splendid," said Garrett appreciatively. "I
could eat a dozen of these," he patted his flat stomach.

Molly had been thinking about helping herself to a second
treat, but one look at Garrett's trim waist reminded her that not everyone in
the room was in perfect shape. Instead, she poured another cup of tea and
helped herself to two raw sugar cubes using sterling silver tongs.

"Do you know the rest of the crew?" Molly paused.
"Or, I guess I should call them appraisers."

"Certainly. I've been to the American set before lots
of times before this." Garrett took a sip of his tea, the floral teacup
looking fragile in his wide hand. "The major players are Victoria
Sterling, the host, Frank, who appraises furniture, Jessica who does jewelry,
Borris is books, Alicia is the art matron, Clarke is china, Lindsey is linens,
and Tony is the Toy Man. There's also the managing director for the show,
another Brit named Alexandra. Of course there are loads of assistant
appraisers, but you won't need to interview them, as they never get camera
time. And don't worry about last names. Nobody bothers with them."

Molly laughed, "There's an awful lot of alliteration in
that group. Are any of those real names?"

"Just Victoria, Jessie, and Borris. Jessica and Borris
are staying here, too, by the way."

Molly dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin, trying her
best to appear dainty and feminine, two traits she had never mastered.
Determined, impatient, and strong-willed were more her line.

As much as she would like to spend the remainder of the
afternoon gazing at Garrett's Adonis-like features, she was scheduled to meet
with Victoria Sterling at 3:30 and so she placed her napkin to the side of her
plate and smiled at the Englishman.

"I'd better head over to the set," Molly said as
she began to stand, unaware that the hem of her long skirt was pinned under the
chair leg. Trying to straighten, she ended up flouncing back into her chair
with an ungraceful thud instead.

"Oh, my, too much tea?" joked Garrett, his manner
so relaxed and casual that she had to smile. Then he suddenly leapt from his
chair with the grace of a jaguar. "But where are my manners? Forgive me.
Milady?" he lifted the chair leg off of her skirt and raised her up by the
hand. As they stood facing one another, Garrett gave her another deep stare and
asked, "Could I give you a lift to the set?"

Molly was feeling overwhelmed by his attention. She was
unused to flirting, especially with such a bold, intense, and confident man.
She was used to Matt. Sweet, shy, adorable Matt. Thinking about Matt made her
feel guilty about being so attracted to Garrett and she averted her eyes so
that he couldn’t see the effect his looks and demeanor were having on her.

"Thanks, but no." Molly smiled, feeling as though
the room had suddenly shrunk in size. "I'm sure I'll see you there."

Garrett performed a deep bow. "Until then," he
said, then grabbed a scone from its china platter and took an enormous bite out
of it His cheeks were completely stuffed with pastry as he gave her a
closed-mouth grin. In the blink of an eye, he had transformed from a debonair
gentleman into a mischievous scalawag. The man was quite a chameleon.

Molly didn't know what to make of him.

~~~~~

Hidden Treasures
would be calling the Richmond
Science Museum home for the next week. Formerly a railroad station, the building
had tum-of-the century architecture on the outside, complete with dated
cornerstones and wide arches for entryways. Enormous red and white banners
announced the museum's current exhibit, "Science and Medicine of the Civil
War."

Inside, the cavernous halls were incredibly spacious, well
lit, and modern—everything seemed to be made out of white plastic or chrome, a
true contrast to the thousands of antiques that would soon be filing through
its doors.