A Fatal Appraisal (7 page)

"What's the house number? We'll meet you there,"
Borris suggested.

"Four hundred and sixteen. Make your second right up at
that light." Victoria waved a languid hand at the intersection just east
of the museum and got into the passenger seat of Frank’s sedan.

"Have fun!" Tony waved as the unlikely couple
drove off. He turned to the rest of the appraisers. "You guys go on. No
toys, no Toy Man." Tony poked Molly playfully in the arm and said,
"By the way, your trooper is meeting me inside. Hope he's got something
good!"

"Your trooper?" Jessica asked curiously, her brows
raised. Borris put his hands on his hips expectantly and a shadow of suspicious
flitted across his face.

"I'll tell you about him later," Molly said as
Patrice, Alicia, and Garrett joined them. Alexandra also arrived, looking
gorgeous and sophisticated in a black pantsuit with a chartreuse blouse. She
gave the group a displeased once-over, mumbled something about American
collectibles being junk, and sauntered inside the museum.

After a short walk on the fractured sidewalks of Broad
Street, the group turned south onto Strawberry Street and were instantly
granted shade by a row of old live oaks. Neat row houses with small front
gardens lined the street.

Ten blocks into their walk, Borris spotted number 416. Frank
and Victoria were waiting in their car in front of the two- story row house with
cracked stucco siding and peeling shutters painted decades ago in Williamsburg
Blue.

High grass speckled with dandelions occupied the small
garden area and the brick stairs leading up to the wooden front door were
crumbling near the edges. A black railing pocked with rust flanked the stairs.
Brown leaves were scattered under the shelter of the front porch and a pile of
old newspapers in dirty blue cellophane wrappers were thrown carelessly on a
pair of wicker rockers. Frank dug a set of keys out of his pocket and opened
the front door. It creaked in protest.

He disappeared within and, after a moment’s hesitation, his
wife joined him.

 Following Victoria inside, Molly couldn't see much in the
dim light until Frank switched on the lights and moved off to the room on the
left to raise the shades. Molly was immediately struck by the cold damp within
the house. A layer of dust covered the floor and a large cobweb had been
erected across the chandelier hanging above their heads. The rest of the
appraisers filed into the hall and waited expectantly and Molly wondered if
they were expecting to be disappointed by the home’s contents. After all, the
place was infused with an aura of neglect. How many treasures could be hidden
in a place that had received so little attention?

As the appraisers silently gazed around, Frank finally
returned, his respirator mask covering his mouth and a pair of latex gloves
garbing his hands.

"How long did you say this house has been empty?"
Molly asked, her voice echoing eerily in the high hall.

"Over six months," was Frank's muffled reply.
"I hired a handyman service to cut the grass and tidy up in here, but I
think I should ask for a refund."

Molly followed Frank around the first floor while the others
took their time investigating items in each room. Frank focused on examining
the furniture while Molly took a mental note of Mrs. Sterling's collections.

The front room contained a china cabinet loaded with Hummel
figurines. In the dining room, every possible surface was covered by dusty
pieces of Cranberry glass. The kitchen featured a collection of cheerful
Fiestaware, and the office was crammed with leather-bound books and dozens of
pieces of Staffordshire.

A set of very narrow stairs led to the top floor, which held
three bedrooms and two baths. One of the bedrooms, decorated in yellows and
blues with antique oak furniture, contained Mrs. Sterling's immense collection
of Royal Doulton figurines. The second room, which had been painted sage green
and furnished with heavy Victorian pieces, boasted a souvenir spoon collection
displayed in cobweb-covered spoon racks.

"This was my mother's room," Frank said, leading
Molly into an explosion of pink and white hues. The wallpaper was a riot of
pink roses, the bed was pink satin with a frilly white dust ruffle and all of
the country furniture was white with pink tassels hanging from the knobs. Pink
and white checked curtains hung from the windows and pieces of pink and green
Depression Glass covered every flat surface.

A display case with four deep shelves featured a stunning
collection of antique dolls. Each doll stood erect on her own stand and varied
in style from a group of Madame Alexander Little Women, to a cluster of
celluloid Kewpie dolls, to valuable bisque dolls with human hair and nodding
eyes made in Germany.

Molly noticed that the sensation of dampness had increased
within Mrs. Sterling's bedroom. A stale, musty odor permeated the stagnant air.

Peering into the bathroom, Molly saw that the skylight had
leaked, leaving brown water stains all over the toilet and the tiled bathroom
floor. The tub faucet was leaking in a slow but steady drip and the basin was
covered by a black, moldy stain. The same blackness had completely discolored
the wallpaper, crawling vertically up the wall like an army of small roaches.
The room exuded noxious putrid smell, reminded Molly of sunbaked garbage.

"Yuck," said Victoria, who stood behind Molly.
Frank appeared next to his wife's shoulder and shrieked like a little girl
confronted by a spider.

"Oh, my god, look at all that mold!" he squealed
through the mask. “I’ve got to get out of here! Tour's over!" he shouted
down the hallway and began to usher the dumbfounded appraisers from the rooms.

"What's the matter?" asked Borris crossly as Frank
gave him a firm shove onto the front porch. "I was looking at a nice first
edition Kipling in there."

Patrice was the last person to be extricated from the house
and he wailed as Frank locked the door, sealing his mother’s treasures away
once again.

 "But I didn' t even get upstairs!" Patrice fumed
and Molly noticed he had more of a Boston accent now than a French one.
"And that Royal Doulton! Frank, I must get back in there!"

Standing by his car, Frank inhaled deep breaths of air and
dabbed at his eyes with a tissue. "I'll never be able to go in there
again! What am I going to do?"

Molly jumped forward. "You can still have all the
contents cleaned and put up for auction," she said soothingly, her mind
racing. "You don't need to go back inside. Let someone else handle that
for you."

"But I want to sell that stuff right away. I need to
take care of this before I leave town."

"I know an auctioneer who could handle everything for
you," Molly suggested calmly, thinking of her friend, Lex Lewis. If Lex
came up to view Mrs. Sterling's estate, he would certainly bring Clara with
him. If she played her cards right, Molly would have a companion to eat out
with in Carytown after all.

"Do you? Oh, that would be great,” Frank gushed in
relief. “How soon do you think he could look the place over?"

"I'll call him as soon as we get back to the
museum," Molly promised. "He’s an excellent auctioneer and will do
his best to get you top dollar for your mother's things."

"Don't you want to keep any of it?" asked Jessica
in surprise.

"No." Frank waved his hand dismissively. "I'm
not interested in her smalls and the furniture I have at home is of a much
higher caliber. I can't stand that Victorian garbage. Oak, oak, oak. Yuck. Now,
I need to get back to the set. I’ve had enough dust and mold for one day."
He turned to Molly. "Let me know when your friend can get here."

While Frank and Victoria drove off, Molly walked a bit
behind the rest of the group as they headed back to the museum. She excitedly
dialed Lex's number, hoping he wasn’t out on another call or busy appraising an
estate. Luckily, he answered on the third ring.

"Hey Lex," Molly greeted him, speaking loudly over
the rumbling of a passing garbage truck. "Feel like coming to
Richmond?"

"Molly? Speak up! I can barely hear you."

Molly scowled. She hated cell phones, but she explained the
immediacy of the situation and succinctly described some of Mrs. Sterling's
collections. By the time she had finished her account she had reached the
museum. Just as she was easing herself into a comfortable bench outside the
front door, Lex agreed to drive up and take a look at Frank’s mother’s estate.

"Any luck?" Frank suddenly appeared in front of
her. Molly jumped, clutching her cell phone hard in surprise. She then shoved
her phone into her purse and gave Frank an encouraging smile. "Yes. The
auctioneer and his staff will be here tomorrow afternoon. Is that okay?"

Frank sneezed. "I'll be a bit tired as it's the first
day of the show when I have to meet with the public, but I suppose I'll
manage."

"You can give me the house keys if you're too
tired," Molly suggested as they walked toward the front door.

"Good idea. I don’t want to go back inside
anyway." Frank handed her the key ring with his thumb and forefinger as if
it were a contagious disease.

At that moment, Molly stumbled on a turned up corner of the
rubber doormat and the keys clattered to the concrete floor, bouncing alongside
among three pairs of shoes. Molly raised her eyes to see whose bodies the feet
belonged to.

She recognized all three men immediately. Garrett was
smoking a cigarette with Frank's cleanup boys, Randy and Chris. As Garrett
smiled widely at her, Randy bent his thin body over to retrieve the keys. He
dangled them in front of his chest, narrow eyes boring into Molly's wide grey
ones. There was something cold and menacing about the intensity of his stare as
he dropped the keys into her open palm.

"Don't you have work to do?" Frank demanded in
annoyance, and Chris immediately stumped out his cigarette and hurried inside.
Randy stubbornly continued smoking, his gaze on the cloudless sky. Frank began
to cough and shot Randy a look of pure revulsion. "Nauseating habit,"
Frank threw the remark over his shoulder as he headed into the museum.

Disappointed to discover that Garrett was a smoker, Molly
quickly followed in Frank's sneezing wake. Molly didn't mind the smell of pipe
smoke. In fact, her grandfather had once puffed merrily away at a lovely
rosewood pipe as he told her stories of undersea kingdoms and magical forests
filled with tamed dragons or vindictive fairies. There was something nostalgic
and romantic about the scent of a burning pipe.

On the other hand, cigarette smoke reminded her more of the
packed rooms of country auctions, where stale air and a floor littered with
spent butts, which occasionally floated in the spittle that was the result of a
discarded hunk of chewing tobacco, made a five-hour auction a trying affair.

Molly had often imagined that she was turning a shade of
unattractive yellow as her contacts protested and burned and she squinted
uncomfortably at the item being sold through a circulating fog of cigarette
smoke. Taking notes for an article during one such auction, Molly decided that
she was simply not paid enough to endanger her health every week, but then a miniature
fire pole whose tapestry had been woven by a seven-year-old girl in 1862 came
up for sale and Molly forgot all about her tobacco smoke-induced complaints.

Back inside the smoke-free museum, Molly spent a pleasant
morning interviewing Alicia and photographing a fabulous folk art portrait of a
young girl holding a gray kitten. Next, she spent some time with Lindsey, whom
she photographed with a Baltimore quilt done in reds, greens, and golds on an
ivory background. Hoping to catch Jessica and Borris for lunch, Molly headed in
their direction.

On her way to their stalls, she dropped off her heavy bag
filled with her camera and her interview notebook and mini recorder in the
staff room. Everyone else had left purses and briefcases in there, so she figured
her equipment was perfectly safe.

Borris spotted her approaching their exhibit area and
swiftly headed her off. "Come on, lunch is being served in the cafeteria.
Jess is already down there. It's just sandwiches, but rumor has it there's
homemade chicken salad."

"Yum." Molly's stomach rumbled agreeably. She
joined the other appraisers at a long cafeteria table and helped herself to a
chicken salad sandwich, a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips, and two
chocolate chip cookies. Feeling guilty, she replaced her soda with bottled
water. Molly was chagrined to see that Alexandra was eating only the turkey,
lettuce, and tomato from her sandwich and had neither chips nor cookies by her
plate.

"How was your visit to Strawberry Street Manor, proud
neighbor to Oodles of Noodles?" Alexandra teased Garrett as he slid into
the empty chair next to her. Since Frank and Victoria had yet to join the group
for lunch, Molly felt free to embellish on the neglected state of the house,
especially in regards to Mrs. Sterling's upstairs bathroom. She thought her
lively descriptions would draw Garrett's attention away from Alexandra.

"There was that much mold?" asked Lindsey,
crinkling her nose. "I'm amazed Frank is still among the living."

"I got a brief glimpse," Alicia added with a
grimace. "Right before Frank threw us all out. It was like the bathtub had
been painted black. I’m amazed that Frank didn’t drive himself straight to the
emergency room."

At that moment Victoria arrived and joined in the complaints
about the state of the bathroom. Molly noticed that at the next table over,
Randy had stopped eating and had fastened his beady eyes on Victoria's face
with a look of intense longing. Suddenly, he stood and flung his uneaten food
in the trash and without a backward glace, stomped out of the room.

After a few lighthearted digs at Frank's expense, the group
grew bored with his allergies and returned to swapping stories about the
spectacular antiques scheduled to be filmed over the course of the day. Even
Alexandra looked animated as she boasted about a collection of carriage clocks
she was putting in the spotlight.