A Fatal Appraisal (8 page)

"The largest is almost... oh, let me convert this to
your silly American measurements ... thirteen inches tall and the smallest is
about five inches. All are signed on the dial and in perfect working order.
Quite a lovely bunch."

The group ate quickly, eager to begin filming their
segments. Molly, who was an extremely fast eater, had finished her entire lunch
before Jessica had even started on the second half of her pimento cheese
sandwich. Jessica inconspicuously eyed Molly's empty plate and noted the
impatient tapping of the younger woman's left foot.

"Go visit with Tony." She kindly shooed Molly into
motion. "He's dying to show you that cop's set of Hot Wheels and I need to
clean the pieces we'll be filming. We'll meet you back at our pens at
three."

"It's a date," Molly answered. "I hope you
two have something exciting to show me as well."

"I've got an anatomy book the likes of which you've
never seen," Borris promised smugly.

"That sounds like a come-on line," Jessica teased.

"Only for you, my dear." Borris winked and Jessica
smiled at him fondly. Molly could see that the pair had already forgotten about
her, but she didn't mind. Those two should just get over their relationship
hang-ups and admit they're crazy about each other, she thought.

Molly spent over an hour with Tony as he meticulously
reviewed the highlights of the Hot Wheels collection he had filmed that
morning.

"This is all Officer Johnston's!" he exclaimed,
his boyish smile lighting up his face. "This is one of the best
collections I've ever seen."

"Whew." Molly wiped her forehead in mock relief
and laughed. "I'm glad I didn't waste your time."

"No way. These are the first ones ever released,"
Tony gushed. "All of the packaging is mint. And see here"—he pointed
to a row of yellow-green and pink cars—"these two colors, the vaseline and
pinks, are much more rare than the other colors."

"I'm surprised they even made pink for boys to play
with," Molly said, taking photographs.

"Exactly! That's why they're more unusual," Tony
enthused.

"What's this collection worth?'

Tony swept his arm over the group of cars. "Close to
six grand. Officer Johnston is going to keep them for his son. I told him he'd
better get them insured and that he should store them in plastic bins. He's the
nicest state trooper I've ever met, probably 'cause I wasn't behind the wheel
of a speeding car.” He winked at Molly. “He'll be here for the show on Friday.
When I gave him two tickets he mentioned something about bringing some of his
Coca- Cola memorabilia."

"That's great, Tony."

After photographing all the Hot Wheels, Molly got some
coffee from the vending machine downstairs and wrote up an outline for her
article. She decided to write a side story on what people ended up doing with
their items once they’d been assigned estimated values by the appraisers of
Hidden
Treasures
. She could follow up this line by conducting an interview with
Trooper Johnston. Her readers would love to discover that members of law
enforcement were collectors as well.

Molly checked her watch. She still had a half hour of free
time before she met with Jessica and then Borris, so she decided to check out
the exhibit on Civil War antiques.

As Molly walked through the Great Hall, she felt a bit lost
among the bustling mass of activity. Curators and staff members from the
Richmond Confederacy Museum were frantically putting the finishing touches on
the exhibit they had loaned out specifically for the filming of
Hidden
Treasures
. Molly paused next to a formidable statue of Stonewall Jackson on
horseback. The top of Jackson's hat was twenty feet off the ground and the
enormous haunches of his mount could easily hold four regular-sized riders.
Molly admired the sculpted muscles of the horse's forelegs and the wrinkles
meticulously carved into lifelike creases on Jackson's pants.

Just as she reached out a hand to touch the tiny lines
forming the horse's marble mane, the lights went out. The windowless hall was
completely enveloped in darkness.

And in the sudden silence, a woman began to scream.

~~~~~~~~~~

With their crushing inferiority complex about English
furniture, the Early American cabinetmakers called cherry American mahogany—and
usually stained it to look like mahogany. This is something like gilding a lily
with mud.

—George Grotz,
The Furniture Doctor

Molly stood with one hand on the horse’s marble mane and
her body pressed against Stonewall Jackson's cold but reassuringly solid leg.
The woman's panicked screaming was close enough to force goose bumps to erupt up
and down Molly's arms. She felt vulnerable and frightened as the screams echoed
in the rafters of the high ceilings.

"Stop it, Ellen!" a man's voice suddenly yelled
and the shrill shrieks abruptly stopped. "For Christ's sake! It's just a
power failure."

"But I
hate
the dark," the woman wailed and
began to sob like a child refused its night light. “I’m scared of the dark!”

"Anyone have a flashlight?" another voice called
out timidly and Molly allowed herself to breathe.

"Just sit still!" the first authoritative voice
yelled again. 'These things never last long."

People in the exhibit space began whispering animatedly. Her
back resting against the horse’s hind leg, Molly slid down until her fingers felt
the shape of a marble hoof. Sitting on the ground in the protective gap
underneath Stonewall's mount and calmed herself. For some reason, the blackout
had seemed particularly ominous, as if the lights were going to snap back on
only to reveal a bloody corpse.

"Been reading too many mysteries," Molly mumbled
to herself. She was amazed that she could see absolutely nothing from where she
sat, but then she remembered that the exhibit hall had no windows. She strained
her ears for any unusual sounds, but only the nervous whisperings of the people
around her could be heard.

Suddenly, she thought she saw a pinprick of light coming
from the direction of the display cases against the wall. It bobbed up and down
once, then again, and then disappeared. Molly blinked. Had she really seen
anything or were her eyes playing tricks on her in the dark?

Five minutes passed, but it seemed more like twenty when the
lights were finally restored. Weak cheers arose from the people grouped in the
Civil War exhibit. Molly quickly looked around to make sure that her strange
hunch about bleeding cadavers was incorrect and then pulled herself off the
ground using Jackson’s boot for leverage.

No bodies hung from the track lighting or lay sprawled at
the feet of the imposing Robert E. Lee statue nearby, so Molly released a deep
breath and her hold on Stonewall's foot. As the museum workers returned to
their tasks and a feeling of normalcy resumed, Molly decided to take a peek at
the neareset display case before heading to her meeting with Jessica and
Borris. After all, by the time the show started the exhibit was likely to be
filled by members of the public and it would be impossible to study any of the
artifacts at lengt.

The first of three large display cases contained a selection
of letters, diaries, and daguerreotypes. Molly carefully studied the black and
white images of the young Confederate soldiers. Some of them were mere boys,
beardless and skinny, their eyes beaming with pride and innocence. Their
uniforms were clean and pressed, still unsoiled by the grit and blood of a real
battle. It was difficult to turn away from their young, determined faces and
Molly couldn’t help but wonder how many of them had survived and grown old
enough to remember their first, glory-studded days as soldiers.

The next case held musket balls, decks of playing cards,
domino boxes, and currency. There were several types of Confederate bills
displayed on rectangular pieces of black velvet along with an array of coins. A
special case boasted a series of rare gold coins that had been found on the
unidentified body of a Confederate officer. The coins had a greenish-gold
luster and the face of Lady Liberty on one side with a crown of laurel leaves
on the reverse.

Molly read the exhibit notes with a mixture of horror and
fascination. The soldier had received two shots to the face, erasing his
identity forever. No letters or personal documents were found on his body—just
a scorched locket with the remnants of a woman's portrait and these six gold
coins.

According to the labels affixed below the coin display, each
coin was a three dollar gold piece minted in Dahlonega, Georgia in 1854. To
date, only a handful of them were known to exist. The soldier wouldn't have
been using the coins for currency, and since they were hidden away inside his
pocket Bible—holes had been cut through the pages in order to hide the coins—he
may have carried them for luck, but they were otherwise a mystery.

"Didn't prove very lucky," Molly said to herself.

"Guess not," agreed an elderly man with a white
moustache, gold spectacles, and a blue seersucker suit leaning on a wooden
walking stick. He smiled and his face creased in every direction, his pale blue
eyes sparkling with intelligence. "Each one of those coins is worth at
least eighty thousand dollars. They're all AU Dahlonega coins with unusually
high eye appeal. Only one thousand one hundred and twenty were minted and one
hundred are known to still exist. And these three are in unbelievable
condition, despite the young man's unfortunate fate."

"Are you a numismatist?" Molly asked, trying to
sort out the jumble of coin terminology.

"Used to be. I gave my entire collection to my
grandson, so now I just admire the ones I see in passing."

Molly returned her glance to the coins. "What does AU
mean?"

"About Uncirculated. Circulated coins have received
wear. Mint coins are perfect with no wear. AU coins exist in the realm between
extremely fine and mint." The man chuckled. "But I certainly could
never afford that level of coin. One of those beauties sold in New York last
year for one hundred thousand dollars."

"Wow! So there's almost half a million dollars worth of
coins here? Shouldn't a team of armed security guards be watching them?"

The old man pointed with his cane to an empty chair across
the aisle. "That's where the guard's supposed to be, but I imagine he went
to check on that power failure. Plus, we're all here working and watching. No
strangers walking through the halls just yet.” He gave her a playful wink.
“Speaking of work, guess I'd better get back to supervising my interns. Enjoy
the exhibit."

Molly cast one more appreciative look at the coins and the
photographs of battlegrounds. Civil War displays always made her feel depressed
and she hated to see the tragic evidence of what had happened to the men and
women of a divided nation, so she hastened along to find Borris and Jessica. As
she passed by Frank's screened niche, he hailed her over with a wave.

"The slant-front desk is ready to be
photographed," he told her. "And I thought you might like to be
present when I check for hidden compartments. After all, I owe you a favor for
finding me an auctioneer so quickly."

Molly couldn't resist the possibility of discovering some
treasure of unspeakable rarity within the desk, so she ran over to Borris's
exhibit area to tell him that she would be late, but the camera crew was
already filming him with a large, leather-bound anatomy book. Victoria was
standing by to film the segue between the segment on the anatomy books and the
next commercial break.

"Can you tell him that I'm with Frank and I'll be back
in a little while?" Molly asked Victoria, who issued a bored nod in
response.

The slant-front desk had been expertly polished and waxed.
Its red patina radiated age and beauty as Frank ran his hands tenderly over its
surface.

"No gloves?" Molly teased.

"Not on camera!" Frank answered shrilly, oblivious
to her jesting. "Take some pictures, then we'll dig around inside."

"Hasn't the owner already searched for secret
areas?"

 "I doubt it. The owner's an eighty-four-year-old lady
who has had this piece in her family for years. She just wants the appraisal
for insurance purposes as she's going to leave it to her daughter in her will.
Said she just kept a bunch of letters in it and it was kept closed most of the
time. That's why the inside has a deeper red than the outside. It was exposed
to less sunlight over time."

After shooting several photos, Molly took a seat in a chair
next to Frank as he switched on a penlight and began working his fingers inside
each pigeonhole. Watching him, Molly could sense his deep appreciation of the
workmanship it required to craft the desk's nooks and drawers, careful
dovetails, and detailed inlay. Frank closed his eyes as if in a trance, letting
his hands search and pry as he tried to get a sense about an extra large hollow
space or a thinning of an area of wood.

As Molly leaned closer, she detected a faint, musty odor
beneath the heavy smell of furniture wax. It was oddly familiar, but she
couldn't quite place it. The interior of the desk had a small, central cupboard
surrounded by pigeonholes and drawers. Frank was carefully examining one of the
pillar-like pieces of wood that created a fluted border between the cupboard
and the pigeonholes.

"Here!" Frank breathed, pulling one of the
pillar-like pieces away from the body of the desk. It slid out, revealing a
small vertical space in which documents or other thin objects could be stored.
Mesmerized, Molly waited while Frank put his pale face against the opening and
he flashed his tiny beam of light into the cavity. He began to frown.

"What is it?" Molly asked.

"Someone forced this," Frank replied angrily.
"And recently, too. See these scratches." Frank handed her the piece
of wood that had formed the fake pillar front and then shone the light beam on
similar scratches within the cavity. "Those are made with a screwdriver.
And there's fresh wood dust in the opening. If there was something in here
..." He broke off as a powerful coughing fit racked his body. Swallowing
great gulps of air, he searched his pocket for tissues. After loudly blowing
his nose he frowned and whispered, "It's gone now."