A Ghost at Stallion's Gate (16 page)

“I’ve been busy, barely slept. You won’t believe what I found out,” Alex said in a rushed tone. He opened up the folder and began to sort out the papers. He handed to me a photocopy of a news clipping. “That details a burglary that occurred in February of 1926, before the Straubs’ divorce was finalized. Gertrude and Lincoln’s home was the target of a theft on a weekend they were out of town. According to the report, they spent that Saturday and Sunday, up the coast near Santa Barbara visiting friends. Nothing unusual in that, they and their friends often visited each other. I got in touch with a friend at the police station’s detective division and she made a copy of the theft report. Listen to this list of items reported stolen. One large brass umbrella urn, thirty inches tall and weighing about
twentyfive pounds, one sterling silver vanity hand mirror, one sterling silver cigarette case, two sterling silver ashtrays, one parure consisting of a pair of earrings, a necklace and a brooch, all in white gold and set with alexandrite stones.”

“Okay, so it appears Gertrude and Lincoln were the target of thieves looking for small items, that could be easily hawked. Uh, except for the umbrella urn, why would they take that?” I asked.

“Who knows?” Alex answered. “It was heavy, therefore probably solid brass. The cop’s report said it was most likely used to hold a door ajar. The police discovered the umbrella stand had been moved away from the foyer, to the outside stoop. It appeared that the umbrella urn was dragged along the floor, scuffing the floor.”

“Do you think the thieves used the umbrella stand to carry off the loot?” I asked.

“Everything listed would have fit in it, except for the vanity mirror, that would not have. It was too awkward in shape and size.”

“Hmm, do vanity mirrors, like the one stolen, have a lining?”

Alex grinned and said, “Shannon, I was wondering the same thing. Maybe that mirror was not stolen but given the opportunity the theft presented, the mirror was reported stolen and the police would not have had any way of knowing otherwise.”

“Still, all the items, even the mirror could easily have been put into a container or a bag that was less cumbersome than that umbrella urn,” I said.

“True, it is possible that the missing umbrella urn was meant as a red herring, a distraction. We’ll never know.”

“And, I suppose, none of the reported items were ever found? The thieves were never caught?”

“True,” Alex answered.

“Did the report state a value of the items?”

“No. And I know where you are going in this line of query. The report noted that the items were insured. In a scenario such as this, it would have been up to the insurance company to determine the dollar value of the loss. But get this, I called a jeweler I know and asked him. He said that depending on the size of the alexandrite stones, they would have been worth more than the most expensive diamonds of that time. And, if the gems were Russian alexandrite, which would make sense given that era, the jewelry could have been worth hundreds of thousands of dollars,” answered Alex.

“Wow... what exactly are alexandrite gems?”

“In a word, rare. They have a natural color changing quality. In daylight the stone is green and the best quality gems are a brilliant emerald green. However, by candlelight or indoor lighting, alexandrite appears a fiery ruby red. Today, few people have ever seen authentic Russian alexandrite stones. They were discovered in Russian mines in 1830 and named after Prince Alexander of Russia. A newer type of alexandrite was discovered in Brazil in 1987, but the color change effect is completely different. Brazilian alexandrite changes from blue to purple.

“And they were popular in the 1920s?” I asked.

“Yes, and rare even in that decade, due to the global political climate of the time.”

“And I suppose that by today’s standard the gems would be worth fortunes?”

“A quality Russian alexandrite, of one carat weight or more is still worth more than a high end diamond of the same size.”

“Do you know if the theft insurance paid up?” I asked.

“No, not for a fact. However, I think it would have made a big stink in the newspapers at that time if the insurance company had not paid up. The society gossip columnists would never have left the case alone. We should assume the insurance paid.”

“Okay, so the insurance paid up and the Straubs ended up with a fortune, which probably more than compensated for the money the Empress Tatiana company paid out in the court case they lost to Marla, and then the Straubs got divorced. I guess it could have been an insurance scam, but Alex, I’m stuck, I don’t know that what you discovered is of importance to the case. Is there a way to contact an agent at the insurance company?” I looked at him, hoping he had another lead.

“That company folded after the stock market crash of 1929, it does not exist. And you, of so little faith, take heart, I have a most excellent lead, and you can explore it with me, if you’ll take a drive with me out to the desert.”

“In this heat? Why to the desert?”

“It’s an oasis. Go with me to Palm Springs to attend an auction, this evening.”

“Alex, I hate it when you do this, just string me along why don’t you? What is the auction for and how does it relate to this mystery? Details, I want details,” I insisted.

“The auction is for crate and trunk bidding on old Hollywood items. Movie props, costumes, that sort of stuff, all from the 1920s and I have it on good confidence that much of this stuff is from the old stage theaters and railway warehouses used to store unclaimed property. The auctioneer told me that a crate with Marla Devereux’s name on it is being auctioned this evening.”

“But why is old Hollywood stuff in Palm Springs, that’s over a hundred miles east of here?” I asked.

“Because the items have been collecting dust in an old storage building all this time. The old railroad warehouse that Marla’s crate was in, is going to be torn down to make room for a casino. It’ll be fun.”

“Well, not going would nag at my brain, not ever knowing what I may have found. So, okay. When do we leave?” I asked.

“I’ll pick you up at three this afternoon,” Alex said and then he stood up and we walked to the door. “Dress light and comfortable. In summer Palm Springs is casual chic. We’ll get there in time to tour the historic areas, then dine before going to the auction house.”

I walked him to the door, “Okay, I’ll be ready.”

I walked back into the kitchen and then panicked, I had forgotten to ask Alex how we would pay for items we bid on. Good grief, going to an auction without the means to buy. I shook my head in disbelief that I had forgotten such a crucial detail.

I had my answer when I turned away from the sink.

There stood Eric.

“You needn’t worry. Alex will not bid on an auction he cannot afford. And there is very little he cannot afford,” Eric said.

I smiled and said, “So, I should I make him pay for what I want to bid on?”

“You need not be obvious, allow Alex to bid for you. A mere suggestion from you that you sense an item or object is worth winning is all you need do. I guarantee you, Shannon, if you show the slightest interest in the auction,
you need never open your pocketbook.”

“Gotcha.” I winked at Eric. “I’ll take your advice.”

Chapter 29

I spent the morning and early afternoon collecting my thoughts and making notes. A quirky itch of theories rattled around in my head. I sifted through different concepts to try and scratch the itch, but nothing would surface, no light bulb revelations came to the forefront of my thoughts. My thoughts drifted to the night before at Gracie’s when Heckle and Jeckle settled into my lap. The kitties’ soft purring had eased my anxiety and I wished I had a cat, this very moment to settle my restlessness. But I didn’t and the clock said one thirty. I might as well spend time getting ready for tonight’s auction in Palm Springs.

Seldom do I spend much time on my appearance. In fact, Rosario has harped on me for not paying more attention. I decided to do her proud and I prepared carefully for my jaunt to Palm Springs. After soaking in a bubble bath my nerves were more settled, not calm by any means but at least they were not nagging me. Focusing on my face, I pulled my auburn hair back into a ponytail, and then tied a thin emerald green scarf around the rubber bands and let the scarf ends float to my shoulders. Next, I shadowed the upper lids of my eyes with a soft leaf green hue and one look in the mirror told me I should try this technique more often, my green eyes sparkled from the enhancement. A light brush of blush across my cheeks, a dab of rose pink lip gloss and I looked summery, cool and collected, the total effect boosted my confidence. Now, what to wear?

I chose tan cotton slacks and a thin vertical striped green and beige short sleeve tailored blouse. The over all effect made me look a bit taller than my petite height. A pair of tan low heeled sandals, a dab of Magie Noire behind my ears and I was ready. The timing was perfect; I exited my bedroom right as Alex knocked on my door.

“Hey, where’s your car?” I asked, noticing a large white king cab truck.

“I borrowed a friend’s truck in exchange for my car. We might need a vehicle larger than my car to haul whatever we buy.”

“Alex, I am so impressed. First, you loaned out your BMW; I’ve never known you to do that, to trust another person with your car. And you did so for a truck, to haul back whatever treasure you buy tonight. I’ve got to meet this trusted friend of yours, he must be a treasure in and of himself.”

“You will, another time, but let’s get going, okay? Oh, and by the way, you should always dress for an auction night in Palm Springs, you look gorgeous.” He leaned in close and sniffed me. “That fragrance, it’s perfect for you, what is it?”

“Magie Noire by Lancome, Paris,” I answered.

Alex held open the truck’s door for me and I slid into the large comfy bench seat. He got in and said, “Magie Noire, huh? That translates to mean magic night. I like that thought.” He winked and then backed out of the driveway and we were on our way to Palm Springs.

Alex treated me to an auto tour of celebrity homes in the Las Palmas neighborhood of Palm Springs and then we went for an early dinner at the original Las Casuelas in the historic district of downtown Palm Springs on Palm Canyon Drive. We sat inside the eatery and Alex explained that it was a local favorite restaurant for Mexican food. We ordered light dinners. I knew I didn’t want a heavy feeling in my stomach dueling with my excitement of the auction, and I guessed Alex felt the same. While dining, our conversation turned to the tour we had just taken of celebrity homes.

“Which home did you like the best?” Alex asked.

I’m torn between Ann Miller’s Spanish styled 1928 manor and the Elvis Presley honeymoon hideaway ultra modern home. The Elvis home reeks of 1960s Modern, but it also reminded me of the old cartoon called the Jetsons, it was so space age looking.”

Alex replied, “I liked Marilyn Monroe’s home, it’s the classic icon of architecture from the 1950s bungalow style. And I liked The Willows Bed and Breakfast Inn. It was once a home. I favor its iconic Mediterranean style. That style was popular in the 1930s when it was built.”

“Were there many celebrity homes here in the 1920s?” I asked.

“Not many. Palm Springs was just beginning to look like Hollywood’s winter retreat in the late 1920s. It reached a peak during the era of Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley and then faded in the 1980s. Its popularity with celebrities is on the rise again.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how and why personal property of Marla’s ended up here?”

“Maybe we’ll find out tonight,” Alex said. “We should leave soon, are you about ready?”

I was more than ready. I folded my napkin and picked up my purse, “Let’s go.”

Alex paid the bill and tipped the waitress on the way out. In ten minutes we pulled into the auction warehouse parking lot. We parked up front, right next to a new silver BMW.

“Alex, that’s your car.”

He laughed and said. “Indeed, it is. I switched with Seamus, looks like you get to meet him tonight.”

T
hank goodness the warehouse was air conditioned.  It was exactly as I envisioned it. The warehouse was a huge space of indoor footage, no windows, and a few skylights here and there. The overhead lighting was industrial in design and purpose. The room was divided in half. Several rows of chairs were set up in the front, and behind the auctioneer’s platform, the entire space was partitioned off with portable rail dividers. I counted fifty people in a quick glance over the crowd. More people were entering and some were seated, while others were behind the partitioned area, looking at items listed in the auction. Near the auctioneer’s platform, a man stood with is back turned to us. I followed Alex’s lead. He strolled up to the man and jokingly said, “Seamus, quit giving us your backside and turn around to say hello to Shannon Delaney.”

Seamus O’Kelley was not what I had expected, at all. I had no recollection of meeting him before, but then the reception line at Alex’s performance had been very long and the meet and greet with each person was fleetingly fast. Seamus was Alex’s age and every bit as handsome with fair complexion, thick black hair and flashing blue eyes. My dad would have called him black Irish or dark Irish. My mom would have called him a young twin for the movie actor Pierce Brosnan when Brosnan played secret agent James Bond.