Ripped From the Pages (11 page)

“Okay. And just in case, I’ll have Mom spread the word that nobody should talk to
reporters until the official press conference a week from Wednesday.” I stared across
the table at him. “Are you okay with spending more time up here than you thought you
would?”

“That’s the best thing about being the boss,” he said, grinning. “I can do what I
want most of the time. The office won’t be overly busy this week, so I should be able
to handle things by phone. I’ll work a few hours each morning and check in every afternoon.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“Darling.” He reached across and squeezed my hand. “This is important to me, too.”

“Thank you.”

“And if something comes up that I can’t handle by phone, I’ll simply drive into the
city for a few hours.”

“Okay, then I won’t worry about you, either.”

“Please don’t,” he said. “I promise I won’t let myself fire me.”

I smiled at that. He picked up his list of names and went off to the office while
I sat back down at the table to make the calls.

Forty minutes later, I was just finishing up my last call when he came back and joined
me at the table.

“How did you do?” I asked after disconnecting the call.

“I spoke with eight of the people on my list. A few of them weren’t happy about waiting
so long, but they’ll all be here a week from Wednesday. I left messages with the other
four to call me back. How about you?”

“I’m waiting on two callbacks. Everyone else was willing to go along with our time
frame, especially when I suggested that they could contact the sheriff’s department
for more information in the meantime. It was almost too easy.”

“That can’t be good,” he said, looking amused.

“I know. Something’s bound to go wrong.”

I had followed Derek’s advice, explaining to each reporter that Dharma was a private
spiritual community and that nobody would be available to talk to them until the agreed
time. It may have been a white lie, but I didn’t care. It would give us some bit of
control over the proceedings.

*   *   *

F
or a number of hours over the next two days, I hid myself away inside the cave and
finally managed to finish my inventory. I was indebted to Gabriel and Derek, who fashioned
a light tree in each of the chambers. So my eyesight was saved, and in the end, I
had a list of several hundred items. I had no idea how many families might’ve entrusted
their precious items to Guru Bob’s grandfather, but I hoped they would be happy to
get them back.

Altogether I counted twenty-two pairs of silver candlesticks of various sizes and
shapes; six more elaborate candelabra sets (I considered them candelabra if they held
at least four candles each), two of which featured golden winged cherubs at the base;
fourteen marble or bronze busts of various people, including Voltaire, Victor Hugo,
two of Cardinal Richelieu, several of other unnamed French dignitaries, and four anonymous
beautiful women. There was also a bust of Benjamin Franklin, who apparently was adored
by the French, along with an elaborate marble bust of Louis XIV. I knew which Louis
it was only because it was engraved on a plaque below the statue.

There were seven pieces of large, expensive furniture, including three dressers with
mirrors, the large wardrobe that had blocked the passageway into the deeper cave,
an escritoire, and the whimsical rococo-style vanity table with tufted chair and mirror
that had belonged to Trudy’s childhood friend Nanette. There were also several smaller
tables fancy enough that some families must have worried that they might be taken
by the Nazis.

In total, there were twenty-seven pieces of fine artwork, ten smaller works still
in frames, including the Botticelli
Virgin and Child
, and the rest rolled up, most notably, the Renoir-like café scene and the excellent
portrait of the Grenier family that Trudy had identified on her first visit to the
caves.

There were thirty-two assorted animal sculptures small enough to fit in my hand. These
included horses and birds and a puppy. I counted Trudy’s quail in this group. I listed
ten more small sculptures of various subjects: three sets of lovers sculpted in marble;
five bronze angels; and the discus thrower and weeping woman I’d noticed the first
time I stepped inside the cave.

I found forty-one finely bound books, most of them written in French. I hadn’t been
able to study the books before, but once I was alone in the cave for those long hours,
I took the opportunity to thoroughly check them out. One of the villagers must have
been a devotee of the poet Rainer Maria Rilke because there were beautiful first edition
copies of
Letters to a Young Poet
and the
Duino Elegies.
There was also a remarkable rare copy of
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
, or rather,
Aventures d’Alice au pays des Merveilles.
It had a striking bright blue cloth cover with gilded images of Alice on the front
cover and the Cheshire cat on the back. The book had been translated into French in
1869, and it made me smile to think of the poor translator trying to convert all of
the wonderfully illogical conversations that were scattered throughout the book.

The other books included French classics by Victor Hugo, Gustave Flaubert, and several
by Alexandre Dumas. All of them
were in good condition and some were even excellent. I estimated the value of the
collection of books at about two hundred thousand dollars, but that was just off the
top of my head. And that wasn’t including the fourteen family Bibles, which all had
thick leather bindings and elaborate family histories written within their pages.

Among the silver pieces were four complete silver tea sets and eight silver water
pitchers. There were three Sèvres urns and six Meissen figurines. Within the eight
jewelry boxes I found twenty-four pieces of expensive jewelry, including six diamond
rings; three simple necklaces with diamond pendants; one lovely emerald and gold necklace;
three red-jeweled necklaces (these were ruby or carnelian or garnet; I couldn’t say
for sure), two with silver settings and one with gold; four assorted diamond bracelets;
six silver bracelets; and one art-deco-style chinoiserie enamel bracelet with a gold
setting.

When I arrived home, I added all of these to the growing list on my computer, then
printed out two copies. And then hoped that my items matched those on the French families’
lists, because if there were any discrepancies on my part, I was afraid there might
be an open revolt on Frenchman’s Hill.

*   *   *

I
’d honestly thought that by controlling the time, place, and circumstances of the
press conference, we’d be able to skate easily through the next week or so. But I
was sadly mistaken.

By the following Tuesday, word of the treasures in the caves had spread across the
world. We had no idea who had started the rumors—I suspected our friends at the sheriff’s
department gave the information to any reporters who happened to call, or perhaps
Henri had followed through on his threat to contact the local newspaper—but Guru Bob
reported that he’d received inquiries
from several more Bay Area television stations, six Southern California newspapers,
and another four reporters from the East Coast. Online news magazines were clamoring
for photos and interviews. Two Los Angeles–based entertainment channels were sending
camera crews up to film around Dharma and the winery. They agreed to be here for our
Wednesday afternoon session.

I figured Derek and I could handle the press and the rumors, but when Guru Bob received
the telephone call from the current mayor of La Croix Saint-Just, he insisted it was
time for us to regroup and summoned us to his hilltop home for a meeting. The most
recent calls from reporters had nothing to do with the body in the cave. It was all
about the expensive heirlooms. Poor Mr. Renaud, forgotten for seventy years, was again
being ignored in favor of the alluring treasure trove.

Robson greeted Gabriel, Derek, and me at the front door and led the way into his beautiful
sitting room with the wide bay-window view of the hills and vineyards of Dharma. After
serving us coffee and allowing us to get comfortable, he hit us with the news. “The
mayor called to let me know that he is representing the families who still remain
in the village. He warned me that a few of the citizens are discussing reparations.”

“That’s hostile,” I muttered. “Maybe they’ve been contacted by Henri.”

Guru Bob shrugged. “They are unhappy.”

“That’s not your fault! You’re not the one they should be threatening.”

Guru Bob reached over and patted my arm. “Your fierceness is one of my secret weapons,
Brooklyn.”

“Sorry, but it burns me up to hear people blaming you.”

“What do they think they’ll get in terms of compensation?” Gabriel wondered aloud.

“I doubt it will come to that,” Robson said. “The mayor was very accommodating, despite
the veiled threat he issued at the
beginning of our conversation. He will e-mail us a list of the items belonging to
each of the village families. Everyone will get back what is owed to them.”

“Good,” I said. “The sooner everything is distributed, the better.”

“The mayor might’ve calmed down,” Derek said, “but the families may still feel affronted.
Have you contacted your lawyers?”

“In an abundance of caution, I have. They are researching the matter.”

“It’s blackmail,” I grumbled.

Derek gave a subtle nod of agreement. “The lists of lost items from the mayor and
from the Frenchman’s Hill families will have to be compared and contrasted with Brooklyn’s
inventory. There may be some unclaimed items. We should come up with a plan for all
of it.”

Guru Bob aimed his gaze at me. “Brooklyn’s inventory?”

“Yes,” I said, trying not to squirm. “I thought it was important to write down everything
we found in the caves. Once we get the families’ lists, we can do that comparison
Derek mentioned.”

“That is wonderful,” Robson said. “Thank you, Brooklyn.”

I smiled. “I figured I might as well put my list-making obsession to good use.”

Derek exchanged a subtle glance with Robson. “She’s quite organized. It extends to
everything in the house, right down to the spice cupboard.”

“Despite a deep-seated inability to cook,” I said, and shrugged.

Guru Bob beamed at me. “All things in good time.”

Derek was desperately trying to hide his smile as he quickly changed the subject.
“I think we should consider hiring expert appraisers, maybe from one of the auction
houses, in case there are any discrepancies to deal with. They’ll be able to trace
the provenance of some of these items if there are disputes.”

“That’s a good idea.” I stood to pace since I could think better on my feet. “What
if some of the families have died off? Or maybe one of them came by something illegally.
I mean, there are some priceless heirlooms in that cave. I’ve already done a preliminary
examination of the books and they alone are worth a few hundred thousand dollars,
just at first glance.”

Derek nodded thoughtfully. “I still wonder how these families from a small French
village came into possession of some of those works of art.”

“Trudy said that one of her young friends claimed that her father was descended from
Louis the Fourteenth and that’s how the family owned one of their dressers. A reputable
auction house would be able to prove it one way or another.” I frowned. “The Botticelli
is a complete mystery to me.”

“I share many of those same concerns,” Robson said, glancing from Derek to me. He
took a sip of coffee and set the cup down slowly. “So this morning I contacted an
art appraiser with whom I have worked in the past. He will be here next Monday and
will require access to the caves.”

“I’ll be happy to give him the guided tour,” Derek said. “Unless you’d rather do it.”

“I prefer to have you do it, if you would not mind. I think it best if I avoid entering
the cave unless accompanied by some of our own people.”

I bristled at the implication: that others would think Guru Bob wasn’t to be trusted.

He smiled at me as if he knew what I was thinking—which he probably did. “I will arrange
to have Mr. Garrity meet me at the outer door of the storage-cave entrance, where
I will introduce him to you.”

“Sounds good.” They decided on a time, and Derek typed it into his phone calendar.

I knew that the art appraiser wouldn’t be the only one
demanding access to the artwork. “Have you considered moving everything out of the
caves and into a more accessible space? It would have to be secured, of course.”

“It is a good question.” Robson turned to Gabriel. “You are the security expert. What
do you think?”

Gabriel considered for a few seconds before shaking his head. “We’re better off leaving
everything in the caves. There’s only one way in and out so it’s easier to guard.
I’ve got the entire area locked up and fortified with more security than any bank
in town.”

“That’s true enough,” I said. “Never mind my question. It was just a momentary thought.”

“I appreciate hearing any momentary thoughts you may have,” Robson said, making me
smile.

Derek tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, a sure sign that his brain was moving
ahead at lightning speed. “What would you say to the idea of taking a number of photographs
of the artwork, blowing them up to poster size, and displaying them in the town hall?”

I thought about it for a moment. “But why display photographs of the items rather
than wait for folks to give us a description of their possessions? Wouldn’t that give
someone a chance to claim an item that wasn’t theirs?”

Derek shifted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “One reason to do so
is to prove to the Frenchmen that we’re being completely transparent about the treasured
items we found. Essentially, we’re telling the world about the discovery we made.
And by the time the exhibit begins, we will have received all of their lists of lost
items, so I don’t think we’ll run into a problem with cheating or larceny.”