A Fatal Appraisal (13 page)

"Yes! And I think that black mold we saw at Frank's
mother's house might have caused
his
death. You see, it was deliberately
put on a piece of furniture where he was sure to come in contact with it."
Molly described Frank's allergic sensitivities and how he had displayed flulike
symptoms the last time she had seen him alive.

She went on to exaplin how she and Garrett had found Frank's
body. Then Molly told her mother how she had retuned to reexamine the
slant-front desk, only to find that the mold had been completely cleaned off,
destroying all evidence of foul play.

"So you're the only one who believes there's been a
murder?" Clara asked coyly. "I must say, I'm much more interested in
this Garrett fellow you've mentioned. Visiting from London? Knowledgeable about
antiques? But the real question"—Clara leaned forward with a mischievous
gleam in her eye—"is whether or not he's single."

Molly rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Her mother was
relentless in her pursuit of a suitable husband for her only daughter. "No
sign of foul play will surface until the autopsy is complete. As far as Garrett
goes—" Molly's decision to praise her new friend was cut short by a burst of
staccato knocking on her hotel room door. She opened it wide.

"Thank goodness you're back!" Garrett said
breathlessly and nearly tripped into the room. "You won't believe...
oh!" He stopped as he spotted Clara sitting regally in one of the room's
wing chairs. "Forgive me, I'm interrupting."

"Nonsense." Clara beckoned toward the chair Molly
had occupied. "Join us for tea. I'm Clara Appleby, Molly's mother."

"Charmed," Garrett boldly kissed Clara on the
cheek. "You two could surely be mistaken for sisters."

Clara glowed. Molly sighed in annoyance. She often heard
that statement from men trying to get on Clara's good side. "What's going
on?" she demanded of Garrett.

He turned his honey-brown eyes toward her and instantly, his
face became grave. "Victoria's been picked up for questioning. The police
are holding her as the primary suspect in Frank's murder case. It's absurd, of
course," he explained to Clara. "That woman is no killer. However,
I'm afraid we've all been summoned to the station in order to give statements.
That includes you as well, Molly. I came to offer you a ride. It's bound to be
an unpleasant experience, so I thought we might at least muddle through it
together."

Garrett threw another winning smile at Clara who clucked in
sympathy, and then loaded Garrett's plate with the two remaining lemon squares.
"How awful!" Clara exclaimed. "What on earth will you two do for
dinner?"

"I, for one, plan to take both of you lovely ladies out
for a first-class meal. Just as soon as we're done I’ll come collect you, fair
Clara. Until then..." Garrett bowed.

Molly rolled her eyes again. Garrett was going a bit over
the top, though her mother didn't seem to mind.

"Let's get this over with," she mumbled
ungraciously and headed out of her room without waiting to see whether Garrett
was behind her or not.

~~~~~

Detective Robeson was, without a doubt, a giant of a man.
His six-foot-five frame was made up of 260 pounds of bulky muscle and dense
bone covered by espresso- colored skin dressed in a tight black T-shirt tucked
into gray pants. Molly couldn't tear her eyes away from his massive biceps.
This man could crush another person's head by simply raising his wrist to his
shoulder.

When he spoke, his voice carried a surprisingly gentle and
very deep bass to her ears. "Now, Miss Appleby. Let's start with your
arrival at the museum and go from there."

As Molly gave her statement, she felt herself growing
excited about being given the opportunity to provide an invaluable clue toward
solving the murder case. She had deliberately avoided telling Garrett anything
about the mold reasoning that if anyone was going to get credit for assisting
the police, it was going to be her. She’d spent the entire car ride thinking of
the article she could write for
Collector's Weekly
featuring herself as
the heroine!

"So what makes you think this mold on the desk was the
same as the mold in the bathroom?" The deep voice broke through her
reverie.

"It had that black, powdery look and that same musty
odor."

"And there were no traces on the desk when you returned
to examine it?" Robeson leaned his massive frame an inch closer to hers.

Molly wasn't sure, but she felt as though her starring role
in solving the crime was not taking the direction she had hoped it would.
"No, sir."

He eased forward another inch, his wide nose flaring
slightly and his dark eyes boring into hers. "And you didn't mention the
sudden disappearance of the mold to Officer Combs at the time?"

"Well, I didn't know it was mold then, and ... well, I
had to go meet my mother and was kind of concentrating on not being late. Once
I was back inside Mrs. Sterling's house, I recognized the smell first, and
then, when I went into the master bathroom, I saw the stain again. That's when
I realized what the black powder on the desk was actually mold."

Robeson raised a thick pointer finger in the air. The
officer unobtrusively taking notes in the comer of the room immediately put
down his pen and jumped to attention.

"Clarkson," Robeson said without looking away from
Molly. "Get a team over to Strawberry Street. Pick up the desk Sterling
was working on as well. If there's a trace of mold on that desk, I want it
found."

"Right away." Clarkson scurried from the room.

Orders given, Robeson settled his wide shoulders against the
back of his chair and examined the lines on his palm for what seemed like an
eternity.

"Um ... do you mind me asking the cause of death?"
Molly inquired quietly.

Robeson flicked his eyes at her and then studied his short,
clean fingernails. He seemed to be weighing whether or not he planned to answer
the question. Finally, after inspecting each nail, he sighed and said, "He
basically had a severe asthma attack that triggered both a massive heart attack
and stroke at the same time. In short, the guy couldn't breathe and then his
body just shut down. It wasn’t a pleasant way to go."

"Can mold cause a reaction like that?" Molly asked
bravely.

"Sure, if you're really allergic to it," Robeson
shrugged. "The question is, was Ms. Sterling aware of what that mold could
do to her husband?"

As Robeson relapsed into his silent mode, Molly pondered his
question. Why would Victoria kill Frank? She couldn't think of a single reason.
Locking eyes with Robeson, Molly plucked up her courage and responded. "I
highly doubt she did, in fact. Look, I know I don't know this group that well,
but I can't think of any obvious motive on Victoria's part. Frank gave her what
she wanted most. Why kill him?"

"In these kinds of cases, nine times out of ten, the
spouse has done the deed. Either it's money or it's jealousy that spurs them
on. Ms. Sterling has no concrete alibi. She was alone in her hotel room and she
gets all his money upon his death. That doesn’t look too good."

Molly shrugged. "She had his money already. They seemed
like a contented, if not enthusiastically happy married couple. The other
appraisers seemed to believe that even though Frank and Victoria seemed
mismatched, they had an amiable relationship most of the time. And I can't
imagine Victoria had anything to be jealous of where Frank was concerned. Have
you seen a photo of him?"

Robeson slowly stood. "That's what Ms. Sterling said,
too. Just so you know, she hasn't been charged with anything ... yet. That'll
be all for now. If you can think of anything else, here's my card." He
dismissed her by opening the door to his office. Molly struggled to think of
something useful to say, for some poignant question to ask, but she could think
of nothing.

"Thanks," she said meekly and tucked the card into
her purse. So much for her dreams of assisting the police. But if Victoria was
innocent, and Molly firmly believed that she was, since she was simply too
indifferent to be a killer, there was still a murderer out there.

That murderer had made one mistake already. He or she had
not counted on Molly being with Frank when he searched the slant-front desk for
hidden compartments. All she had to do now was subtly pry into the private
lives of the other appraisers to see who had something to gain from Frank's
death. She also had to find out who had access to the mold growing in bathroom
of Mrs. Sterling’s Strawberry Street house.

Feeling reassured that her destiny as a crime-solving
reporter was firmly revived, Molly took Garrett's proffered arm and headed out
into the balmy evening.

~~~~~~~~~~

Rotten wood cannot be carved.

—Chinese Proverb

The phone rang with a shrill determination that pierced
Molly's sleep, but not enough to make her remember that she was in a strange
bed-and-breakfast in Richmond and not curled up in her own bed with her two
cats, Merlin and Griffin, asleep near her feet.

Confused and groggy, Molly expected the phone call to be
from Matt in Ohio. Without opening her eyes, she croaked out a
"hello" and waited for Matt to begin speaking.

"Madam, are you up?" Clara's voice burst into
Molly's ?ear.

"Ma? What's going on?" Molly fumbled for her
watch.

"Look. Lex and I have a lot to do today and we realized
that we can't get started without the wife... what's her name ... signing off
on our contract. I mean, what if we pack up that house and bring it back to
Hillsborough for auction and she suddenly changes her mind or doesn't like the
terms of our commission or—"

 "Okay, okay, I get the picture," Molly rasped.
She took a sip from the water glass on her nightstand and washed some of the
night’s dryness from her throat. "So we need to visit Victoria at her
hotel and get her signature."

"Exactly!" Clara trilled. "Now get up and let
me in, I have coffee for you."

"Bless you, I think." Molly hung up the phone and
stumbled to the door.

~~~~~

At Victoria’s hotel, the desk clerk looked as though she
had been deprived of a good night's sleep. Reluctantly, she noted that neither
Molly nor her mother carried bags and were therefore not paying guests
intending to check in but two women bent on giving her more work to do.

"We'd like to know what room Victoria Sterling is
staying in please," Molly asked sweetly.

Happy to be able to deny Molly's request, the clerk shook
her head until her wispy bangs shot back and forth across her forehead and issued
a thin, false smile. "Oh, we can't provide that kind of information. You
may speak to her using our house phone, but I'll have to dial it for you."

"Fine," Clara said curtly. "Dial away."

The clerk gave Clara a dirty look, but punched in the
numbers using long purple nails airbrushed with silver flowers. Molly found
herself mesmerized by the flash of the woman's fingertips.

"No answer," the clerk informed them triumphantly.
"I'm sorry."

Molly dug out Detective Robeson's card and quickly
formulated a lie. "I need to see Ms. Sterling this morning. I am assisting
this detective with a case and have important interviews at the museum in
another hour for which I cannot be late," she added with what she hoped
sounded like the authoritative tone of a very busy important person.
"Please dial the room until someone answers."

The desk clerk eyed the card carefully, and then seemed to
be sufficiently impressed by Robeson's credentials and Molly's snappish manner.
"Let me just try again."

"Thank you." Molly smiled smugly.

Victoria answered the phone on the first ring and the desk
clerk handed the receiver to Molly. Molly quickly explained the nature of her
visit.

"Come on up to my room," Victoria said blandly.
"No wait, I'll come get you. Give me five minutes to get dressed
first."

"Sure. We'll grab some coffee in the lobby," Molly
said and hung up.

As the two women sat at a square wooden table sipping cups
of burnt, lukewarm coffee in the small lobby, Clara dug a multi-grain cereal
bar out of her purse and held it out to Molly.

"Hungry?"

"No, thanks." Molly drummed her fingers
impatiently on the table. Finally, Victoria appeared looking tired and fragile.
Wearing wrinkled slacks and a plain cotton T-shirt, she looked much more
vulnerable than usual. Without her designer clothes and makeup, Victoria seemed
to have shrunk overnight. All the glamour and poise she usually exhibited were
gone.

"I'm surprised to see you," Victoria said after
Molly had introduced her to Clara and all three women headed for the Sterling’s
room. The double beds were both made and the couple's clothes were hanging
neatly in the closet Two suitcases sat side by side on the floor and the
night-stand held a copy of
Antiques
magazine and a romance novel.
Victoria gestured for Molly and Clara to sit down on the two side chairs while
she sank onto the nearest bed.

"I admire your composure." Clara told Victoria
with the utmost sincerity. “And if you feel up to it, I’d like to review the
terms of our contract.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her purse.

Victoria listened halfheartedly to Clara's request for a
signature, signed the contract without reading a line of it, and then turned
her weary, green eyes to Molly.

"I want you to know that I didn't kill my husband, but
I don't have much time to talk about it right now. My lawyer drove down
yesterday and will be picking me up in a half an hour to accompany me to the
station. They've got nothing on me except that I don’t have a rock-solid alibi,
but they plan to question me all over again today. I'm not looking forward to
getting grilled. I still feel numb about the whole thing."