A Fatal Appraisal (15 page)

"I'd better get back to work. Oh, I forgot to tell you.
Victoria says she's going to rest after being grilled this afternoon but will
join us for dinner. That means the police haven't charged her with anything. Isn't
that good news?"

 'Topping," Garrett agreed brightly. "I didn't
think they had any hard evidence on the gal. Where are you off to next?"

Molly thought about Jessica and Borris and their tardiness
at yesterday's lunch. "I think I'll check out what's going on in the book
and jewelry area. See you tonight."

At the furniture area, a local dealer and one of the staff
appraisers were filling in for Frank. Molly stopped to watch them as they
looked over a stunning tilt-top table. She felt a sudden sadness come over her
that Frank, with his incredible devotion for antique furniture, was absent.

 She also missed the warm beauty of the slant-front desk.
Was it sitting in some dark room down at the police station? Did its owner know
that their antique had been an accessory in a murder?

Off to the side, partially hidden from view by a curtain,
Randy and Chris sat at a table playing cards. Molly assumed the men were kept
nearby in case a piece of furniture needed to be lifted or polished for the
benefit of the camera's eye. She stood watching Randy. Apparently he had just
lost his hand, for he threw down his cards with a slap as his lip curled in
frustration.

"Now there's a man with some anger," Molly
murmured as she turned her back on him. Randy had no love for Frank. Maybe he
just meant to play a nasty trick on his employer— a trick that had ended up
killing him. Molly needed to know more about this hot-tempered assistant She
decided to pay a visit to the producer, Guy, who had set up his temporary
office as far away from the clambering crowd as possible.

Lucky for her, Guy was on the phone when she arrived,
bellowing into the mouthpiece. "A replacement for Frank has to be in D.C.
for the next show ... I don't care whether he's under contract or not just get
him!"

Guy was an all-around average guy. Nothing about his height
weight or looks made him stand out in any way. He wore square reading glasses
that he was constantly placing on a head of dull brown hair while he squinted
through flat blue eyes at the world.

 "Who are you?" he asked impatiently.

"Molly Appleby, from
Collector's Weekly
. We
spoke on the phone last week."

"Ah, yes," Guy nodded, his voice thawing notably.

"Thank you so much for letting me visit the show. This
is going to make a great piece. In fact, I have so much to write about that I
think I'll do a whole series."

All producers love publicity and this one was no exception.
Guy was words away from eating out of her hand.

"I'd love to do a side article on the crew, a
behind-the- scenes kind of thing. Being that the show is wrapping up tomorrow,
I'm not sure if I'll have time to get backgrounds on all of the crewmembers. Do
you have anything like that with you?"

Guy frowned. "Nah. Personnel files are back in New
York. We'd have to fax stuff to you."

That was a disappointment. "Well, can you tell me what
you know about Frank's crew? For example, who will be replacing him?"

Guy looked at her suspiciously. "I'm trying to get a
dealer from Atlanta on board. He's a greedy bastard though and wants more money
than we're willing to pay. You're not writing a piece on Frank, are you? You
know that was an accident," he added with a growl.

An accident? Molly ignored her instinct to laugh at such an
outrageous statement. "Of course I'm not writing about Frank," she
lied. "Now, how about his assistants, Randy and Chris?"

"Don't know." Guy was obviously bored with the
direction of their conversation. "Frank hand-picked those guys."

Molly gave up. She wasn't going to find out anything from
this man. He didn't know a thing about the people who actually made his show
work. She stood up to leave when she had a sudden flash of inspiration.
"Just one more thing. With all of these
Hidden Treasures
crewmembers working here, where do they all find places to park?"

"Oh, we're borrowing Krispy Kreme's lot for the week.
They're closed for renovations."

At the name Krispy Kreme, Molly's stomach issued a loud
gurgle, reminding her that she had not eaten anything for breakfast. A fresh
jelly donut would certainly hit the spot. Too bad the shop was closed.

"Frank didn't park there, though," she wondered
aloud, quickly trying to cover up the sounds of her protesting stomach.

"Frank said that there might be traces of asbestos in
the air from the donut place's renovations. He refused to park there." Guy
sighed and stood to leave. "He'd have parked in the handicapped spot if he
thought he could get away with it Now, I need to make a call and my cell phone
doesn't work well in here, so if you'll excuse me, I'm going to head outside."

"Of course. Thank you for your time," Molly said
politely, noting that the shape of the object in Guy's hand looted much more
like a pack of cigarettes than a cell phone. Fortunately, Guy's need to indulge
his habit would leave her alone in his office. Once he was out of sight Molly
moved as quickly as she could and grabbed the portable file case behind his
desk. Rifling through the papers, she discovered a list of employee cars and
plate numbers.

"Gotcha!" She smiled, stuffing the paper into her
purse. She then headed for the nearest exit She had spied a barbeque restaurant
next door to the Krispy Kreme and she wasn't going to go one step further into
her investigation without a nice order of baby back ribs with a side of baked
beans and a warm, butter-drenched biscuit.

~~~~~

Molly had no idea what the expected to find by walking
around the lot where the crew of
Hidden Treasures
parked. While most of
die head appraisers were given the use of rental cars in each city, the
crewmembers were expected to drive their own vehicles to every show. Apparently
there were less perks involved in being a member of the crew. They certainly
didn't stay at the same quality hotels as the appraisers, and even if she
tracked down Randy's hotel, Molly had little expectation of being able to break
into his hotel room if his car gave her no indication of whether or not he was
a murderer.

Scanning over the list, she read that Randy drove a black
Ford F-150 with Alabama plates reading N2BASS and it didn’t take her long to
locate his truck. The front grill was outfitted to hold at least six fishing
poles and the rear bumper was completely covered by fishing bumper stickers
reading:
Women Love Me, Fish Fear Me; The Question of Fishing Is Not A
Matter of Life or Death— It's Bigger Than That; 'Carpe Diem' Does Not Mean
'Fish of the Day'; and Save The Bass—Shoot A Land Developer.

The back window was covered with fishing stickers and
catch-and-release badges. A silver wide-mouth bass dangled from the rearview
mirror.

"So this is your passion," Molly said. She peered
through the tinted passenger window into the cab and grimaced at the mass of
fast-food cartons, balled-up napkins, and empty soda cans that littered the
floor. The front seat was completely obscured by maps, fishing magazines, and
what looked like a well-read issue of
Playboy
featuring a sexy
pro-wrestler on the cover.

A fat drop of rain splashed down onto Molly's hand as she
pressed her nose against the glass.

"Great," she complained to the dirty truck.
"What was I thinking I would find? A written confession propped up on the
dashboard?"

Sighing in self-disgust, she decided to take a quick look
through the small cab window at the back seat bench. It too was Uttered with
old food containers and yellowed magazines, but just as Molly was about to give
up and seek shelter from the rain, which had begun to dot die surface of the
truck with more regularity, she spied a balled-up rag soiled with what looked
like black stains on the driver's side of the bench seat.

Hoping against hope that the stains were not created by
furniture polish, Molly dashed over to the other side of the truck and peered
down at the rag. Her heart began drumming faster as she stared at the
powdery-looking black stains. It was the mold. It had to be.

"I knew it!" Molly declared and pulled out both
her cell phone and Detective Robeson's card from her purse. She punched in his
number excitedly and almost jumped for joy when he answered on the third ring.

"Robeson speaking." The deep voice rumbled through
the earpiece. Molly quickly explained her discovery and described exactly where
Randy's truck was parked in the Krispy Kreme lot.

"This'd better be the real thing," Robeson mumbled
to himself after he hung up. He untied a red-and-white checkered apron and
turned off the oven. He then watched in dismay as his undercooked soufflé fell
inward with a gust of steam. "So much for my day off."

~~~~~

In the parking lot, the rain had picked up its tempo so
Molly headed for shelter beneath an overhang on the backside of the Krispy
Kreme building. Thick clouds blotted out the weak daylight and hung closely to
the ground, creating the effect of an early twilight. Goose bumps erupted on
Molly's arms as she listened to the growling thunder.

Suddenly, a fork of lightning flashed across the sky and as
Molly turned to look at it in nervous fascination, the lanky, wet figure of
Randy appeared like a ghost from around the corner of the donut shop.

Before she could even react, he had taken three impossibly
quick strides and now stood before her, water streaming from his ratty hair.
His thin arms were covered with cobra tattoos that crawled up his arms like
black vines as he reached up to wipe moisture from his face.

"Whatcha doin' poking around my ride, girlie?" he
asked, leaning in towards Molly's face. She could smell beer and cigarettes on
his breath.

Molly shrank back against the concrete wall. "Uh...
just admiring your bumper stickers." She tried to relax and act casual,
but her body would not cooperate. Her shoulders hunched defensively and her
muscles tensed. "I... um...think fishing is a great hobby."

"You do, do ya?" Randy dropped his soaked
cigarette on the ground and placed his hand on the wall next to Molly's head.
"So you're lookin' for some action from a real man, not that English punk
I've seen you hangin' all over."

Molly twisted her face away from his breath and the hungry
look in his eyes. She tried to laugh, but the sound came out like a strangled
whimper. "No, nothing like that. Actually I have a boyfriend back in North
Carolina. A very protective boyfriend."

Randy touched a strand of Molly's hair. "Sure you do,
sweet thang."

A wave of anger surged through Molly's blood. Why was she
just standing there? This puny man wasn't about to take advantage of her.
"Listen to me!" She stood up and pushed his hand off the wall.
"You'd better back off."

Randy rocked on his heels while a look of amusement played
across his pinched face. He narrowed his weasel eyes even further and said,
"I think I'd like a taste of those nice lips. You don't have to play those
games with
me
, girl." And he grabbed Molly's shoulders with both
hands as he tried to kiss her.

Molly jerked her knee into what she thought was his crotch,
but ended up being a bony thigh. Luckily, she applied enough force to unbalance
him. She shoved him roughly aside as she freed herself from his hands.

Surprised by Molly's resistance, Randy fell on the ground
and sat stunned for a moment before his face reddened with rage and he took off
after her fleeing figure.

 Molly was not a fast runner, but terror increased her speed
until she was flying through the rain back towards the museum, the sound of her
pursuer indignant yells egging her desperately onward. As she dashed from
behind a large delivery truck parked in the barbeque restaurant's lot, she ran
headlong into an immoveable human wall. It was Detective Robeson.

"Oh, thank god!" Molly wailed and held onto
Robeson's massive arms. "He's after me!"

Robeson issued the briefest of nods to the two officers
standing next to him and within seconds. Randy was handcuffed and shoved,
screaming obscenities, into the back of a patrol car.

Robeson held an umbrella over Molly's head and looked her
over from head to toe. "You all right?" he asked gently.

"Yes," she said as tears mingled with the rain on
her face. She brushed them away in irritation. "I thought he was going
to... you know." She looked down at the ground.

"But you got away?" Robeson handed her a napkin.

"Yeah," she said, wiping her face. "I was
pretty glad to see you, though."

Robeson cracked a small smile. "Can you show me that
truck?"

Molly nodded. Robeson gestured to one of the officers
sitting with Randy. The man ran over to Robeson, sprinted back to the patrol
car, and returned with the keys to Randy's truck.

Praying that the rag was really covered with the black mold,
Molly led Robeson to the F-150. She pointed at the rag through the window and
Robeson carefully retrieved it and plopped it in an evidence bag.

"Get this to the lab and tell them to put a rush on
it," Robeson told his officer. He turned back to Molly and said,
"I'll need you to come down to the station and make another
statement."

She nodded wearily. "Can I stop at my hotel and get
some dry clothes first?"

 "Of course. Take your time," he said, again
speaking quite gently. "We'll be busy with that fish for a while,
anyway." He smiled and gestured toward Randy's bucking figure in the
patrol car. He then walked Molly back to the museum.

Without bothering to go inside, Molly headed straight for
her car and then for the bed-and-breakfast. She was hoping she could get Mrs.
Hewell to give her some tea a little earlier than usual. A lemon square or two
would certainly hit the spot about now as well.