A Fatal Appraisal (20 page)

"We shall form our own society, Thomas. You and I
will bring down the Hazard Club with a single blow. If there are any
complications, then I shall come to your shop and warn you.

Now, I shall give you all the details of the planned
attack against the munitions factory so that you can share them with our fellow
patriots. In return, I want to see my father arrested, but not harmed.
Agreed?"

Thomas nodded his assent, feeling a growing respect for
this young woman's pluck.

Elspeth related the details of the short letter. Once she
had finished, she removed a ribbon the shade of cornflowers from her hair.
"Give me your hair tie," she demanded. "We shall trade to show
our allegiance to one another."

"It matches your eyes," Thomas stated shyly,
holding the delicate piece of silk in his large palm.

Elspeth smiled a bittersweet smile, taking the piece of
leather Thomas held out to her. "At least I have made a friend today. It
eases the pain a trifle."

"Aye, that you have. If any trouble should arise for
you, miss ... I mean, Elspeth, seek me out and I shall protect you."

"My thanks, but you had better go now. My maid is
half-witted but not so half-witted that she would believe it would take this
long for you to measure our dining mom. Good luck and go with care."

"You as well. I shall see you again once all the
traitors are under lock and key." Thomas moved to the front door.
"You are a brave young lady. The patriots are fortunate to have you on
their side."

"You as well, Thomas Fleming. I shall see you in
three days," Elspeth said as she shut the door.

Outside, Thomas glanced down at the blue ribbon in his
hand. He brought it to his face and smelled a hint of jasmine. Clutching the
ribbon gently in his fist, Thomas rushed back to the workshop, where he began
to plan the fall of the Hazard Club.

~~~~~~~~~~

Pray, for what do we move ever but to get rid of our
furniture, our exuviae; at last to go from this world to another newly
furnished, and leave this to be burned?

—The Writings of Henry David Thoreau

The cafeteria was filled with anxious appraisers and
Hidden
Treasures
crewmembers in their black T-shirts. The subdued whispering
coupled with all of the black clothing created a funereal atmosphere. Molly's
eyes darted about in search of Jessica, but at that moment Detective Robeson
and a host of other burly, stone-faced policemen entered the room.

"Mon dieu," mumbled Patrice. "The Titans have
arrived."

"Who?" Alicia asked nervously.

"You know. Greek Mythology. The Titans were enormous
beings who once ruled the earth. They were taller than the mountains and could
shake the ground when they walked. This group looks just as alarming."

"That's their intimidation factor," Alicia
replied, twisting a clump of her shiny black hair into a knot. "And it's working."

"All right, people!" Officer Combs called for
quiet. The room was instantaneously still. "We're calling you in for
questioning one at a time. You will follow me to the staff lounge, be
fingerprinted, questioned, and then taken to another room. No one leaves this
building until we say so. Do not talk about this case. Get food or drink as you
need and if you must use the facilities, ask an officer for permission and you
will be escorted to the restrooms. Only one person at a time in the restroom.
Is this clear?"

Several heads nodded. "Now, we've got about forty
people to question so we have decided to proceed alphabetically. We will begin
with Adams, Christopher Adams."

Most the women in the room couldn't help but follow Chris's
progress to the front of the room with appreciative stares. Molly was again
struck by the surreal color of his aquamarine eyes as he turned to smile at
someone who’d whispered "good luck." His tight black T-shirt
stretched across his muscular back as he quickly but confidently approached
Officer Combs.

'To the lion's den I go." He tried to sound nonchalant,
but his clenched fists and white knuckles revealed his nervousness.

"It'll be over in no time," Molly offered, feeling
sorry for the handsome young man. She was rewarded with a shy grin before Combs
grabbed Chris by the arm and led him away as if he were already deemed guilty.

Ten minutes later, Combs returned, list in hand.
"Appleby, Molly!" he yelled even though Molly was seated front and
center. She felt as though she were heading for the electric chair as all eyes
in the room fastened on her. Garrett, who was seated beside her, patted her
hand and gave her a ridiculously comic wink. She hoped her butt didn't look big
in her stretch khaki pants as she trotted off next to Combs and
self-consciously tugged her blouse down over her hips.

Molly was fingerprinted in less than a minute and then given
a moist towelette to attempt the futile removal of black ink from her fingers.
Scrubbing at her right thumb, she was led before Detective Robeson and asked to
sit in a rock-hard wooden chair in front of him. Only a Spartan metal table
separated them. Robeson turned his legal pad to a fresh page and began talking.

"So let's start with last night, Miss Appleby," he
began in a no-nonsense tone. Not a single trace of yesterday's gentleness
lingered. 'Tell me about what you did since I saw you last. Where did you eat
dinner, for example? Leave no detail out, please. You never know what could be
important."

Molly stared at Robeson's massive hand as he gripped his
pencil like a vise. She gulped and began to recite every nuance of last night's
meal at Elmo's, from the seating arrangement, to what everyone ate, to
Victoria's dramatic entrance. When she reached the part about Alexandra
declaring the Dahlonega coins a fake, Robeson's eyes finally left his paper and
came to rest on Molly's face.

"Hold on, hold on. Tell me more about these
coins."

Molly repeated what she had learned from the gentleman
curator in the seersucker suit. She explained what he had told her about the
rarity of the coins and their incredible monetary value.

"So this local curator quoted you a value of close to
five hundred thousand dollars?" Robeson asked, a spark of interest
appearing in his molasses-brown eyes.

"Yes, sir," Molly said, relaxing. Once again, she
felt that she could be of help to the intimidating detective. She could already
envision the headline of the next issue of
Collector's Weekly
. It would
read, "CW Reporter Aids Richmond Police Solve Two Homicides."

"Now there's a motive," Combs mumbled and Robeson
shot him an aggravated glance.

"Please continue." Robeson raised his pencil and
held it poised over the legal pad.

"A motive
and
a means," Molly added smugly
to what Combs suggested.

"What means? Explain." Robeson lifted one eyebrow
like an expectant schoolteacher.

"There was a blackout on Tuesday. It only lasted about
five minutes, but that would have been long enough to steal the Dahlonega coins
and replace them with fakes." Molly remembered the pinprick of light she
had seen near the display cabinet containing the coins. "I didn't think
anything of it at the time," she continued excitedly, "but someone
could
have been back there, swapping the coins! I saw a light, you know, like one
cast by a penlight." Again Molly’s mind  drifted off, focusing on bold
newspaper headlines and a stack of fan mail piled on her desk. Surely all of
the South's major papers would want to run such a sensational story. She’d be
famous. And if she ended up on television, she was going to need a new outfit.
And perhaps a trim, too.

"Hmmm." Robeson took a few notes. "Let's get
back to the dinner, now."

Disappointed in Robeson's lack of fervor over her testimony
thus far, Molly went on to describe Jessica knocking over the wineglass and
Alexandra's denouncement of General Lee. She finished by repeating who went
home in which car.

"So you, Borris, Jessica, and your mother returned to
the Traveller just before ten o'clock. Is that right?"

Molly nodded. "The others are staying at a place a few
miles west of here. I don't remember the name, but it's a chain hotel. Garrett
took Victoria to the hotel in his car, because the minivan was full, but he's
staying with us at the Traveller. I don't know when he got back. I'm a pretty
heavy sleeper."

"And what about this morning? What did you do?"
Robeson scribbled on his pad.

"Not too much to tell there. I got up at about seven,
had breakfast, came here, forgot my ID badge, went back to my hotel for it,
returned to the museum, and saw the body." Molly examined her stained
fingers unhappily. "Will I be able to wash my hands after this?"

"Uh…yes," Robeson said distractedly. "Did you
see anyone else at your hotel before coming here?"

Molly remembered returning to the Traveller in order to
retrieve her ID badge. She hesitated, but then described the short conversation
she had overheard between Jessica and Borris. Robeson was bound to find out
anyway.

"What do you think
that
was about?" Combs
demanded.

"I have no idea." Molly shrugged innocently.
"I just met these people a few days ago."

"Combs"—Robeson pointed at the door without
looking up—"go get the next person for questioning."

Combs sulked but did as he was told. Now that she was alone
with Robeson, Molly's hands began to grow clammy. Robeson stared at his pad,
unblinking and silent, while Molly wondered what he was thinking.

"I don't think they're the ones," Molly offered
quietly. "Borris and Jessica, I mean. That note..." She struggled to
put her thoughts into words. "It implies some kind of intimate meeting. At
least that's the way I intepret it. Borris and Jessica are in love with one
another, even though she won't admit it, so neither of them would be involved
with Alexandra."

"So." Robeson cupped his large chin with his hand
and rubbed his stubble. "Who do you like for it, then?"

Molly hesitated, not comprehending this "cop talk"
phrase, but then she translated the question: "Who is the killer?"

"Randy's in the clear for this murder. He's still in
jail, right?" Molly asked.

Robeson nodded in agreement.

"Someone didn't want Alexandra talking to that local
curator this morning. She had to be killed before she spoke to him. No one else
knows coins, except for Garrett, so unless he or the curator examined them and
raised the alarm, no one would believe for certain they were fakes. If no one
examined them, then whoever stole the original coins could get away with
robbery. Today is the show's last day. Tomorrow the crew packs up. He or she
would have been scot-free within twenty-four hours."

Robeson said nothing. The clock on the wall circulated its
red second hand forward with a persistent hum. "Any holes to this
theory?" Robeson finally asked.

Molly sighed. "Yeah, plenty. Why kill Alexandra when
her death only draws attention to the fake coins? And why kill her in the
museum? It's like the killer wanted to make a big statement, but now the whole
world will be looking for him."

Robeson stood. "I'll take your statement into serious
consideration. If you think of anything else, let me know." He strode past
her and opened the door. "And Ms. Appleby," he said as he looked down
at her benevolently. "Good work finding that note."

Molly smiled. "Thanks." She paused in the doorway.
"Um, will you want to talk to my mother?"

Robeson shook his head. "Not at the moment. You're free
to go as well. Just don't return to the cafeteria."

"Yes, sir." Molly avoided eye contact with Combs
as he led a terrified crewmember toward the fingerprinting station.

"Do I need a lawyer?" the man asked, his hands violently
trembling over the inkpads.

"Not unless you've got something to hide," Combs
stated wickedly. "And where do you think you're going?" he asked
Molly sharply.

"Detective Robeson said I could leave," she
retorted. "So I'm leaving!" And then unable to think of some caustic
remark to sting him with, Molly stuck her tongue out at the stunned policeman.

~~~~~

The first thing Molly did upon arriving at the Traveller
was to take off her pointy shoes, which had been mashing her toes together
until they formed a warped triangle. After kicking them aside, she resolved to
trade in style for comfort where her feet were concerned, and then flopped onto
the comfortable bed with a sigh of relief.

She wanted to spend a few minutes trying to digest all that
had happened in the last few days. Randy had killed Frank and now Alexandra had
been murdered. Was there a connection between the two murders or was someone
else simply inspired by Randy's act of violence?

Molly could only assume that Randy had killed Frank out of pent-up
rage. So Frank's was a murder ignited by hatred mixed with a little insanity.
Someone else must have killed Alexandra to prevent her from meeting with the
curator and firmly establishing that the valuable Dahlonega coins were actually
fakes. That crime was motivated by fear, but also by hatred as well. Stringing
Alexandra up so that she would hang from Lee's marble neck was a deliberate and
possibly vengeful act. But who would do such a thing?

As Molly began thinking back on all the conversations from
last night's dinner, she began to grow sleepy. I'll just close my eyes for a
second, she thought. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

~~~~~

Two hours later, Molly awoke with a very full bladder.
The four cups of coffee she’d consumed that morning had filled her close to the
bursting point. She was hungry, too. After taking care of her more immediate
needs, Molly pulled out a large bag of fat-free pretzels, a spiral notebook,
and a pen from her bag. Sitting at the mahogany writing desk, she tore open the
bag of pretzels and began to create a list of all those present at last night's
dinner. It was time to figure out the killer’s identity.