A Fatal Appraisal (26 page)

"Aren't you just the little detective?" Chris
sneered mockingly.

"And Alexandra had to die because she discovered the
fake coins Garrett had Jessica make. Garrett wrote the note and gave it to
Alexandra, probably when he drove Victoria back to her hotel after our dinner
together." Molly thought furiously. "Except that Garrett didn't meet
her at the museum. You were waiting there for her."

"Yes, I was." Chris nodded triumphantly. "And
I heard how she had talked crap about General Lee. He got the last word on that
English bitch, now didn't he?" The bright light in his eyes gave Chris a
feverish appearance. His left foot bounced up and down on the carpet in a
frenzy of jitters. His body language made it clear that he was quickly reaching
the end of his patience.

"Look, you're very attractive, Chris," Molly
hastily lied. At this moment, he was no longer the show's handsome furniture
assistant; he was a killer, an unbalanced puppet without a puppeteer. To Molly,
the figure seated on the bed holding a gun in his hand was the most grotesque
person in the world. What was taking the police so long? "Even if things
didn't work out between you and Garrett you could have anyone you want." She
spoke rapidly, sensing that Chris was now bored with their conversation.
"Why don't you get out of here and start over? I won't say anything. You
can even take my car."

Chris jumped up from the end of the bed, his face contorted
with fury. "Don't tell me what to do!" he shouted, holding the gun up
to Molly's chest again. "I'm not stupid!" His voice lowered to a
dangerous whisper. "As soon as I take care of you, I
will
get lost.
Don't you worry about me, sweetheart."

"But what about the coins?" Molly squeaked desperately.
"You're going to leave empty-handed after all that you’ve been through? I
could get them for you. I can get into the police station—"

"I
said
I'm not stupid, now—" A sudden
knocking on the door interrupted Chris's imminent threat.

"Yoohoo!" Mrs. Hewell cheerfully banged. "Mr.
Huntington? Are you all done with your tea? I've come to collect the
cups."

"Damn all women to hell," Chris growled. He pulled
Molly to her feet and jammed the butt of the gun viciously into the small of
her back. "Move!" he whispered in her ear. "Get into the
bathroom. You make one sound, I kill the landlady, and then I'll come back for
you. I've got nothing to lose now, understand?" his aquamarine eyes
glittered feverishly.

Inside the bathroom, Molly stifled a scream. For there was
Garrett's body, dumped unceremoniously in the claw foot tub. Blood ran down the
side of his sandy blond hair and stained the white porcelain. Molly stared at
him and gasped. She’d never seen that much blood before.

As she watched Chris shut the bathroom door, Molly caught a
momentary glimpse of silver before Chris suddenly dropped like a stone on the
other side of the door. Instantly, Mrs. Hewell's kind face peered around the
doorframe.

"Are you all right, dearie?" she asked, her pink
face framed by loose wisps of gray hair.

Molly exhaled in relief. "Yes ... I'm okay."

Mrs. Hewell caught sight of Garrett's body. "Heaven
save us!" she shouted. "Is he ... ?"

Molly quickly bent over Garrett and felt for a pulse on his
neck. It took her a few seconds to find it. She had often wondered how people
in movies always seemed to locate the pulse on their first try. It wasn’t an
easy thing to do. "He's alive," she pronounced, noting that blood
still flowed from his head wound. “Could you hand me a towel?”

"He doesn't look alive," Mrs. Hewell fretted.

"Dead men don't bleed," Molly said, sinking down
against the tub. She pressed the towel against Garrett’s wound while nervously
eying the pair of inert feet in leather loafers on the other side of the
cracked bathroom door. Mrs. Hewell followed Molly's gaze.

"Don't you worry about him, dear. Those Victorians knew
how to make one solid sterling tea tray. He's out like a light."

At that moment, Clara stepped into Garrett's room and called
Molly's name. Detective Robeson was right on her heels, followed by Combs and
two other officers.

"I’m in here!" Molly replied to her mother's call,
feeling like a shaken baby bird fallen from the nest. Clara took one look at
her ashen-faced daughter and enfolded her tightly in her arms. "It’s all
right," she whispered. “It’s all over now.”

Molly nestled against her mother for a moment, breathing in
Clara's familiar scents of gardenia perfume and sweet pea hand lotion. After a
full minute, Molly finally stopped shaking and was able to drink some of the
hot, sweet tea Mrs. Hewell offered her.

Detective Robeson stared back and forth between the three
women in the bathroom, the dented silver tray laying on the rug, and the two
prone bodies belonging to Chris Adams and Garrett Huntington.

"What the hell is going on?" Combs voiced the
question Robeson was just thinking to himself.

Molly pointed at Chris. "He's the killer,
Detective." Then she gestured at Garrett. "And he's the mastermind
behind it all."

Mrs. Hewell moved away from the tub so that Robeson could
examine Garrett. Robeson took out his cell phone, dialed, and requested for
paramedics to be dispatched immediately.

As his boss called for back-up, Combs put his hands on his
hips and glowered, his pale skin flushed beneath the freckles. "And just
how do you know all of this with such certainty?"

"I'm hoping I've got it all on tape," Molly said,
recovering some of her nerve. "Check in my purse, over there by the
ladder-back chair."

Combs ran a hand through his red hair.
"Ladder-back?"

"Oh,
I'll
get it," Clara snapped and dug
Molly's mini recorder out of the purse. She pressed the rewind button and Molly
listened contentedly as her purposefully timid voice followed by Chris's angry
one, rang out clearly from the tiny speaker.

"Good girl!" Clara said proudly as she handed the
recorder to Combs. The other police officers looked impressed.

"Yeah, nice going." One of them gave Molly. A
thumbs-up.

"Won't be a lick of use in court," Combs sulked,
jealous of the attention Molly was receiving. "Miss Appleby's interference
may just have cost us this case."

Clara refused to have her daughter's display of courage and
quick thinking diminished. "Well, this will certainly make your
questioning easier, now won't it? Without my daughter's help, you might still
be barking up the wrong tree." Molly stood and walked over to her mother's
side.

"Actually, we were on our way to pick up Mr. Adams. We
found out he bought that old desk before the show even began so we knew—"

"Officer Combs!" Robeson snapped his phone shut
and raised a pointer finger at Combs. "Escort Adams to my cruiser and then
go downstairs and wait for the paramedics."

A chastised Combs, along with two other officers, carried
the unconscious form of Chris Adams out of the room. Within minutes, the paramedics
arrived with a gurney and loaded Garrett onto its thin white mattress. Robeson
asked a fidgety Mrs. Hewell to leave the room in its present condition so that
he could visualize Molly's account as she told it. Fortified with more tea,
Molly quickly relived the eventful afternoon.

"And what's that in your pocket?" Robeson asked
after she was done, eying the point stretching the fabric of her pants pocket.

The letter opener! Molly had forgotten all about it.
"Lot of good that did me," she laughed weakly as she ran her finger
along the dull blade.

"Miss Appleby, you could have gotten yourself
killed," Robeson sternly reprimanded her. "As Officer Combs said, we
were on our way here after another
Hidden Treasures
crew member told us
Chris Adams was on his way to visit a
friend
at the Traveller. If I had
arrived to find another dead body, I would have been most... aggrieved."

Molly opened her mouth to defend herself when Robeson's
phone rang. He excused himself and left the room to take the call.

Frustrated by Robeson's scolding, Molly looked appealingly
at her mother. "He has a point, cupcake. You could have been hurt! And
what would I do without you? You're all I have in the world." Clara's eyes
welled up with tears.

Suddenly, a thought struck Molly. "Ma," she said
jumping out of her seat. "Keep an eye on the door, will you?"

"Why?" Clara was instantly suspicious.

"There's another mother I met whose whole life is her
child. We've got to make things right by her."

Molly grabbed Garrett's suitcase and popped it open. Rifling
through the case, she checked zippered pockets and dug furiously through the
toiletries bag. Hands shaking with agitation, Molly found what she was
searching for. Rolled up inside one of Garrett's dress shoes was a wad of money
held together with a rubber band. Molly shoved the roll of bills into her own
purse and closed the suitcase. Just as she returned to an upright position,
Robeson came back into the room.

"Chris Adams is coming to and though he's got a
splitting headache, I need to question him immediately. I'll be taking your
recorder for the moment, Miss Appleby. You'll both have to come down to the
station to give statements," Robeson told them. "Please tell Mrs.
Hewell to join you."

"Can we have some time to gather our wits?" Clara demanded.
"My daughter and I haven't even eaten lunch today."

"Of course," Robeson conceded graciously,
recognizing a formidable adversary when he saw one. 'Take as long as you
need."

Molly was just Jigging into her second bite of warm sweet
potato bread when Mrs. Hewell appeared from inside the kitchen carrying a small
bowl of whipped cream. Without asking, she dumped a hefty dollop onto the top
of Molly's slice and shook one loose from the serving spoon onto Clara's as
well.

"You are a wonder!" Molly exclaimed. "First
you save my life and then you serve me homemade whipped cream."

"Well, did you think I'd make you eat the canned
kind?"

"Reddi-wip?" Clara laughed. "My cats love
that stuff. As soon as they hear the sound of me spraying some on my bowl of ice
cream, they come running."

The women laughed companionably as Mrs. Hewell sank into one
of the dining room chairs. "We've never had such excitement here. I must
say it's quite tiring."

"How did you know to come into Garrett's room at just
the right moment?" Molly asked.

Mrs. Hewell smiled wearily. "I listened as your mama
called the police. They asked her so many questions that I decided I had better
put my ear up to the keyhole until the police arrived. Good thing, too. When I
heard that nasty man tell you to get in the bathroom, I knew I only had a few
seconds when his back would be turned to close the bathroom door. That's when I
came in and clobbered him." Her eyes glittered brightly. "It felt
good, too."

"We both appreciate your bravery," Clara said.

"I'm sorry about your Wedgwood um." Molly frowned
in sympathy. "Was it very valuable? And now your tea tray is dented,
too."

"Don't worry, dear. Everything's insured. And it's
always nice to have an excuse to go to every auction in town.

My husband won't be happy, but as long as I leave him supper
in the oven, he'll survive."

"Boy, will I miss your cooking when I'm back in
Durham." Molly cut another slice of sweet potato bread off the loaf.

"Back in Durham?" a male's voice questioned
teasingly from the hallway and Molly's head whipped around in disbelief.
"You can't leave yet. After all, I just got here," complained a
grinning Matt Harrison.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was unquestionably that nostalgia which imprinted upon
American furniture much of its English or Dutch aspect, for the desire to have
around one objects that bring back memories of home is hard to eradicate from
the hearts of men.

—Arthur De Bles,
Genuine Antique Furniture

Clara watched with interest as her daughter flung herself
into the open arms of the tall, wide-shouldered young man standing shyly in
Mrs. Hewell's hall. Holding her forgotten teacup aloft, Clara was able to catch
a clear glimpse of light blue eyes, ruddy cheeks, and sun-streaked brown hair
before the man's gentle face was buried in Molly's neck.

"Well, that's a hero's welcome!" he exclaimed
softly, pulling away from Molly's embrace. "And all I did was show up with
the intention of protecting my best girl. I flew in from Ohio this morning and
drove straight here."

"I'd better be your
only
girl." Molly
playfully elbowed Matt in the side. "And I don't need protection any
longer. The case, as they say, is closed. But I'm glad you came,
nonetheless."

"Hrrrrrmph," Clara cleared her throat, eager to be
introduced to the man her daughter was obviously smitten with.

"Ma, this is Matt Harrison. He and I... work
together..." Molly fumbled for an explanation. As she and Matt couldn't
seem to get in the swing of full-time dating, she could hardly introduce him as
her boyfriend.

"I can't believe Molly hasn't told me more about
you," Clara began as Molly made frantic signals for her to keep quiet.

"Mrs. Appleby." Matt smiled sincerely. "It's
a pleasure to meet you. Molly talks about you all the time."

"Well, I'd love to hear what she says." Clara
arched her dark eyebrows at her flustered offspring, finally taking a sip of
tepid tea.

"But right now, we have to go down to the station and
give our statements." Molly tugged at her mother's sleeve.

Clara wasn't quite finished appraising Matt. She looked him
up and down like a horse buyer examining a prize thoroughbred up for sale.

Matt's ruddy cheeks flared bright red as he became aware of
Clara's scrutiny. He turned to Molly. "I'd better come with you. If you're
giving a statement, then that means you haven't kept your nose out of this mess
like you promised to."