A Killing in Antiques (26 page)

We sat in the warm sunshine, and when a Volvo pulled up and parked in front of the line of cars, I pointed out John Wilson. “He’s becoming known for his fund-raising at the museums,” I said.

“I’ve never met him,” Muriel said. “But I’ve heard of him. My old boss once considered him for his fund-raising skills. That didn’t last long, because one of the trustees put the kibosh on the suggestion.”

“Did he say why?”

“It was his opinion that Wilson micromanages everything.”

“He’s a fussy sort,” I said.

“He may be fussy, but it was his practice of keeping all of the information to himself that was the main issue at the museum,” she said.

“Hard to work with someone like that,” I agreed.

“Especially in money matters.”

I nodded. “He’s a bit pretentious, too,” I said, quietly savoring, for a moment, the fact that he’d been wrong about the Matilde jewelry.

We watched him walk down the hill. He looked about as casual as I’d ever seen him. Khaki pants, loafers, a blue oxford button-down shirt, pale yellow sweater tied over his shoulders. Neat-looking.

Muriel giggled a little. I looked at her.

“That sweater,” she said. “I get silly every time I see someone wearing a sweater tied on that way. I start wondering if I should try to begin a trend by wearing my panty hose tied around my legs.”

We shared an idiotic grin, and turned back to watch Wilson as he walked down the hill, then strolled toward the head of the tables. There he sat in the space I’d saved near Mr. Hogarth.

I was comfortable here, and intended to visit several people before I returned. I sat nibbling with Muriel and saying hello to folks around us, until I saw Natalie walk in from the driveway with an old-fashioned picnic basket over her arm. She looked spectacular.

I stood up and waved to her. She nodded and signaled that she’d join us, and headed for the food section of the tables. She took a bowl from her basket, probably potato salad since she’s famous for her potato salad, and a dish of something else I couldn’t quite see, and then she headed our way.

“You’ve missed this whole Brimfield,” I said after the introductions.

“It was unavoidable,” she said, and offered no further explanation.

I was just about to grill her about her new flame, when the next arrivals caused such a stir within our little circle that I stopped to take it in. It was Baker and Al, acting positively bewitched with each other.

Natalie, who knew both, absorbed what was happening immediately. She waved them over and engaged them in a sugary conversation about the beautiful day, the beautiful weather, the beautiful picnic. She smiled slyly over her shoulder at me.

She was not going to tell me about her new flame. I was going to have to wheedle it out of her when she finally forgave me for phoning at four a.m. She’s so willful sometimes that it’s impossible to deal with her.

I
circled the tables, visiting with people I had missed, reaping compliments for the first picnic I hadn’t actually put together. That done, I returned to my own brood.

Monica borrowed the van for another look at the amber necklace. I gave her the keys, reminded her to return by three o’clock so she could ride back to the Cape with TJ, and took her place at the table. Mr. Hogarth tapped a thermos. “Ginger tea, or coffee?” he said.

“I like ginger anything, but the tea sounds especially good to me today,” I said.

“Too New Age for me,” Mr. Hogarth said. “None of that stuff can beat good strong coffee for a pick-me-up.”

TJ and Coylie were ready for second helpings. When they asked if they could bring us anything, we all declined.

“Nice young fellows,” Mr. Hogarth said as they moved off. “And that daughter-in-law of yours is a gift. It’s good to see young people so interested in antiques.”

I nodded. “They’re lucky they have you to nurture them.”

He smiled hugely. “Lucy, you know how much I love having someone to coach. I enjoy that part as much as I enjoy the business of antiques.”

“I do know,” I said. “It’s wonderful having your guidance, even now, but in the early years it saved me from so many mistakes.” I looked at the crowd clustered around the tables. There were about fifty people here now. “I wonder how many of us here today are your alumni.”

He scanned the crowd, then turned back to me. “I see a few, but the two of you were my star pupils.”

I turned to Wilson. “You too?” I asked.

He nodded but said nothing.

“I even tried to instill a little sense into your rascal friend, but he wasn’t interested,” the old man said. Wilson got red in the face, but the old man continued. “I wonder now if I misread that kid.”

“Why don’t you just leave it alone?” Wilson snapped.

Mr. Hogarth looked over his glasses at Wilson. “Consider it done,” he said quietly.

“Who are we leaving alone?” I asked.

They both turned and stared at me. They seemed surprised that I was sitting there. I was a star pupil a minute ago. When my stellar intelligence finally kicked in, it dawned on me that Mr. Hogarth was talking about Monty. Of course!

He must know about Monty’s old trouble. That’s what’d been bothering him. He’d been holding a grudge all this time.

“Monty?” I said. Mr. Hogarth nodded curtly.

Wilson was irritated, and Mr. Hogarth couldn’t seem to let go. It was hard to imagine Wilson and Monty as friends; they were so different that I looked at Wilson again, considering who they might have been back then.

Could they have done something foolish as young men? Monty had been the one caught in a bad situation. It was no stretch to visualize Wilson convincing someone, a young Monty, say, into taking blame for him. I snapped out of that train of thought when I became aware of Wilson’s discomfort at my staring.

TJ and Coylie returned with more food and chatter, and Wilson, noticeably irritated, gathered his things and moved on. As he drifted away I watched. He chatted briefly with Natalie, said a few quick hellos to other people, and then he climbed up the hill to his car.

Wilson, Monty, and Mr. Hogarth? I asked Mr. Hogarth how they all knew one another way back then, but his mood had soured, and he told me what I already knew, that antiques was a small world. I’d catch him in a better mood later; I’d like to know more about their relationship.

Some of the other picnickers were leaving, and I decided I’d better visit anyone I had missed. Baker and Al had settled at the far end of the tables, and I headed their way. Natalie was about halfway between us, so I detoured around the other side, avoiding contact until I could figure out a way to get back into her good graces.

When I arrived Al was saying good-bye to Baker. She had to return to the B&B to prepare for the evening crowd. Baker had a spot of egg salad on his chin. Al wiped it off with her napkin. She patted him on the cheek and turned and walked up the hill to the car. Baker sighed and held his hand to his cheek, gazing after her. I couldn’t believe this. They’d known each other less than twenty-four hours.

“That’s your car she’s driving off in,” I said.

“I know,” he said.

“How are you getting around?”

“I thought you’d give me a ride back, but if not, someone around here is sure to be going that way.”

“As long as you can wait until the picnic is over, and the cleanup is done,” I said, hoping to seem overworked.

“I’ll help pick up,” he said.

He was such a good person, and he had really made this a great picnic, truly lightening the burden for me. “It was a great idea to have people bring the furniture, Baker.”

“Al told me to do it that way,” he said. “She also told me how to handle the food assignments. She’s taught me so much,” he said. Another sigh.

I looked at him. He was perfectly serious. He turned to me and said, “I can’t thank you enough for introducing us, Lucy.”

My God.

“Will you write about Monty in the next
LIAR
?” I asked, bringing him back to earth.

“Yes, of course. I thought of weaving aspects of the antiques market into Monty’s story. It’s clearly affected the tone of this show. But on reflection, a simple appreciation might be best. Without a solution to the murder, I’m not sure how I’ll sum up the story.”

“Well, some things are looking up, at least for Billy. A friend of Coylie’s may be able to provide an alibi for him,” I said.

“Well, figure out the rest of it and I’ll have my story,” he said.

I told him what Shirley said about Monty meeting the buyer for the pickle castor just before he was murdered. “The pickle castor guy must be the killer,” I said.

“It may have just been a deal Monty had lined up.”

“It very likely was a deal,” I said. “But anyone legitimate would have come forward by now. I’m going to ask Billy what he remembers.” In fact, I hadn’t talked to Billy since I had left him in Matt’s capable hands.

When Monica returned at three, more people were leaving. She didn’t buy the amber necklace after all. She decided to leave it behind, but she still struggled with that decision. TJ was ready to go, but Monica dithered around saying good-bye to everyone she had met. Bubbling with gratitude, she hugged and thanked me for her wonderful day. Okay, okay, so everyone has had a fine time, now let’s get on with it. She finally got into the truck with TJ, and they slowly pulled away. I waved good-bye. Lord, it took them forever.

Now I could hardly wait for the picnic to be over, but the cleanup plodded along. People and furniture flowed out of the park in a slow but steady stream. When my final trash bag was filled, only a few of us remained, and those who stayed were helping.

I’d go see Billy face-to-face. He must have known what was happening around Monty’s Contents in the days before the murder. I should have talked to him sooner. I was thinking about what to ask him, when I was startled by Natalie’s voice.

“Were you going to ignore me forever?” she said.

I swung around, surprised. “I thought you had left,” I said.

“I didn’t, and we’ve played cat and mouse long enough,” she said. “Are we going to chat?”

Now? I looked at my watch. Almost four o’clock. I had to get to Worcester to see Billy. From there I planned on driving back to Boston to get my first decent night’s sleep of the week.

“Yes, of course I want to chat,” I said. How long could it take? “I’ll be finished here in five minutes. Shall we have coffee somewhere?”

“It’s a little complicated,” she said.

What isn’t?

“I have an appointment to see some ivory netsukes in Sturbridge,” she said. “It will probably take me until, say, five, to be on the safe side. How about meeting me at the Ugly Duckling at about five fifteen?”

No way. The Ugly Duckling means dinner, not just coffee, and there’s no way I could get to Worcester and back by five fifteen. And hanging around here for over an hour, then eating dinner, then going to Billy’s—I didn’t know. I just didn’t know.

“I thought ivory was illegal,” I said, stalling.

“New ivory is illegal, elephants are endangered, and certain old ivory is off limits, too, but there’s still a legal market for most of the antique stuff.”

“Well, I have an appointment, too,” I lied. It was sort of an appointment, even if Billy didn’t know about it yet. “I can
probably
get back by six.” Even that would be a tight squeeze if I had to go looking for Billy. But she was already agreeing to meet me at the Ugly Duckling. I’d better not complicate things further.

We wished each other luck; she assumed that I had an antiques deal lined up, too. So, I’d come back here from Worcester, only a couple hours out of my way, we’d chat, everything would be all better between us, and I could still get back to Boston and get some sleep.

Baker joined us. Oops, I had forgotten that I said I’d drive him back to Brimfield. But I didn’t have to. Natalie offered to get him to Al’s, which was just slightly out of her way on the drive to Sturbridge.

 

I drove away from Brimfield, hardly noticing the explosions of greenery along my route. How could this be referred to as merely green? And yet, I was nearly at the end of Dead Horse Hill before I woke to the panoply of greens being squandered on me.

At some level, though it’s never been mentioned, I knew that Silent Billy lived in the little room at Monty’s Contents. I found him in the office, which was still a-tumble with the mess I’d seen the other day. The door had been replaced, but the disorder within the room hadn’t changed.

“Just finished up,” he said, nodding toward the room. Maybe this was how it was supposed to look.

“Can I ask you a few questions, Billy?”

He nodded his shaggy head once, said, “Okay,” and motioned me to follow him to the workroom, where he took his place at the workbench.

“Police think I did it,” he said.

“I know you didn’t. I may even have information that will help.”

“Matt said you found the guy with the broken frame.”

“Frankie, yes. If the murder can be pinpointed to when you were with Frankie, you’re golden. If not, we should know anything that can help.”

Billy nodded, and I plunged in. “What did Monty say about the pickle castor, Billy?”

“Pickle castor?”

“Monty was meeting someone about a pickle castor the morning of the murder,” I said.

“Why?”

“I was hoping you knew, Billy.”

He nodded, shrugged his shoulders, looked mystified. His confusion seemed genuine. Why? He was around here every day; he must know something. Monty was not secretive. Reading his moods was easy, and he was known to say what was on his mind. I had to get Billy talking.

“Did Monty stay at the campsite?” I asked.

“No. He hated camping, needed a comfortable bed.”

“Okay, so you were up there alone. What time were you supposed to meet him?”