A Devious Lot (Antiques & Collectibles Mysteries Book 5) (19 page)

In Molly’s opinion, the café was as much a work of art as the museum itself, with its grand archways, sculptured pillars, and beautiful mosaic tiles on the floor and ceiling. She found Blaze at the table by the door, eating a salad and reading the London
Times
. He stood and shook her hand when she introduced herself.

“Please, sit,” he said. “Excuse me for eating. I’ve been running around all day.” He smiled at her from across the table. “I was so pleased to talk to your mother about the eye miniature. She said you had it with you.”

“Yes, I do,” Molly said. She handed him the jewelry box. “I’m not an expert on eye miniatures, but this one looks authentic.”

Blaze studied the brooch in silence. Molly took the opportunity to study him. He was in his early forties with a narrow face and short dark hair. A pair of rimless eyeglasses slipped down his nose, and he pushed them up with his index finger.

“The leather box with its detailed etchings is lovely and in remarkably good condition,” he said. “It looks like it hasn’t seen the light of day until recently. The brooch itself is a thing of beauty. I like the design, with the amethyst stones and pearls, and the portrait is exquisitely detailed. The artist was certainly talented. I don’t see a signature, but on closer examination we might be able to identify the artist.”

“Do you know when it was painted?”

“I’d say mid-nineteenth century, the Victorian era,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

“My mother didn’t tell you?”

“She said she’d leave that part up to you.”

“Unfortunately, it’s a tragic story. The owner was murdered.” Blaze’s eyebrows shot up. “I found it hidden in a tin she used to store her cat’s toys.”

“Did you steal it?”

“What? Of course not,” Molly said. “Inspector Boyle of the Keensburg police knows I have it.”

Blaze looked relieved. “Tragic story, indeed. I’m sorry to hear it.”

“She was poisoned,” Molly said. “I think it’s possible the person who killed her wanted the eye miniature. That’s a longer story, and I won’t bore you with the details, but I can tell you she got the brooch as a gift from her ex-boyfriend about a year ago. He’s been trying to get it back from her ever since, but she refused to give it to him unless he paid her for it. He didn’t want to, but finally did agree to buy it back. She was going to have it appraised and tell him how much she wanted. I’m wondering how much it’s worth.”

“You want to know if he killed her for it because it was worth a lot of money,” he said. Molly nodded. “Again, we’d need to do a more extensive examination, but as an estimate, based on my preliminary exam, I’d say you’re looking at it selling at auction for anywhere between five and six thousand dollars.”

“Okay, that’s a good amount of money, but not a fortune,” she said.

Blaze closed the lid and handed her the box. “Most artists create for the love of art, not money. Many collectors feel the same way about the antiques they acquire. They keep them for sentimental reasons. It has nothing to do with money.”

Molly wondered if Giles would kill Tiffany for five or six thousand dollars. If he was racking up bills again and his mother refused to pay them, he might have felt desperate enough to. But he was engaged to Penelope, and she was worth millions. She could easily take care of any debt. It dawned on Molly that could be the real reason Penelope left him. Maybe she’d already grown tired of his spending habits. His offer to buy the eye miniature from Tiffany, and telling her to name her price, was the final straw. Or was Blaze right, and Giles had a sentimental attachment to it? Did he still love Tiffany? That could explain why Penelope left, if she thought he was still in love with her.

Blaze interrupted her thoughts. “Since the owner is deceased, do you know who the eye miniature belongs to now?”

“I suppose it will go to her brother,” she said. “He lives in Australia.”

“I see.” He paused. “Will you be speaking to him? The reason I ask is that the eye miniature would make a lovely addition to the museum’s jewelry exhibit. Perhaps I could persuade him to make a donation or a loan.”

“I think that’s a fabulous idea,” Molly said. “I’ll tell Inspector Boyle you’d like to get in touch with him.”

Chapter 21

The train was crowded with commuters for the ride home, but by the time it arrived in Keensburg two hours later, only a handful of riders remained. Molly walked through the door of Foxcoat Cottage in time for dinner, excited to see her mother.

“You’re here!” she said, giving her a big hug.

“It’s so good to see you,” Clara said, kissing her cheek. “I know you’ve only been gone a couple of weeks, but I’ve missed you.” She stood back and looked at her. “I must say, madam, I love your new hairstyle. It’s
très chic
.”

“You don’t think it’s too short?”

“It’s fabulous.”

“I hope Matt will like it.”

“He’ll love it.”

Molly hung her jacket in the closet and sniffed the air. “Something smells delicious,” she said.

“Tessa made lasagna,” Clara said. “By the way, Inspector Boyle stopped by a few hours ago, along with some people who dug up the hemlock plant and took it away.”

“Good. I’m glad it’s gone,” Molly said.

“He told us he spent the day interviewing hairstylists at Beauty Chic, the village salon where Tiffany worked. He wants to talk to you about it.”

“I’ll call him later,” Molly said. “Right now, I need food.”

From the back of the house, Tessa called out. “Clara? Is that Molly? Is she home?”

“Yes, dear, we’re coming,” Clara said.

The kitchen smelled like heaven to Molly. She loved Italian food, and lasagna was one of her favorite dishes. Clara poured the wine, Molly set the table, and Tessa set out a bowl of salad and a plate of Italian bread oozing with butter and garlic. When they were all seated around the table, Molly lifted her wineglass in a toast.

“To my mother,” she said. “Thank you for flying across the big blue ocean to be with us.”

“Cheers to that,” Tessa said, and they all clinked their glasses together.

Molly took a bite of lasagna and moaned. “Mm. This is really good, Tessa. You have to give me the recipe before I go home.”

“How did it go today?” Tessa asked.

Between another helping of lasagna and another glass of wine, Molly told them about her day. When she got to the part about Kofi Tatum’s private investigator report, she noticed her mother and aunt exchange knowing looks. Molly paused. “What’s going on?” she said. “You don’t seem surprised.”

Clara said, “We were going to wait until after dinner to tell you, but now that you’ve brought it up, we have news of our own.” She set her fork down. “I found Kofi’s photographs.”

Molly stared at her. “Are you joking?”

“No, I’m not. They’re in the other room.” Clara pushed back her chair. “I’ll get the envelope.”

She returned with an eight-by-ten envelope, which she handed to Molly. Inside was Kofi’s printed report, a receipt for services paid, and a stack of photographs bound with a binder clip.

“I can’t believe this,” Molly said. “Where did you find it?”

“Tiffany’s cottage,” Clara said. “Tessa asked me to go back over for Gingersnap’s bed. As soon as I picked it up, I knew something was wrong. It felt lumpy on the bottom. I found the envelope hidden between the bottom of the bed and the lining.”

Molly flipped through the photographs. There was Giles smiling and talking to Penelope as they walked down a London street. Others showed him with his arm around her waist, strolling through a park, sitting on a bench holding hands, and a happy couple enjoying candlelight dinners. The most incriminating photo showed Giles and Penelope silhouetted in an upstairs window of her townhouse. He was shirtless and she wore a flimsy nightgown. They kissed each other passionately, her hand on his chest, his hand cradling the back of her head.

Tessa said, “I feel very sorry for Tiffany. It must have been painful to look at these photos. The affair was so blatant.”

“Yeah, I thought the report by itself was bad, but seeing the photographs makes it worse,” Molly said. She put everything back in the envelope and set it aside. Her food was getting cold and she dug back into her meal. They ate in silence for a while and Molly thought about Giles cheating on Tiffany, and how the photos proved he was having an affair. “Tiffany never told Giles about the photos or report,” she said. “She thought he was acting like himself again and had stopped seeing Penelope. What I don’t get is why she didn’t try to talk things out with him. Kara said they’d been fighting a long time about their goals and future plans. They were obviously having problems.”

Clara said, “Sometimes it’s easier to pretend something bad isn’t happening, even if it’s staring you in the face. We get comfortable with the status quo, we tolerate situations we would tell our best friend to run away from. We become afraid of change.”

“I can testify I’m guilty of that,” Molly said. “Before I met Matt, I dated a lot of frogs.”

“I think we’re all guilty of it, at some point in our life,” Clara said. “It’s human nature.”

Molly sopped up the sauce on her plate with her last bite of bread. “Well, I’ll have to call Boyle and tell him what I found out. I hope he doesn’t get mad at me for snooping around Penelope’s past.”

Tessa said, “Why don’t you give him a call now? Your mother and I will do the cleaning up.”

Molly took her phone into the sitting room and sat on the sofa.

Boyle picked up right away. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you,” he said. “How did it go with Kara Malone?”

For the second time in less than an hour, Molly gave a thorough account of her day. She didn’t stop to explain why she’d gone to Penelope’s former residence and place of business until she was at the end of her narrative. Boyle remained silent throughout the rendition. She ended by saying, “I wasn’t sure if I’d find out anything useful about her. But I think it’s pretty clear Penelope has a habit of running away when things get tough. I hope you’re not upset.”

“On the contrary,” Boyle said. “I think you accomplished a great deal. More than I did today.” Molly felt herself relax. “I’ll add it all to my file. I’ve been putting together a profile on Penelope. From what you’ve told me, I think it’s fair to say Dora’s death sent her into a downward spiral, one she hasn’t quite recovered from.”

“I wonder if she took Giles back because she was feeling vulnerable after Dora’s death,” Molly said.

“She needed someone to lean on, he was there to comfort her?”

“Exactly,” she said. “My mother told me you went to Beauty Chic today.”

“I interviewed the stylists Tiffany worked with,” he said. “The popular consensus is that a stranger broke into her cottage and killed her. No one wants to think about a killer living behind the tidy hedgerows and stone walls of their tranquil village.”

Molly couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. “Did anyone seem resentful of her working there?”

“Why would they be resentful?”

“Seriously?” Molly laughed. “Maybe you should’ve left the hair salon interviews to me. Tiffany was a top hairstylist in London. A stylist at a country salon could easily have been jealous, or afraid she’d steal their clients.”

“You’re right, I should have sent you,” he said. “But I didn’t get the sense anyone disliked her. There was one person I couldn’t interview, a male stylist, name of Cecil Carter. It was his day off and he wasn’t home when I stopped by. As I have to appear in court tomorrow on another case and won’t have time to see him, I’d like to enlist your help again. His station is next to Tiffany’s. There’s a good chance he knew her better than the others.”

“Sure, I can go by tomorrow and see if he’ll talk to me,” Molly said. “Is that it? Because I’ve got to get back to the kitchen for dessert. Tessa made tiramisu.”

Chapter 22

Molly stood in front of her bedroom mirror the next morning trying to tame her hair. As she struggled with it, Clara walked in and laughed.

“There’s nothing funny about the pickle I’m in,” Molly huffed. “I slept on my hair weird, and now it’s sticking straight up and I can’t get it under control.” She pointed to the offending section of her hair. “I’m hopeless. I have no idea how to style my new hairdo.”

“I’ll help you,” Clara said. “Where’s the hairdryer?”

“On the bed.”

Clara got the dryer and plugged it in. She took the round brush in her hand and used it like a pro, pulling her hair from the root, slowly moving the heat in a downward angle until every last strand was back in place.

When she was done, Molly clapped her hands. “Yay! It looks great!”

“It’s not hard, it just takes practice, and patience,” Clara said.

“Patience? Uh-oh.”

“I know it’s not your strong suit, but keep working on it,” Clara said. She plucked the sleeve of her Fletcher Allen sweatshirt. “Is this what you’re wearing today?”

“It was, but I guess I’m not anymore,” Molly said. Clara was dressed in tan corduroy slacks, a baby blue cashmere sweater, and a strand of pearls around her neck. Her makeup was perfectly applied, and not a single hair was out of place. “How is it you were jet-lagged yesterday, and today you look like a model heading off to a fashion shoot?”

“Only a model? I’d rather be queen.”

“I think they already have one of those here,” Molly said.

Clara patted her arm. “I pay attention to detail, that’s all,” she said.

“You were born with style,” Molly said. “I promise I’ll change into something more presentable before I leave the house.”

“Good girl,” Clara said. “Let’s have breakfast. I’ll show you how to style your hair later.”

They found Tessa in the kitchen, the table already set with cereal bowls, a slab of butter, and marmalade and strawberry jam.

Molly threw up her hands. “I’m never going to beat you to the kitchen to make breakfast,” she said.

“It’s only cereal and toast,” Tessa said. “But if it makes you feel better, I promise I’ll let you make breakfast for me before you go home.”

“We should set a date on a calendar,” Molly said. “If I hadn’t had a blasted hair emergency this morning, I would have been down sooner. Mom came to the rescue and straightened it out. Literally.”