Angel Condemned (3 page)

“You sure you can’t keep this just between us?”

Bree began to be very curious about what skeletons White might have in his closet. How complicated could a lawsuit over a magazine cover get? “Sure,” she promised. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you, darlin’. I know you will.”

“I’ll let you know if I get in over my head and have to call someone else in to help out.” Bree leaned back against the desk. She met Prosper White’s chilly eyes with an interrogative lift of her eyebrows. “You said a former acquaintance is claiming damages for a work of art you took from him? May I see the Summons and Complaint again?”

He pulled the long buff envelope from inside his suit jacket and handed it back to her.

“As I was sayin’,” Cissy said. “This what’s-his-name and his wife . . .”

“Allard and Jillian Chambers,” Bree read aloud from the summons.

“Allard Chambers,” Cissy repeated scornfully. “He’s a—what did you call him, Prosper?”

“A failed academic. Also a fraud.” White flicked his fingers dismissively. “I believe the dreadful Jillian is, as well.”

Bree looked up. “The address here says they’re the owners of Chambers Antiques and Reclaimables. First, the plaintiffs are alleging fraudulent representation on the part of said defendants, Prosper Peter White and his agent, Alicia Kennedy. Who is Alicia Kennedy?”

“Alicia Kennedy is my assistant curator at the Frazier. She’s not my agent. My agent’s out of New York.”

“‘Agent’ in this context means someone paid to act on your behalf.” Bree referred to the summons again. “This basically says that Alicia Kennedy stole the magazine for you. That the ‘1952 edition of
Photoplay
magazine, issue number 3, edition 5, with cover featuring rock-and-roll star Elvis Presley, currently on display in the Frazier Museum exhibit
A Century of Magazine Americana
was, in fact, removed from the premises of plaintiff’s site of business at 35 Whitaker Street, Savannah, Georgia, by fraudulent means, pursuant to Georgia State statute’ . . . Blah, blah blah. I’ll spare you the citation.” She read on. “Second, it’s a demand for rescission.”

Everybody looked blank. Bree clarified, “Chambers is suing for the return of the magazine.” She folded the summons into neat thirds. “Are you in possession of the magazine, Mr. White?”

“Of course I am. It’s an integral part of the Frazier exhibit.”

“Did the magazine come from Mr. Chambers’s shop?”

White tapped his fingers impatiently on his knee. “The charges are ridiculous.”

Bree waited for an answer.

“Yes, the magazine came from Allard’s shop, and no, I didn’t steal it or obtain it by fraudulent means. As I said, it’s a critical part of the show at the Frazier. I sent my assistant down to buy the cover from him. Legally. We have a receipt.”

“How much did you pay for it?”

A funny look passed over White’s features. Sly—that was it. After a moment he said, “Twenty dollars.”

“This brouhaha is over a twenty-dollar item? Surely you can find another magazine from the era to replace it.”

“This isn’t about a twenty-dollar item,” White said. “It’s about much, much more. It’s Chambers’s pitiful attempt at revenge. He’s a nothing, a nobody, and a fool. I refuse to play games with the man or his dreadful wife.”

Bree sighed. Arrogance could cost this guy a lot of money in legal fees. “Your assistant is the agent named as codefendant in the suit? Alicia Kennedy?”

“That’s correct.”

“A slippery little miss, that Miss Kennedy,” Sissy muttered.

Bree glanced at her aunt and mentally filed the comment away for future reference. She turned her attention back to White. “There’s something a little unusual about this. Mr. Chambers is represented by Marbury, Stubblefield. It’s one of the largest firms in Savannah.”

White cocked his head. “Meaning?”

Bree had a lot to say about Marbury, Stubblefield, but lawyers didn’t throw dirt on each other in front of the laity. Unless they were all in court, with a judge to referee. “Meaning that John Stubblefield generally won’t take on a case that doesn’t represent a lot of potential fees. He’s got such a high overhead that he can’t afford to.” She gestured at the floor. “One of the satellite offices is beneath us. They have the entire fourth floor. And if what you’ve told me so far is true, this is a violation of the Uniform Commercial Code.”

“This doesn’t have a thing to do with the military,” Cissy said with an air of reassurance.

“The UCC is a set of federal regulations regarding business transactions,” Bree said. “You’re right. It doesn’t have a thing to do with the military. It also doesn’t carry much in the way of penalties for something like this—and it wouldn’t seem to carry much weight with the likes of John Stubblefield. But it could cost a fair amount in legal fees if both parties are . . .” She searched for a phrase less inflammatory than “pig-headed.” “Convinced of their positions.”

“Chambers doesn’t have two nickels to rub together,” White said with malicious satisfaction. He smiled at Cissy. “If money is what it takes, I’m sure we can out-lawyer him.”

Bree let the implied slur on her and her profession pass. “So what’s this case really about?”

“It’s bullpuckey that’s what it is,” Cissy said indignantly. “This Chambers is jealous, jealous, jealous. He always has been, and he chose this minute to make a stink because everybody in Savannah’s beatin’ down the doors to see what Prosper created. The
Magazine Americana
exhibit is the most successful thing the Frazier’s ever done! And it’s all due to Prosper! Before Prosper came on the scene to rescue the Frazier, it was the dowdiest museum in the whole damn South. A lot of molderin’ old Confederate uniforms and a bunch of rooster feathers from Robert E. Lee’s second-best hat! And now look at it! There was a line for tickets all the way down to St. Bonaventure’s on opening day, and business hasn’t slacked off since!” Cissy’s face was pink with indignation.

“My,
my
,” EB said. “Let me get you a glass of water, Ms. Carmichael.”

Bree shifted against the hard edge of EB’s desk. Her back hurt. The place where she’d broken her leg some weeks ago ached a little. Maybe Cissy was right. It might be time to get a few comfortable chairs in here or at least enough so that more than three people could sit down at the same time. “You said Mr. Chambers and Mr. White have known each other for a while, Aunt Cissy?”

“It’s not ‘Mister’ Chambers; it’s ‘Professor.’ Or ‘Doctor.’ Whatever. And I wish to goodness you’d quit callin’ Prosper ‘Mr. White.’ He’s going to be your new uncle, Bree, so at least you can start callin’ him by his Christian name.” Cissy fanned herself vigorously with one hand. “My goodness it’s hot in here.”

“Let me get you some of that water,” EB said. “Or even better, some nice cold ’Co-Cola.”

“No, thank you, EB. I’m just all of a doo-dah over this, and that’s a fact.” She took a deep breath and grinned a little sheepishly at Bree. “You can tell I’m upset, can’t you? I’m going all over Southern.”

“It’s an unsettlin’ situation,” EB said. “What with Elvis on the cover of that magazine and all.”

“Isn’t that a fact.”

The two women looked wisely at one another. Bree pinched her nose so she wouldn’t laugh, then reached over and took a yellow pad from the stack on EB’s desk. She uncapped her pen. “Let’s try and get a handle on some facts. If you could give me some background, Mr. White? Does Professor Chambers have a grudge against you?”

“It’s because
Prosper’s
a genius with artifacts,” Cissy said, with a meaning-laden look at her niece. “It’s all on account of the Cross.”

“Hardly genius, Celia,” White murmured with an expression so self-satisfied Bree wanted to smack him, “but yes, Chambers has got a grudge. You may know that I have something of a reputation in the detection of fraudulent Roman antiquities. Chambers is—or rather was—an archeologist specializing in that period at one of our larger universities. He was on a dig near Constantinople—that’s Istanbul to you—and claimed to have discovered the Cross of Justinian. Or rather,
a
cross of Justinian. A pectoral piece—”

“It’s a necklace,” Cissy cut in.

“Not a necklace, Celia,” Prosper said contemptuously. “I do wish you wouldn’t show yourself quite the fool. It’s a piece designed to be displayed on the chest.”

“And Constantinople is really Istanbul, to me,” Bree said with an air of deceptive cordiality. “Thank you so much.” She caught EB’s look of alarm and managed to hang on to her temper. Her heart ached for Cissy. “Do go on.”

“A pectoral piece seventeen centimeters by five centimeters, of hand-hammered silver over cedar. It’s inlaid with jasper, coral, and lapis lazuli.” White tugged at his ear. “Quite beautiful, in its way. Also quite fraudulent.” He yawned and ran his hand over his short white hair. “Chambers tried to pass it off as a genuine antiquity. I knew it was a fake the moment I saw it.” His jaw set. His face was flushed. “Why he thought he could pull the wool over
my
eyes I’ll never know. Doctorates make some people arrogant.”

Bree wondered at the venom in his voice.

“Of course, I let the insurance company and the university know right away. In the ensuing fracas, Chambers lost his cushy academic job. And she had to resign.” He smiled in satisfaction.

“When did this happen?” Bree asked.

“Probably six months ago, just before I accepted the position here at the Frazier. Anyhow, I lost track of him”—he shrugged—“and it looks like he ended up here, running a junk shop.”

“But the junk shop has some items of value, surely,” Bree said. She refused to call a man who used the word “fracas” in normal conversation by his first name. Maybe she could get by without calling him anything at all. “It was where you found this copy of
Photoplay
for your current exhibit, isn’t it?”

“Well, that’s just it. I did find it, in a pile of unsorted scrap in the back of the shop. I knew Chambers would refuse to sell it to me. So I sent Alicia over to pick it up. She paid for it. In cash. She obtained a receipt. All perfectly legal.”

“Did Professor Chambers put any verbal or written restrictions on the sale of the magazine when he sold it to Alicia?”

White shrugged dismissively. “There may have been something written on the receipt. That it shouldn’t go to Prosper White or the Frazier. Something along those lines. But hardly enforceable. Once Alicia sold it to me . . .”

“Didn’t you say she was acting as your agent?”

“I
said
,” he mimicked her, “that I sent her over to pick it up. It’s Chambers who claims she’s my agent.”

“A good point, but it’s moot.” Cissy looked bewildered, so Bree added, “Not germane to the principle issue, which is the sale of the magazine to you, Mr. White. So you have a sales document with a condition of sale specifically forbidding the use of the magazine in the exhibit. It might save you a lot of grief if you just gave him the magazine back.”

Cissy gasped. White’s thin lips clamped shut. “Absolutely not. The cover is a critical part of the chronology of the
oeuvre.
”

Oeuvre. Fracas. Phooey. Bree bit her lip.

“We have original magazine covers from 1810 on. If we took out the
Photoplay
cover it would leave an irreparable hole in the
oeuvre
.”

Bree doubted that. There had to be hundreds of copies of
Photoplay
covers around. The magazine had been a huge success in the fifties.

“That magazine’s worth a ton of money now,” Cissy said, “but only as long as the exhibit is intact. You know we have some investors coming over just to bid on the whole thing? Alicia’s set it up. It’d absolutely ruin the entire deal if we let that little worm wreck it. We offered to give that demented man some money to go away, and you know what he wanted?! Fifty thousand dollars! That’s what he wanted! Then we get sued!”

White put his hand on Cissy’s shoulder and tightened it. “Remember what we said about making that investor interest public, Celia.” He released her shoulder and straightened up. “Let’s leave it at this, Miss Winston-Beaufort. You do whatever you have to do to make this annoyance go away. I’ll pay any fee that’s required. If you need help going up against this John Stubblefield character, buy it. I’ll pay for that, too. It’s a matter of principle to me. You understand?”

“Sure,” Bree said.

He gave her a thin, condescending smile. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now. We’ve trespassed on your time far too long. Get up, Celia. It’s time we were getting back to the Frazier. I’ve got people from New York in to talk about moving the exhibit to MoMA next month.”

“I’ll drive you over, honey,” Cissy said. “But I can’t stay. I have to see the caterer about the nibbles for the wedding reception. And you remember that I’m meeting Bree for dinner at seven? So I won’t see you tonight at all.” She jumped lightly to her feet, and Bree caught a whiff of Prada perfume. “Antonia’s joining us, too, right, Bree?”

“She’s looking forward to it.”

“Antonia’s an actress, Prosper. Bree’s little sister. I told you about her. She’s with the Savannah Repertory Theater. Doesn’t that sound grand?”

He shrugged. “Regional theater’s not quite my thing, after New York.”

If Cissy registered his contempt, it didn’t show. “The theater’s dark on Mondays. That’s what they call it when there’s no show on. She’s even prettier than Bree. And aren’t I a lucky auntie, to have two such beautiful, darling nieces.” She kissed Bree’s cheek, leaving a sticky mark from her lip gloss. “Thank you, darlin’. Thank you! You go talk to that man and slap him right up the side of the head.”

Smiling, Bree kissed her back. “I’ll have to go through Stubblefield’s office first. I promise to keep you in the loop.”

“Y’all keep Prosper in the loop, too!” Cissy looked over her shoulder as she followed White out the door and mouthed, “Be sure and send the bill to me.”