Dread on Arrival (17 page)

“Hi.” Melanie extended one hand, which was tipped with scarlet fingernails and loaded with rings. Her black dress barely contained a pair of exuberant breasts. A deep breath would have dislodged them both. “I’m Edmund’s personal assistant. He speaks very highly of your work. Very highly. That last show you had …” She raised both hands, as if appealing to the artist gods. “Fantastic.”

“You would have been thirteen years old at the time of her last show,” Jukka said gently. “Quill is known for her reticence. And perhaps even better known for producing very little in the past ten years. The art scene misses you, dear Quill.”

“We certainly do,” Melanie said, unabashed. Her eyes narrowed suddenly, to icy green slits. She poked Jukka with her elbow. “Will you look at what that woman’s doing now?”

Quill followed her stare to see Rose Ellen picking a bit of lint, or something, off Edmund’s lapel. She tucked her hand under his elbow and whispered in his ear.

“He hates being touched,” Melanie confided. “She just won’t leave him alone.” She snorted and took a big swallow of her drink and emptied it. From the look of it, it was either pure vodka or straight gin.

“Oh, well,” Jukka echoed. “Melanie, perhaps you would go to the bar and ask that very nice bearlike man for another glass of wine for me. You should probably not have any more yourself. Quill, may she fetch something for you, as well?”

Quill raised her glass. “I’m fine for right now.”

“Ah, the hostess must always keep her head clear. Very well then, off you go, Melanie. Do not,” he called after her, “hurry back.” He shook his head and chuckled. “A dear child. But quite spiteful.”

“She’s an expert in vintage clothes?”

“You have been reading up on us, again, the perfect innkeeper. Yes. She is. Amazingly enough. A graduate of the Parsons School of Fashion and not at all bad at evaluation. It doesn’t hurt that Edmund has known her family for years, of course. You know what the antiques world is like at all levels. It’s all in who you know.”

Quill admitted this was true.

Jukka wriggled his eyebrows. “You are wondering, perhaps, what has happened to my career that I am relegated to the somewhat distasteful duty of trailing after a reality show?”

“My goodness, Jukka. I wouldn’t quite put it like that.”

“You were always too nice for the game, my dear. But of course you are aware why I am here. There was this little item that made the newspapers a while ago …”

“The … ah … kerfuffle with Sotheby’s?”

“Price-fixing, yes.” He winced at his own use of the term. “Please. My dear. It is best forgotten. The bill has been paid, as it were. Our poor director was relegated to a prison term, and I, alas, to this. But it will not be forever.” He crossed one elegantly trousered knee and regarded the tip of his shoe. “No, indeed. A few marvelous finds, and I will be back in the good graces of my employers again.” He shot a surprisingly vindictive glance in Edmund’s direction. “If that son of bitch allows it.”

Quill couldn’t think of a response to this. If Edmund had some sort of hold over Jukka, she’d rather not know about it.

“Did anything of worth turn up at the audition this morning?”

“A tactful change of subject. That’s always been your forte, my dear. That, of course, and your skill with using light and dark in your painting. Yes, something of worth turned up at the auditions. Your marvelous Ms … . Schmidt, is it? I was in the auditorium and so missed much of the festiveness. But I would say that she indeed is a find of worth. She is your mayor?”

Quill laughed. “She is terrific, isn’t she? Is Marge our mayor? No. She’d like to be.” Quill took a sip from her glass and set it on the table. “Jukka, how long have you been on the
Attic
circuit?”

“Three hundred and ninety two days,” he said promptly. “The prison term of my director was three years. I am hoping that my own exile will not last that long. Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering how much you knew about the way they operate.”

He shrugged. “As you see. They select a small town, bring a team of experts in to scout items of value, and then feature the interesting pieces on the show.”

“The Bryants just made me an offer on
Sisters
.”

He drew his eyebrows together. “
Sisters
. Wait a moment. Ah. That very delightful piece you had on loan at MoMA. Ah, yes?”

“I was introduced to them as Mrs. McHale. I hadn’t met them before.”

“And?” The perplexed look vanished suddenly. “Ah. I see. The offer was for how much?”

“Two or three hundred.”

“Thousand? You are delightful as an artist, my dear. But—if you will forgive me—not at that price.”

“Dollars.”

Jukka threw back his head and laughed so hard the party noise quieted momentarily. He patted her hand. “If your question is, has your worth in the market fallen to that extent, I can assure you, it has not.”

“It flashed across my mind,” Quill admitted, “but only for a second. Mostly because Andrea said it was an effort by some hack to imitate a Quilliam. I guess that’s good, right? That she would say someone is trying to imitate me. So the second question that crossed my mind was whether or not Tree encouraged this sort of thing.”

“Mm.” Jukka’s rough-hewn features became totally expressionless. “Why do you want to know? If you are thinking of selling
Sisters
, you’d better leave it to me. I will get a decent price for it, you can be sure.”

“No, no. I won’t sell the painting. It’s not about the painting at all. It’s about what kind of man Edmund Tree is. He’s been here two days, and he’s already causing trouble, and I have no idea why. What can he possibly gain by pitting my sister against one of our best friends, for example. And those darn wedding rings …”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, my dear.”

Quill tried again. “Is Edmund Tree a quarrelsome sort of man? For example, when did this flap with the Barcinis begin?”

“Flap? Barcini. Wait. The pawnbroker from New Jersey. Is that who you mean? You know, the fellow is not bad at valuing certain kinds of antiques. Not bad at all. What flap are you talking about?”

“You know. The insults traded back and forth.”

“I wasn’t aware that they were. At a guess, I would say it would be jousting for market share. Edmund is offensively interested in market share. The reason is because the man is a—there is a wonderful expression in English. Wad of tight?”

“Tightwad.”

“That’s it. The show will feature a clip of the wedding, and therefore, the show is carrying all the expenses for this very lovely and very expensive trip to Hemlock Falls. Like many very wealthy people, Edmund is cheap. Stingy. A miser. An
Ancestor’s Attic
that is number three in the ratings does not have the money to spend that a number one show would have.”

“So this feud with Belter Barcini is about ratings?”

“It would seem so. As for your interest in when it began … I do not know when it began. I can, however, tell you that it is about to continue.”

Quill had been sitting with her profile to the French doors that led to the patio. Jukka took her chin gently between his fingers and turned her head. “Voilà, as my friends in Amiens are wont to say.”

Belter Barcini stomped through the doors. His black T-shirt was imprinted with a scarlet dress tie, a red cummerbund, and a violently purple dress shirt. He’d replaced his khaki shorts with black bicycling shorts. He hadn’t changed his flip-flops.

Josephine was right behind him, her Steadicam at the ready.

Behind them both was Mrs. Barcini, resplendent in gold lamé and acrylic high heels. Bringing up the rear was Hemlock Falls’s best (and only) advertising executive, Harvey Bozzel.

“Buon notte!”
Mrs. Barcini shouted. “You doughheads!”

“I’m telling you, Myles … It was stranger than the invasion of all those people from the Church of the Rolling Moses,” Quill said some hours later. She was curled up in her bed, her phone at her ear. “Belter insulted Edmund and Edmund insulted Belter and Mrs. Barcini insulted everybody. And through it all, Josephine is whirring away with her Steadicam, recording the whole thing. Harvey claims it’s all in aid of this Slap Down Thursday night. You know what else he said? That reality shows are scripted. Does that make any sense to you at all? I thought a reality show would be … I don’t know. Real.”

“You sound worried.”

“I
am
worried. I’m really worried. This Slap Down thing Thursday night. Something nasty’s going on. I can feel it. I wish I could shake the feeling that the burglaries have something to do with it. There’s an escalation factor, for one thing. The burglar seems to have stopped scouting attics and basements for forgotten items and moved into the big time. Tree claims the rings and the cuff links together are worth over one hundred thousand dollars. What’s more, Jukka Angstrom didn’t come right out and say it—I mean, this is a man who survived a case tried in the media during that Sotheby’s thing, and he’s not about to give anything away to someone like me—but there was a very strong inference that Tree has a scam going on the side.” She stopped. She realized she was sputtering with indignation.

He paused for so long that she thought she’d lost him. “Myles?”

“I’m here. I’m just lining everything up, in case you’ve decided to put your detective hat back on. We’ve agreed that it’s been permanently retired? The detective hat?”

Quill made a noncommittal sort of noise.

“Because we’ve talked about this before. Law enforcement isn’t for amateurs. You’re going to leave it to the professionals.”

Quill made another noise. Then she said, “I know you recommended Davy for the sheriff’s job. You said he’d grow into it. But he doesn’t seem to be growing into it fast enough. I think he needs help.”

“Quill.”

“From you, I mean, as the older mentor. Shouldn’t you be giving him some tips, or something?

There was a very long pause. Quill didn’t think she was imagining that it was skeptical. “I just thought I could tell him I talked with you about the missing jewelry, and the attic and basement burglaries and that you had some observations. I won’t even bring up my suspicions about the scam.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by scam, but it wouldn’t necessarily come under his jurisdiction. So forget about that, please. The burglaries are another matter.”

Quill didn’t say anything. But she wanted to.

“Okay, my darling. If they’ve actually been stolen and the rings were recovered, it’ll lift some of the pressure from you. Which would be good. So let’s look at the theft of the rings and cuff links. Ask Kiddermeister if this is the first time something of value has been stolen. There’s a pattern with repeat offenders, and if the jewelry’s an anomaly, that’s significant information. Can you find out if anyone’s actually seen the ring in Tree’s possession?”

“An insurance scam, you mean?”

“That’s my good quick girl. Sorry, sorry. No, I’m not being condescending. Trying hard, anyway. But yes, an insurance scam.”

“Good grief, Myles. The man has an American Express black card. He’s been spending money like there’s no tomorrow. He paid to have the whole restaurant closed down so it would be private for his engagement party.” She bit her lip. “On the other hand—Jukka did say the show budget is paying for all of it. So maybe you’re right.”

“Have Marge check Tree’s net worth. While she’s at it, check out Rose Ellen Whitman’s, too.”

“Okay, I can do that. What about the fact that Tree’s entourage consists of a bunch of scam artists? That seems pretty suspicious to me.”

“Well.” This time the pause was even longer. “It’s not going to get us anywhere. The Bryants are obviously bargain hunting …”

“Bargain hunting!” Quill said indignantly.

“Bargain hunting isn’t illegal.”

“But, Myles!”

“I know. Immoral maybe, but not illegal. Now—Jukka Angstrom? I think you should keep an eye on him.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Because he’s clearly making moves on my wife.”

“I wouldn’t call them moves, exactly.”

“Yeah. Well, my advice is to keep a frying pan handy. As for Clare and Meg—they’re just going to have to work things out on their own, my darling.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Unless you want to tell me who you’re going to vote in for mayor.”

“Oh my word. I’d forgotten about that. I told you both of them want me to endorse them? I’m going to tell them we’re Swedish, you know—neutrals. And I’m not going to borrow trouble, either. I’m going to take things one day at a time.”

“Excellent plan.”

“So the next thing to worry about is the Slap Down.” Quill slid down the bed until she was lying flat on her back. “Ugh. I’m getting a headache. A three-day headache. I’m going to stay in my room with Jack until Friday morning when the Slap Down will be all over. You know that Harvey’s called a planning meeting for it tomorrow morning at the academy. I told you that, didn’t I?”

“My poor Quill.”

“Don’t laugh at me, Myles. It isn’t funny. I have to be there because Meg and Clare have called a temporary truce, and Meg’s agreed to be a judge. Phooey! And every single one of these awful people is going to be there.”

“It’s clear you’ve got an unpleasant set of guests, but that’s happened before and it’s going to happen again.”