First Gravedigger (20 page)

I sighed, knowing this part of it was hopeless. “If you were a lover of antique furniture, Lieutenant, maybe I could make you understand. I just couldn't bring myself to let it go. You have something as special as that Duprée, you don't give it up in a hurry. Oh, I knew I'd have to sell it eventually—it belongs to the gallery, not to me. But I kept putting it off. I hate to see it go now. I'd buy it for myself if I could.”

I couldn't tell whether he believed me or not, and that was ironic: it was the only thing I'd told him that was true. “Where did the chair come from?” D'Elia wanted to know. “Another dealer?”

“No, it belonged to a housewife in Beaver Falls. A Mrs. Percy. She didn't even know the chair was valuable.”

“So Speer was able to get it cheap?”

“Hardly,” I said dryly. “He paid her three hundred thousand for it.”

“So where do you come into the story?”

“I made the find. I went to Mrs. Percy's house to look at a table she wanted to sell and just happened to spot the Duprée in another room. I gave her a small deposit to hold the chair until Speer could get out there and take a look himself. The rest is history, as they say. So I really don't know why Speer would have said he'd ‘got' me—he was quite pleased about the find. In fact, he'd promised me a bonus. I don't think you appreciate how rare a find it was.”

“You can prove legal ownership of the chair, I presume.”

“Of course. We don't keep valuable papers in the files—they're all in the bank. You'll need Peg McAllister's signature to see them. I'll have my secretary show you to her office.”

For reasons of his own D'Elia accepted his cue. “Well, good luck on the auction. When is it?”

“In four days.” I opened the door for him and told my secretary to take him to Peg's office. Then I went back into my own office and quietly collapsed.

I thought I'd handled it all right; D'Elia seemed satisfied. It was a good thing policemen weren't as objective as they were supposed to be. D'Elia hadn't liked Wightman, and that had worked to my advantage. That sonofabitch was behind all my troubles—he'd known about Nedda and me, he'd gone to the police and accused me of murder, he'd blackmailed me into making good on his lousy deals—I was so angry I was shaking. I'd have to stop thinking about Wightman, just put him out of my mind until after the auction. Then I'd give my whole attention to finding a way to
make him pay
. And pay. And pay some more.

It took me nearly an hour to calm down to the point I could concentrate on work again. I was just about ready to call it a day when the phone buzzed.

“M. Guicharnaud to see you.”

René Guicharnaud was the representative the Louvre had sent to bid on the Duprée. “Ask him to come in, please.” Our code phrase for “Open the door for him and be extra polite.”

M. Guicharnaud waited until the secretary had withdrawn and then came straight to the point. In careful and reluctant English, he told me my Duprée chair was a fake.

CHAPTER 13

It was the corner blocks that had first tipped M. Guicharnaud off, those wooden wedges inserted into the corners of the chair seat to strengthen the frame. They were too large. I'd known Duprée had used small corner blocks, and the blocks in my chair looked small enough to me. But then I hadn't had two authentic Duprée chairs on hand to establish a basis for comparison. Guicharnaud did. He went on to find a few other questionable things—traces of a glue that may or may not have been contemporary, a suspiciously small amount of wood shrinkage for the supposed age of the chair, etc. One such matter might be dismissed as an individual aberration from what could be expected; but put them all together, they spell fake.

Who had built the fake Duprée? And what had gone so wrong that the imitation ended up languishing in the back bedroom of a tract house in Beaver Falls? We'd probably never know. The chair wasn't totally worthless, but we'd recover only a fraction of the three hundred thousand it had cost. Famous fakes always had a certain curiosity value, and this fake had already earned its place in history as the chair that made a fool out of Speer's. This one was going to be hard to live down.

Nedda responded in her usual sensitive way. “How could you be so stupid?” she asked wonderingly. “Earl, how could you be so
stupid?
”

“Don't blame this one on me,” I growled. “It was your dear late husband who shelled out three hundred thousand bucks for an imitation, not me.”

“Only because you didn't have three hundred thousand.” She went out of the bedroom and came back immediately with a check in her hands. “I found this among Amos's papers. It's a check for five hundred dollars made out to Eleanor Percy—that's the woman in Beaver Falls Amos bought the chair from. Earl, you tried to get the Duprée for yourself.”

I put on an expression of indignant anger. “That check wasn't even cashed—it was a deposit. To hold the chair until dear Amos could decide what he wanted to do.”

“Bullshit,” she said bluntly. “You must think I'm a fool—agents don't make deposits for the galleries out of their personal accounts. You tried to cheat us out of what you thought was a lot of money.”

That regrouping of forces rocked me more than her accusation.
You
—Earl Sommers.
Us
—Nedda Speer, Amos Speer, Speer Galleries. “If that's what you think,” I said carefully, “why did you wait until now to spring it on me?”

“Because everybody steals. I thought if you were in charge, you wouldn't need to anymore. But this fake Duprée changes things. I've suspected for some time I made a mistake—Earl, you're not right for the job.”

“Which job?” I asked. “Director of the galleries or Mr. Nedda?”

“No one held a gun to your head,” she said evenly. “You made your choices too. But you not only fooled me, you fooled yourself as well. Earl, you're always telling me I don't really
see
these marvelous chairs that set you all atwitter. But you looked at that phony Duprée every day for nearly a year and didn't see a single thing to make you suspicious. You're supposed to be an
expert
, Earl.”

“Amos Speer thought it was genuine,” I said defensively.

“Yes,” she answered softly, “and that made all the difference, didn't it? Amos had a reputation as a man you couldn't fool—and when he agreed the chair was a Duprée, it didn't even occur to you to question his judgment. Even though you already had evidence he
could
be fooled. He never found out Wightman was stealing from him. And he never knew about us.”

“You're sure about that, are you?” I said sardonically. “Wightman knew.”

That stopped her. “
Wightman
knew?”

“He not only knew, he told Lieutenant D'Elia.” I let myself enjoy the moment of discomfort that little revelation caused her.

But she shook it off. “So they knew, so what. The point is, the galleries aren't doing well enough to absorb a three-hundred-thousand-dollar loss right now. Something has to be done.”

A seven-hundred-thousand-dollar loss
, I silently corrected her. Three for the chair, four for Wightman's victims. “You're about to bust out with a suggestion, I can tell.”

“Damned right I am. You need a financial advisor, Earl. Someone versed in the economic realities of profit and loss.”

So here it was. “Someone like Arthur Simms?”

She didn't bat an eye. “Arthur can help us. He can find ways to get the galleries back on the right track again.”

Greedy Nedda, wanting everything, wanting it all her own way. “Tell the truth, Nedda. You want to run the galleries yourself.”

She looked as if she didn't believe her ears. “What did you say?”

“It's what you've always wanted, isn't it? To run the whole show yourself? Playing queen over an antiques empire. But it's not play, Nedda—you don't even begin to understand what's involved. You could no more run Speer's than you could swim the English Channel underwater.”

She stared at me incredulously for a long time, then barked a short laugh and became suddenly furious. “Earl, you fool—why do you think I married you? I married you so I wouldn't
have
to run the galleries!”

Now I was the one having trouble believing what I was hearing. “You married me—”

“To get a director for Speer's. Amos was getting old and I wanted to have someone ready to take over. Better than putting in a stranger I couldn't control.”

“And me you can control. I see.”

“I'm not sure you do, but it doesn't matter now. Now all I want is for you to let Arthur Simms come in and find out what's going wrong. A simple, straightforward business procedure. When you're in trouble, you call in an expert. Earl, you need an expert.”

I'd been sitting on the side of the bed; now I stretched out on my back and stared at the ceiling. “You're right, Nedda. That's exactly what I need. My wife's lover watching every move I make.”

Nedda laughed, a harsh sound. “Don't take that superior line with me. A man who's having an affair with his secretary? Honestly, Earl, how middle-class can you get?”

I was sitting up again, staring at her in astonishment.

“Of course I know about it,” she snapped. “I keep telling you I'm not a fool. I know about it and I'd laugh if I weren't so disgusted. Your secretary! Who ends up getting a promotion out of it. You can watch that story on any soap opera. Earl, I didn't shame you by carrying on with, with a tennis pro. But you have no more style than to get involved with your
secretary
. You embarrass me.”

This was unreal. In spite of myself I started to laugh. “Let me make sure I've got this straight. You don't object to my having an affair so long as the woman involved meets with your approval? Is that it?”

“It's so trite,” she objected. “The whole damned affair is a cliché.
June Murray
is a cliché. Look at her—the perfect secretary, the office wife, the provider of all comforts. I'm surprised other secretaries haven't drummed her out of the corps. And you played along with it—why? Did it make you feel important? Command and it shall be given?”

“Nedda,” I said abruptly, “do you want a divorce?”

She took her time answering. “I've been thinking that might not be a bad idea,” she said slowly.

“Fine,” I said, stretching back out on the bed. “The price is Speer Galleries.”

Shocked, she came over to the side of the bed. “Are you
insane?
”

“Never saner. You want out of the marriage? That's what it's going to cost you. We'll make some sort of arrangement so you and the new boy won't go hungry. But the galleries are mine.”

“The galleries will
never
be yours,” she hissed.

“Then resign yourself to the status quo.”

The look on her face made me feel better than I'd felt for months. But she rallied and tried again. “Earl, I will not be blackmailed. I simply won't let it happen. I've already consulted a lawyer and he—”

“Has undoubtedly explained to you all about the three-year wait in a unilateral suit. Did he also tell you it might take even longer? Oh, you can fly down to Haiti or the Dominican Republic and get a quickie. But you know damned well it won't be recognized in Pennsylvania. So face it, you whore, you're stuck.”

“
I'm
not the one who sold myself,” she said heatedly. “I bought
you
. And a bad bargain it was.”

I laughed in her face. “
Caveat emptor
.”

She slammed out of the room. I think I can say I won that one.

I dropped into June Murray's new office. “Any ideas for a new line yet? After this Duprée fiasco we're going to have to find something fast. I may end up agreeing to memorabilia after all.”

Instead of answering, June handed me an envelope.

“What's this?”

“My resignation.”

Take that!
Just when I'd started depending on her … “Why, June? I gave you what you wanted.”

She gave me her mouth-only smile. “It's a matter of financial security, Earl. I don't see much future for myself here.”

“Assistant to the Director isn't good enough?”

She shook her head. “You don't understand. I don't see much future for anybody at Speer's.”

Why, the arrogant little
… “I think you'd better explain that.”

“Oh, it's not really necessary, is it? We both know what's happening here. To put it frankly, I want to get out while the getting's good.”

“That's just wonderful, June. I always knew I could count on you.” I glared at her but she didn't answer. Part of me was relieved at being rid of her, but I wasn't too happy at the thought of June Murray wandering around loose knowing the things she knew. “If it's more money you want—”

“Earl, you can't afford to pay me more money. You can't afford what you're paying me now. I once thought we could build Speer's up together.” (Translation: she'd thought
she
could build it up.) “But now I see I was wrong. The mistake about the Duprée is symptomatic of all the things that are wrong here. You're just not Amos Speer, Earl. I'm sorry it worked out this way, but I have to think of my future.”

I wondered if she ever thought of anything else. June was a careful woman; she wouldn't be making this move unless she'd already found a new warm place for herself. “Where are you going, June? What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to San Francisco,” she said. “Leonard Wightman has offered me a partnership.”

A partnership! I'd never thought of that. Not that I ever would have offered one to the two-faced bitch, but Wightman had one-upped me. “Payment for past services?” I snapped. “Or do you have something new to sell?” She just looked at me, saying nothing. I could think of only one more thing to try; I went over and put my arms around her. “Don't do it, June. I want you to stay.”