Uncovering Secrets: The Third Novel in the Rosemont Series (10 page)

Chapter 25

Maggie stole a glance at her cell phone, propped
inconspicuously against the base of the microphone in front of her. Seven
fifteen. They had another forty-five minutes to go.

She
was presiding over a citizen’s forum to solicit public input on budget cuts. So
far, every suggestion—whether to shorten the library’s hours or restrict
the bus schedule—had been met with vehement opposition. She’d directed
one man to sit down when he started ranting about abolishing the government
entirely. Several times she’d reminded the townspeople that they were asking
for
suggestions
and each would be thoroughly investigated before any
change was adopted. They’d have to hold more public meetings before any
services were reduced—the idea of another of these meetings made Maggie’s
head spin.

She
glanced at the empty seats. Councilmembers Frank Haynes and Chuck Delgado had
both come up with last-minute excuses to be absent tonight, leaving Maggie and
Councilmembers Tonya Holmes and Russell Isaac to suffer through this
interminable evening. She looked to Isaac, who glared at her in return. She
could hardly blame him. After the disastrous public meeting when a riot had
broken out over proposed pay cuts, she wanted to make sure that the public had
an opportunity to comment before they brought anything to a vote. Hadn’t her
trustworthy advisor Professor Lyndon Upton suggested this approach? Except that
now she didn’t believe he was trustworthy at all.

Maggie
hadn’t been paying attention and was pulled back into the present when
Councilmember Holmes answered a question into her microphone. She shot Tonya a
grateful smile.

As
she returned her attention to the bullet points on the agenda in front of her,
she noticed that she’d missed a text from John. Maggie pretended to adjust the
position of the microphone and pushed the button to read his message.

In
a booth at Pete’s. Tonight’s special is your favorite. He’s saving some for
you. Join me when you’re done. We’ve got something big to discuss.

Maggie’s
brow creased. There was nowhere she’d rather be right now than with John, but
what did “something big to discuss” mean? Maggie looked up to find all eyes on
her.

Tonya
Holmes cleared her throat. “As Mayor Martin has said repeatedly, these
discussions are only preliminary.”

Maggie
leaned forward and spoke into her microphone. “I understand—the entire
council understands—that budget cuts create hardships. We’ve already made
deep cuts. The only things left will negatively impact a lot of people.” Maggie
paused and scanned the crowd. “We’ve got some hard choices to make, and we want
to be as well informed as possible when we make our decisions. That’s why we’re
holding these forums.” She consulted her watch. “We have time for two more
comments from the floor before we adjourn.”

***

Maggie exited the council chamber by the rear exit. She
was in no mood to get pigeonholed by a disgruntled constituent. Russell Isaac
and Tonya Holmes followed closely on her heels.

“Another
wasted evening, Mayor,” Isaac remarked.

Maggie
spun on him. “Then you come up with something, Russ. It’s easy to sit back and
take pot shots at people, harder to come up with useful ideas. You ran for this
seat. You must have something to suggest.”

Isaac
smirked. “I’ll save it for when I defeat you in the next election,” he said.
“Right now, I’m enjoying watching you twist in the wind.”

“For
God’s sake, Russ!” Tonya cried. “The town is on the brink of bankruptcy. This
isn’t the time to be licking old political wounds and acting like a sore loser.
If you’ve got ideas to help, you should put them forward. That’s leadership,”
she said, staring pointedly at him.

Isaac
delivered a rude gesture to both of them and strode out the exit.

Maggie
turned to Tonya. “If the town wasn’t in such dire circumstances, I’d find that
funny. He’s acting like he lost the race to be seventh-grade class president.”

“I’m
relieved that Haynes and Delgado weren’t here tonight. They’d side with Isaac,
and we’d never hear the end of it.” Tonya turned to Maggie. “I’m awfully glad
you’re here. If I didn’t have someone on my side—the townspeople’s
side—I don’t think I could carry on.”

Maggie
flushed from her shoulders to the top of her head.
To think that I almost
resigned my position as mayor on New Year’s Eve.

“Maggie,”
Tonya said, taking her arm. “Are you okay? You looked like you were a million
miles away in there. And where’s Professor Upton? I thought he was supposed to
be here.”

“Something
came up and he’s not going to be assisting us anymore.”

“When
did this happen? I didn’t particularly like the guy—he was pompous and
condescending—but he knew his stuff.”

“I
talked to him after the first of the year. We’ll be fine without him. We can
implement the necessary changes without his help.” She swiftly changed the
subject. “Did you hear about the kittens I’m fostering? In fact, would the
Holmes like a cat?”

Tonya
held up her hands and backed away. “Oh no, you don’t. I’ve got my hands full
with George, the kids, two dogs, three fish, and a hamster. If you try to foist
one of those kittens off on me, I’ll resign and leave you all alone with these
creeps.”

“Understood.”
Maggie laughed.
Although, that might be just what I deserve, since I almost
did that to you,
she thought as they headed to their cars.

***

Maggie waved to Pete as she sailed through the door of
his restaurant at eight fifteen. She found John in a booth in the corner,
deeply engrossed in a medical journal.

“I
hope you went ahead and ate,” Maggie said, sliding onto the bench next to him
and planting a kiss on his cheek. “I’m sorry that I’m so late. It was really
nice of you to ask Pete to save me a serving of the special.”

John
set his journal aside and drew her close, kissing her on the lips. “I can’t let
my best girl miss out just because she’s a bigwig and busy running this town.”

Maggie
laughed. “Is that what I am? You’re the only one who thinks so.”

“Hard
day?”

“These
community forums are so contentious. I’m not convinced that we made any
progress. There may not be any way to get public buy-in on budget cuts. Maybe
it wasn’t such a good idea.”

“I
don’t believe that. Not for one minute. You knew that things would get worse
before they got better. You’ve thought this through from every angle. You’re
doing the right thing.” John ran his hand up and down her arm, like he was a
football coach sending his quarterback into the huddle with a new play. “It’s
too early to assess how things will turn out. Quit second-guessing yourself.”

Maggie
smiled at him. “How in the world did I get so lucky as to land you? You always
know the right thing to say.”

John
blushed, and she knew he was pleased. “So—you’ve got me intrigued. What
‘big thing’ do we need to discuss? Is everything okay?”

“Yes,
of course it is.” John turned to her. “Did I worry you with that?”

Maggie
shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

“What
we need to discuss,” John said, as the waiter delivered their salads, “is
when—and where—we’re going to shop for your ring. You’ve been
engaged for weeks and the entire world doesn’t know about it yet.”

Maggie
almost bounced in her seat. “This is big,” she replied. “As for when—I’ll
clear my calendar. We’ll go as soon as you can take the time. As for
where—we’ll have to go to Burman Jewelers. If we don’t buy local, we’ll
be ridden out of town on a rail.”

“Let’s
go Saturday. I only have appointments until ten. I won’t book anyone else. And
we can get your ring anywhere you’d like—you shouldn’t buy local unless
you really want to.”

“I
do,” Maggie said. “If they’re honest and reliable. And reasonably priced.”

John
laughed. “Don’t worry about the price. And I’ve known them for
years—they’re terrific people. Do you have any idea what you’d like?”

Maggie
smiled impishly. “Sorry to say this, but I want a big, honkin’ diamond. I don’t
want to put reading glasses on to see my stone.”

John
pretended to cringe. “I figured you’d come with a high price tag.”

Maggie
laughed, patting his forearm. “I don’t want you to break the bank. Seriously,
John, we’ll stick with what you can afford.”

“Very
considerate of you. I think I can scrape up enough to get my girl a ring,” John
said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “I’ll call Harriet Burman tomorrow
to bring in some stones for you.”

“That
sounds wonderful!” Maggie leaned in for a kiss, and John grasped her hand,
playing with her fingers.

“I’ve
investigated. You pick your setting, and then you pick your diamond. Or
diamonds, if you want. I want you to love this ring as much as I love you,” he
said, kissing her ring finger. “That’s why I didn’t present you with a ring
when I proposed. You need to pick it out.”

“Could
you be any more perfect? I can’t wait until Saturday! Since you didn’t mention
a ring when you proposed, I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring it up. I
even thought that maybe you didn’t want to do an engagement ring, but Susan
said that was ridiculous.”

John
snorted. “You’ve been plotting with Susan to convince me to buy you an
engagement ring? Now I really feel bad.”

“You
have nothing to apologize for—everything was so chaotic for us after
Roman disappeared.”

“Still—I’m
an idiot. I should have at least said something. I’d better come through with
lots of carats now.”

“Susan
will like what you’re saying—that girl’s even set up a Pinterest board of
styles for me to consider.”

John
shook his head. “You two have me outnumbered.”

Chapter 26

The doorbell rang at precisely ten o’clock. The
appraiser recommended by her insurance company was on time. She opened the door
to a tall man wearing a heavy black overcoat and a neat fedora. “Gordon
Mortimer,” he said, extending his hand. “Ms. Martin, I presume?”

“Yes,”
she said, shaking his hand. “Come in. Let me take your hat and coat.”

“Thank
you, madam,” he said, handing them carefully to her. He took a handkerchief out
of his pocket and polished his oversized glasses.

His
receding hairline and salt-and-pepper mustache suggested he was in his fifties,
but his slim build and smooth forehead gave the impression of a much younger
person. Maggie turned to him, “Would you like something to drink? Coffee or
water?”

“No,
thank you, madam. I’m anxious to get started. Your call was most intriguing.”

“How
long have you been an appraiser?” she asked as she led the way to the dining
room.

“My
entire life, really. My father was an antiques dealer and appraiser. I grew up
in his shop. I worked for him—except for a stint at Sotheby’s in London—until
he died several years ago and left the business to me. Buying habits have
changed—very few people appreciate true quality anymore—so I closed
up the store and have devoted myself to appraisals.”

“And
you have expertise in vintage silver?”

“Indeed
I do. I was the head of the department at Sotheby’s before I returned to the
family business.”

Maggie
nodded. She threw open the double doors leading into the dining room. “Here’s
what we found in the attic.”

Gordon
Mortimer reached out a hand to the doorframe to steady himself. He swallowed
hard and turned to her. “You’ve got quite a collection here. You found all of
this in the attic?”

Maggie
nodded.

“I’ll
photograph and make notes on each piece.” He set his satchel on the floor and
removed an expensive-looking camera and an electronic tablet. “May I move
things around a bit? I want to group the pieces.”

“By
all means,” Maggie said. “Do what you need to do. We’ve already photographed
things, if that would be helpful.” By his expression she could tell he didn’t
think their photos would be useful.

“I
have my own way of doing things, madam.”

“Of
course,” Maggie replied. “I’ll leave you to it. How long do you think you’ll
be?”

“All
day, I’m afraid. If it’s all right with you, I may need to work into the evening.”

“Certainly,”
she said, although she hadn’t planned to spend the day at home. She didn’t have
any appointments but hated to be away from Town Hall. She turned to look at him
as he began inspecting the items at the far end of the table. Surely she could
leave him alone to complete his work. They had photos of everything—he
wouldn’t steal anything. Judy Young’s admonishments, however, rung in her ears,
and she decided to remain at Rosemont.

Maggie
was halfway to the library when she heard a startled yelp from the dining room.
She retraced her steps and found a red-faced Gordon Mortimer leaning over the
table, frantically grabbing at Bubbles who was racing in and out of the maze of
silver pieces. He got a hand on her, but she wriggled free and streaked down
the table. Maggie flung her arms out, and Bubbles did an about face, tearing
back to the appraiser who fielded her like a major-league ballplayer catching a
ground ball to first base.

He
stood and held the squirming creature out to Maggie. “That cat was in one of
the serving dishes, madam. I didn’t see it—it just exploded out of
there.”

Maggie
stifled a laugh. “My apologies. I have three new kittens, and they’re curious
about everything.”

Mortimer
fixed her with a disapproving stare.

“I
thought I’d kept them out of here. I’m sorry that she disturbed you.” She could
see that his feathers were still ruffled. “I’ll be in the library if you need
me.”

Maggie
emailed her assistant to say that she would be working at home, and to contact
her if anything required her attention. Next, she searched online for a bank in
one of the neighboring cities that advertised large safe deposit vaults. She
found two candidates and quickly settled on one that was only ten minutes further
down the highway than the airport. She finalized the rentals online. Bubbles
sat on the credenza by the printer, batting at the pages as they emerged while
Buttercup strolled across her keyboard whenever Maggie lowered her elbows.

By
midafternoon, Maggie was tired of all the “help” from her kittens. Her
curiosity was also getting the better of her. She rapped lightly on the dining
room door and stepped inside. She waited patiently for Mr. Mortimer to finish
typing.

He
looked up at her and removed his glasses, running his hands over his eyes.
“You’ve got some remarkable pieces.”

Maggie
smiled. This was exactly what she’d hoped to hear. “You’re tired. And probably
hungry. I was just about to make myself a sandwich. May I fix one for you as
well?” Mortimer started to shake his head. “You’ve got to eat,” she insisted.
“You’ll work better if you do. And you can tell me what you’ve learned so far.”

“All
right. That’s very kind. Thank you. Let me finish this entry, and I’ll be right
there.”

Maggie
was slicing an apple and setting two turkey sandwiches on plates when Gordon
Mortimer entered the kitchen.

“Ordinarily,
I’d suggest that we go out to lunch. But I don’t want to leave a collection
this valuable unattended,” he said.

Maggie
carried the plates to the farmhouse table, where she’d set two glasses and a pitcher
of iced tea. “Sorry I can’t produce something more elaborate,” she said a bit
sheepishly. “I don’t keep much food on hand.”

“This
is more than sufficient, madam,” he said in his formal way.

“Any
preliminary conclusions on value?”

“I’d
say you have at least half a million in there. Not counting the
Martin-Guillaume Biennais pieces. I need to consult my contacts at Sotheby’s on
those.”

Maggie
stared, dumbstruck. “I had no idea,” she finally sputtered. “I thought we might
be talking about a hundred thousand, tops. Are some pieces significantly more
valuable than others? I’ve just leased four large safe deposit vaults and will
store as much there as I can. But I don’t think it’ll all fit. I also plan to
purchase a couple of cabinet safes.”

“I
was going to suggest you do just that. The Martin-Guillaume Biennais needs to
be in the vault, of course. And some of the other pieces. All of it isn’t of
extraordinary value. When I’m done, I’ll prioritize what to take to the bank.
And I can help you move the rest of it back to the attic. It’s been safe there
for almost a hundred years—it should be fine a few more weeks.”

“Thank
you. That’s most kind, but you don’t have to do that. I can hire the local boy
who carried it all downstairs for me.”

Mortimer
looked at her sharply. “I wouldn’t let anyone know about this.”

“I
can trust this boy,” Maggie said as she cleared their plates.

Mortimer
shook his head. “You may be able to trust him, but he could innocently let it
slip to someone that you can’t trust. Insurance theft claims are full of such
reports. You should keep this as quiet as possible,” he almost scolded.

Maggie
knew he was right. “That’s very kind of you. I’m grateful for your help.”

“Maybe
you have some other valuables in that attic. I can take a quick look around
before I leave.”

Maggie
nodded slowly. “Yes. I’d appreciate it very much.” She turned to look out the
window. “I can hardly believe all of this. Who knew what was waiting up there
for me?”

***

“You won’t believe it,” Maggie said when John called
that afternoon. “Judy was right. He thinks it’s worth at least half a million.
And that’s not counting the Martin-Guillaume Biennais.”

“The
what?”

“You
remember—the French guy that designed gold and silver pieces for
Napoleon. The one whose work Judy said is in the Met? Mr. Mortimer thinks it’s
genuine, and it’s in pristine condition. He needs to research the value of it
and a couple other pieces.”

John
whistled. “I guess you hear about this type of thing happening to people. What
will you do with it all?”

“I’d
like to keep a few of the pieces to use. I’ll see if Susan or Amy would like a
piece or two. And I’m giving that chocolate pot to Judy, no matter what it’s
worth. The rest of it I’ll sell. The appraiser has connections at Sotheby’s, so
I’ll auction through them.”

“Sounds
sensible.”

“In
the meantime, I’ve rented safe deposit boxes in Ferndale and will take as much
of this over there in the morning as I can. The appraiser said he’d help me
prioritize which pieces are the most valuable.”

“That’s
helpful. And I think you’re doing the right thing by taking it out of town. You
don’t want people around here talking about it. You shouldn’t tell Judy what
the appraiser said, either. She means well, but it’ll be all over town before
you know it.”

“I
agree.”

“What
about the rest of it?”

“The
appraiser and I are going to haul it back up to the attic. I’ll store it there
until I can purchase cabinet safes. He said that’s what the insurance company
will tell me to do.”

“I
just finished with my last patient, so I’m on my way to help. Your history with
that attic and men isn’t something I want repeated.”

“You’re
being ridiculous,” Maggie said. “But we can use the help.”

Maggie
carefully wrapped and boxed the silver that was being returned to the attic,
and half an hour later John and Gordon Mortimer placed the last box in the far
corner.

“That
should be secure. Someone would either have to know where it was or have a lot
of time to search to find it,” Mortimer said, brushing dust from his trousers.
He turned and made a careful pass through the attic.

“These
items piled up in the middle are of no significant value. You could get an
antiques dealer to give you a reasonable price for the lot,” he said to Maggie.
“The furniture along the wall, however, is a different story. I suspect you’ve
got some nice pieces.”

“Will
you come back to appraise them?”

“I’d
love to. And I’d appreciate it if you could remove these items in the middle
and pull the furniture out so I can examine all of it properly.”

“Will
do. I’ll call you when we’re ready. We’re getting married in June, so maybe
sometime this summer? After the wedding.”

“No
rush. You’ll be busy dealing with the silver, I should think.”

“Let’s
slide this old steamer trunk over, in front of the boxes. Just to be safe,”
John suggested. The two men slid the trunk into place, and neither of them
noticed the file folder labeled
F.H./Rosemont
now lying in the shadows.