At 6:30, the doorbell rang. Marlee looked through the small window in the front door to see who was there. It was Vince Chipperton, looking dashing in a navy suit, light blue shirt, and navy print neck tie. Frack! I was hoping to leave before he got here, Marlee thought as she opened the door.
“Hi, Vince,” Marlee said as she opened the door. “Thanks for coming over, but there’s been a change in plans. I’m going over to Conrad Thayer’s house by myself. But thanks for agreeing to help.” She started to shut the door when Vince inserted his foot, thus blocking it from closing.
“Oh, no. I’m going. There’s no use trying to get rid of me. I wore my new suit and everything. Oh, and I got you something,” Vince said as he held out a dark, plastic covered container with a flash of white inside.
Marlee pulled the door open again. “A corsage? You got me a corsage? What the hell’s wrong with you? We’re not going to prom.” She looked at the flower and then at Vince.
“I wasn’t sure if a bouquet of flowers would be too much, so I got this instead,” Vince said shyly, looking down as he thrust it toward Marlee.
“Fine. Come on in. I’m almost ready.” She hurried to the bathroom to check her appearance one last time. Opening the container, she saw a bundle of six tiny white roses nestled within and lifted it out to examine it closer. It was a wrist corsage. Turning the container over she saw a bright orange sticker that read “DISCOUNT $9.99.” Vince always had an eye for value. Marlee laughed in spite of herself, recalling Vince’s never-ending supply of coupons he carried with him.
On the way to Thayer’s house, Marlee admired the flowers on her wrist as she drove. Perhaps a wrist corsage was a needed touch to jazz up her outfit. As they drove, Marlee brought Vince up to speed on Conrad Thayer’s ownership of the antique urn, the questions she wanted asked, and general information she and Hector gleaned from their previous visit.
Vince paid apt attention as Marlee talked. “I know Bridget didn’t steal the urn. I’ll help you however I can, as long as it doesn’t interfere with me carrying out the judge’s orders.”
“I know. I appreciate your help.” Marlee realized she need not be so harsh with Vince. “What made you decide Bridget is innocent?”
“There’s no one thing. It’s just a sense I have. Plus, I’ve met her a few times and didn’t get the thief vibe from her.” Vince looked at Marlee as he spoke. She loved looking into his blue eyes and found it difficult to tear her gaze away from him and put it back on the road.
They made their way to the Summerset area and drove down the back area to the Thayer home. Tonight there were two dobermans roaming the outside of the front lawn. “I wonder how he keeps his dogs from running off or getting into other peoples’ yards.” Marlee mused.
“An invisible fence. I know a few people that use them to keep their dogs on their own property,” Vince said. “I hope his dogs aren’t vicious. I’ve been chased by too many dogs to ever trust them.”
Marlee nodded in agreement. During her time as a probation officer, she too had been chased off of properties by aggressive or protective mutts. “I don’t like dogs either. I never know when they’re going to lunge at me or bite me.”
Vince and Marlee cautiously made their way up to the front door. The dogs approached the sidewalk, but never crossed it, giving credence to Vince’s electronic fence theory. After the third ring of the doorbell, the door was answered by the same man who greeted Marlee and Hector the previous day.
“Welcome to my home. I am Conrad Thayer, and I’m so glad you could join me for drinks,” he said, motioning them into the foyer.
“Um, I didn’t realize who you were yesterday when we stopped by,” Marlee said. “I thought you were an employee.”
“I don’t like to be surprised, so I let you think I was an employee.” Thayer was dressed in a snug khaki jumpsuit that zipped up the front, and he did not appear to be wearing any underwear. Yesterday he was balding, but today he sported a full head of thick, brown hair. It looked natural, suggesting he’d spent big bucks on the wig.
The foyer to the spacious home had an overhead skylight, making for a well-lit introduction to the interior of the home. Thayer ushered them into what he called the sitting room. A built-in fireplace was on the north wall, while two burgundy wing-backed chairs and a floral loveseat made a half-circle around the fireplace. It was an ideal set up for gazing at the fire and also having a conversation.
Marlee suppressed a giggle as their host rang a small bell on the coffee table. Within seconds, a middle-aged woman clad in a black dress and white apron appeared, pushing a small drink cart and assorted snacks. “What would you like to drink?” Thayer asked his guests, as he prepared to pour and mix their libations.
Marlee usually didn’t drink hard alcohol except for tequila in margaritas. She was more of a beer and wine gal. She didn’t see any beer or wine selections on the cart and tried to think of a mixed drink she would like. “I’ll take an Alabama Slammer,” she said, recalling one of her favorite drinks from her undergrad years.
“I’ll have the same,” Vince said with a nod of approval, also recalling his college days.
“I don’t know that I am familiar with the making of that particular concoction. Could I get you something else?” Thayer seemed perplexed with their drink choices and also somewhat amused.
“How about a Scotch on the rocks?” Marlee asked. She knew she hated this strong, vile tasting drink, but expected it would meet with Thayer’s approval. Plus, she knew she wouldn’t be able to drink much of it, leaving her with a clear head to observe and ask questions.
“Excellent,” he said with glee as he rubbed his hands together. “And for you?” The host looked at Vince with raised eyebrows.
“The same, please,” Vince said. He did not seem overly enthused about the drinks about to be set before them.
“Perfect! That’s my drink of choice too.” Thayer chatted on about the weather as he placed ice cubes in highball glasses and poured the amber liquid. “This is twenty-five-year-old Glenmorangie imported directly from Scotland. I get a new shipment every three months. It’s an indulgence I allow myself because it’s far superior to anything I can buy around here.”
With drinks in hand, the three clinked glasses in a toast. “Cheers!” Thayer exclaimed as he took a mighty slurp from his glass. Marlee and Vince each took a small sip from their drink. Marlee could feel the burn instantly work its way from her throat all the way to her toes. Vince grimaced until Marlee subtly poked him in the ribs with her elbow.
“Mr. Thayer, you have a beautiful home,” Marlee said as they glanced around the sitting room, admiring the large framed paintings of boats at sea, small children playing in a field, and two monkeys dressed in wedding attire. A small statue of a naked woman entwined with a tree branch stood on a side table and a life-sized suit of armor was placed in the far corner of the room. Mounted heads of a deer and a zebra, and a large face of a plastic doll with long blonde braids hung side by side on the east wall.
Drink in hand, Conrad Thayer strolled about the room telling his guests about the various pieces in his room. “You might recognize this work. It was featured in the television show Art Mysteries last year.” Thayer pointed to the framed painting of the monkeys dressed as a bride and groom.
“They filmed their show here in your house?” Vince asked.
“No. I loaned it to a museum in Chicago for six months, and it was filmed there.”
“Where do you get your inspiration for your collection?” Marlee asked. It was the politest way she could think of to inquire about what she considered a pile of crap.
“As you can see, I have eclectic tastes. I don’t conform to any one style of art or time period. That’s too limiting. I like what I like and then I buy it. It’s as simple as that,” Thayer said as he downed the last of his drink. “Are you ready for another?”
“No, I’m still working on this one,” Marlee said and Vince nodded.
The eccentric host fixe
d himself another Scotch on the rocks, this time with even more Scotch and fewer rocks. He passed a plate filled with finger sandwiches and miniscule pastries. Marlee was unsure about the sandwiches, fearing they might contain a type of pureed animal organs. She wasn’t picky about sweets, so she grabbed two of the small pastries. Vince looked at the selection and took a finger sandwich.
A sweet deliciousness spread through her mouth as she bit into the apricot filling contained in the flaky crust. Vince was not so lucky. His mini sandwich contained a gritty meat product and he struggled to swallow the first bite.
Thayer returned to his seat before the fire. “So you said you wanted to discuss my antique urn that I loaned to Marymount College for The Showcase?”
“Yes, we’re aware the urn was stolen but has since been recovered. I understand you had a hand in recommending Yellow Tail Security to guard the valuable antique while it was at Marymount.” Marlee said.
“That is correct. I’ve known Sean since he was in high school. He and my niece were friends, and I wanted to support Sean in his new business endeavors. He’s a remarkable young man and of the highest integrity,” Conrad said as he gulped down more Scotch.
“Do you frequently loan out pieces from your collection?” Vince inquired as he discreetly rolled up the remainder of his finger sandwich into his cloth napkin.
“Art is meant to share. When someone requests a loan, I typically approve it as long as I can be assured of the security. There’s only been one time in which I denied a request.”
“If a piece is stolen or damaged, do you collect from your insurance company or from the security company?” Vince blurted out. Marlee turned to glare at him. She wanted the question answered too, but there were far more subtle ways of eliciting the information.
“Why do you ask? Do you have an art collection you’re considering showing?” Thayer smirked, amused with the thought that local government employees would own anything worth showing.
Before Vince could speak, Marlee jumped in. “I think what Vince was trying to say is that there’s been some confusion as to what role the security company takes in the responsibility of the theft.”
“That’s an interesting question. Especially given that your cousin has been charged with stealing my urn,” Thayer said pointedly.
“It’s no secret that I think someone framed Bridget or tricked her into doing something,” Marlee said. Since reading the letters from an unknown author and from the bank, Marlee was no longer as sure of Bridget’s innocence. Still, Thayer didn’t need to know that.
“Those closest to the person are always the most surprised. If your cousin was seen hiding the urn in your house, if it was found in your house, and if she confessed to taking it, then I think there’s a strong possibility that your cousin is indeed a thief. That may not fit with your impressions of her, but keep in mind that none of us are all good or all bad. Everyone is a mixture of the positive and the negative.” Thayer continued to espouse on human nature and motivations, a diatribe that was no doubt fueled by his second Scotch on the rocks, which was nearly gone.
“I appreciate your argument Mr. Thayer, but I believe there’s more here than meets the eye,” Marlee said in an even tone. She wanted to stand up for her cousin even though she wasn’t convinced of Bridget’s innocence any more.
Thayer gave a toothless smile but didn’t answer. Vince took the opportunity to bring the questioning back around to insurance. “So is this the first theft from your collection or have there been others?”
“Alas, this is not the first theft from my collection. It seems I am cursed when it comes to my beloved works of art,” Thayer said.
“What else was stolen? And when?” Vince pressed on, looking for answers to his questions.
“A couple years ago, a painting I loaned to a small museum in Minnesota was stolen. It was never recovered. And a few years before that, a statue I loaned to a college in Oregon was stolen. It was not recovered either,” Thayer said matter-of-factly.
“Why do you keep loaning out your collection pieces since you seem to have a problem with theft?” Marlee asked.
“As I said before, art is to be shared. Theft is one of the risks I take when I let others enjoy the things I’ve collected.” Thayer finished his second drink and was on his way to making a third. Vince and Marlee both shook their heads no when he gestured if they wanted another.
“I’m surprised your insurance company hasn’t dropped you or raised your premiums sky high since there have been two successful thefts and one attempted in the past few years,” Vince added.
“I switched insurance companies since the first theft. My current insurance company is a real stickler for added security, so that’s why I insisted on Yellow Tail Security to watch over the urn while it was on display at Marymount,” Thayer said, one ice cube clinking in the glass as he poured his third Scotch on the rocks. Thayer didn’t horse around when it came to cocktails. Even if she was drinking something she liked, there was no way Marlee could keep up with their host’s power drinking.
“Sean told me they only had guards on site from 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., and that the urn was placed in a locked case and the room was locked after 5:00 p.m. Why weren’t there guards on duty at night? That seems like the perfect time to steal a valuable collectible,” Marlee said.
“That’s exactly what your cousin thought,” Thayer said with a smirk. His politeness was decreasing while his intoxication was increasing.
This comment got Marlee’s hackles up. She got along with most people she knew, or she could at least tolerate them for short periods of time. This guy, however, was really getting on her nerves with his air of superiority and his damning comments about Bridget. “If there have been two previous thefts maybe they were committed by the same person, and maybe that person attempted to steal your urn this time.”
“Not likely. Like I said before, one theft was in Minnesota and the other was in Oregon. I think those thefts were done by two separate people or groups. It’s not probable that the thief or thieves traveled to Elmwood, South Dakota to steal my urn. You need to face facts. Your cousin is the one responsible,” Thayer said smugly, attempting to cross one chubby leg over the other in mock casualness.
“Is there anyone else who you think could have done this? Have there been any threats toward you lately, or has anyone tried to break into your home?” Vince interceded, noting that Marlee was only moments away from blowing her top.
“I can’t identify one person who would steal the urn. It’s very valuable, as you know, and I imagine that is just too tempting for someone of humble means,” Thayer said.
“Humble means! She’s middle class! That doesn’t automatically make her a thief,” Marlee exclaimed.
“No, of course not. Poverty is never a motivation to steal,” Thayer recited in a snotty tone.
“Bridget is not in poverty. She is a well-educated, middle class professional. She’s not rich, but she makes decent money. Enough to take care of herself!” Marlee was getting hotter by the second and kept turning her corsage around her wrist as a self-calming mechanism.
“Are you sure she can take care of herself?” Thayer asked.
“What are you saying?” Marlee asked. “You seem to imply that Bridget is in financial trouble.” From what Marlee knew, this was true, but it was the last thing she would admit to this clown.
Thayer shrugged. “I have no way of knowing that. I don’t know your cousin well. I’ve only met her on a few occasions, and it was to deal with the loan of the urn as part of The Showcase.” He seemed to back off the financial hardship insinuations, but Marlee believed he had plenty more to say on the subject. Whether or not it would be factual was an entirely different matter.
Vince, still trying to keep Marlee from lashing out at the intoxicated, pompous host, had a suggestion. “I’ve heard so much about your collection. Would it be possible to get a tour of your house?”
Flattery works on many people, and Conrad Thayer was n
o exception. He brightened at Vince’s suggestion and rose to his feet, although he was a bit unsteady as he walked. “I love to show off my works, so yes indeed. Follow me!”
Marlee and Vince followed Thayer, purposefully leaving their vile drinks behind in hopes they would not have to finish them. They walked up the winding staircase and started in a back room. Just like the sitting room downstairs, there was no rhyme or reason to the mish-mash of collectibles stored there. Over fifty bird houses hung from wires attached to the ceiling. On a large conference-sized table in the corner was a small replica of Elmwood from the 1950s. “Are you from Elmwood originally, Mr. Thayer?” Vince inquired.
“No, but both sets of grandparents lived in the area their whole lives. My parents grew up here and met in high school. They got married and moved to California where I was born. I moved to Elmwood after I sold my internet company,” he replied.
“Do you like it here?” Marlee asked, the edge now gone from her voice as she yearned to hear more about this peculiar man and his family.
“I have found the people of Elmwood to be most charming,” Thayer said. It was the type of comment that usually held a much deeper meaning, but Marlee wasn’t sure where he was going with it.
“Still, it must be difficult living in such a small town in a rural state if you lived in California your whole life,” Vince said.
“Yes, it was quite a culture shock. People here are friendly, but not necessarily welcoming. All of the neighbors came over to introduce themselves when I moved in, but not many people extend me invitations to their homes. No one wants to get too close, it seems,” Thayer said with a tinge of sadness to his voice.
Art of Deception Page 14
