Death at the Door

by K. C. Greenlief

  “I’ve wondered that too, but John’s been all over the second floor and he says there’s no place to secretly hide a barrel of glass. If he says it, I believe it. But I would think you could find a lot of places to hide stuff from two rich women who didn’t do their own housework in a twenty-bedroom house.”

  “Twenty bedrooms?” Lark’s jaw fell open. “That place has twenty bedrooms? No wonder they want to turn it into a B-and-B. Two people in a twenty-bedroom house.” He shook his head. “Who could afford the heat? If they’ve got twenty bedrooms, I don’t give a shit what happened to their glass.” He stood up. “Let’s go eat.”

  “I care what happened to the glass,” Ann said as they walked down the stairs.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to see what was so special that her brother would make it just for her and hide it to keep it a surprise. I want to solve the mystery.”

  “Good God,” Lark said, “I’m going to lunch with Nancy Drew.”

  Monday Afternoon

  June 4—Robicheau Auction House,

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  A wall of heat and humidity hit Russ and Lacey the minute they walked off the plane and into the Jetway at New Orleans Louis B. Armstrong International Airport. Wisconsin could get hot and humid in the summer, but nothing like this. Lacey had been to New Orleans once, in January for a football game, but never in the summer. She wiped the sweat off her face and made a mental note to buy sunscreen at the first store she came to.

  They got their luggage and took a cab to their hotel. The French Quarter, with its narrow streets and old buildings, made Lacey feel as if she were in a foreign country. They walked into the opulent Victorian lobby of the Monteleone Hotel and she could have sworn she’d stepped back in time to the late 1800s.

  The front desk was busy so they got in line to check in. “I love this hotel,” Russ said as he looked around the lobby. “This place is a little pricey, but I figured we should stay here because everywhere we need to go is within a few blocks. The auction house is a couple blocks down on Royal. Ms. Longet is staying at a guesthouse just around the corner on Bienville, and her bank is down on St. Peter. Her bank account is still open so maybe we’ll get lucky and catch her before she cleans it out and leaves the city. She has her room reserved for two more days.” He paused to give the clerk checking them in his information. They were assigned rooms just down the hall from each other and headed for the elevators, their bags in tow.

  “I’ve tracked the remainder of the twenty-dollar gold pieces and several pieces of pottery that match items on our list to an auction catalog in Denver,” Russ said as they got on the elevator. “I think that’s where she’ll go next. I called them this morning. She’s using the same story but a different name. She’s in town to close out the estate of her mother, who had several antiques. She’s got rooms reserved at the Brown Palace for a week around the time of the auction. Denver is our fallback position if she slips through our fingers here.”

  They parted ways to get settled in their rooms and unpack their bags. They agreed to meet in the hotel bar in half an hour. Lacey mopped sweat from her brow and upper lip as she unpacked. She had dressed lightly for the trip in a cotton, short-sleeved pantsuit. She decided to shed that and put on her sundress and sandals. She checked her watch and decided to jump in the shower before changing clothes.

  She got down to the lobby right on time. Russ was already at the bar. He had changed into lightweight slacks and a polo shirt. He waggled his eyebrows in appreciation when he saw her. “You should dress like that all the time.”

  “Can you tell I’m from Wisconsin?” she asked, looking down at her pale legs peeping out from under the midcalf hem of her pink sundress.

  “I’ve never known a redhead who didn’t look great in pink.” He put his arm around her and hugged her bare shoulders. “What are you drinking?” He waved down the bartender.

  “Iced tea, no sugar, no lemon.”

  “Sure you don’t want a glass of wine?” Russ asked. The bartender waited to see if she would change her mind.

  “No.” She waved the bartender on. “In this heat I’ll be on my ass with one glass of wine on top of the medication I’ve been taking. Besides, they don’t want me drinking after the concussion.” Her hand went to the side of her head. The bruise was fading but she still had the stitches. Thank heaven she had such a mass of thick hair that they weren’t easily visible.

  “Ice tea it is,” Russ said as the bartender brought her a tall, frosty glass. “When we’re done with our drinks, I’d like to walk you through the Quarter so you know all the key spots. I’ve got reservations at the Palace Café for dinner tonight, and tomorrow we’ll go to the auction. I’ve hired help to watch Miss Longet’s room and the bank tomorrow so we can concentrate on the sale.”

  “Are we going to let this stuff get sold knowing that it is probably stolen?” Lacey’s face showed her surprise at the possibility that this might happen.

  “No, no, Mr. Robicheau, the auctioneer, has asked her to come to the auction house in the morning before the viewing. Ms. Longet thinks she is coming in to talk with a client who is interested in the provenance of the majolica. She’s been told that if the client hears what he likes, he will make a bid for the full set that will far exceed the individual auction prices. Did you ever meet a thief who could resist easy money?”

  Lacey nodded in agreement.

  “We’ll be there with the New Orleans police to take her into custody for questioning. The photo ID she’s using here matches the pictures on the other four photo IDs from the West Coast auctions. She’s the woman who sold the items that match the ones on your stolen-goods list. I think we’re onto something.”

  “What will happen to the antiques she’s put into this auction?”

  “The last thing the auction house wants is to sell something that might be stolen. The items will be pulled from the sale. I just want to be sure we’re on target before we do that. We’ll have plenty of time to get that done tomorrow morning. Let’s go check out the Quarter.” Russ tossed some money on the bar and they headed for Royal Street.

  Even in the sweltering midafternoon heat, several people were on the street. They walked past a restaurant and a dress shop before they rounded the corner onto Bienville Street. Russ discreetly nodded at a man standing outside the entrance of the Bienville Guest House. Russ took Lacey’s elbow as he jaywalked across the street to the entrance.

  “There’s a bar in here. We’re going to have a drink so you can get familiar with the hotel.” He led her thought the cool aqua-and-white lobby, her sandals clacking loudly on the old hardwood floors.

  They sat down at the dark wood bar. Russ ordered a beer and Lacey again ordered iced tea. “Why didn’t we just stay here? We could keep a closer eye on her.”

  “This place only has thirty rooms so it makes it hard to be anonymous.” He paid the bartender for their drinks. “I thought it might be too obvious. We’re not sure we know who our thieves are, but you can bet they know who’s investigating them.”

  “You think we should even be in here?” Lacey looked around at the other people in the bar. The only other customers were three men in suits. They were sitting together at a wrought-iron table in the corner having an animated conversation over top of their legal pads.

  “She’s having a manicure and a pedicure right now so we’re fine.”

  Lacey looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise.

  He waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve got a tail on her. One of my guys has also been through her room. I’m tired of being a day late and dollar short with this broad. I like Denver but I’d just as soon bring this to a halt right here.”

  Lacey threw up her hands. “Don’t tell me anything about breaking into her room.”

  “I didn’t break into her room and I can’t help it if the guy who did was kind enough to pass information along to me.” Russ glanced at his watch. “We’d better go. She should be leaving the salon anytime now.”


  They finished their drinks and walked back up to Royal. They walked down two more blocks, ambling along like a couple of window-shoppers. Lacey ducked into a small store and bought sunscreen. Russ pointed out Robicheau Antiques just before they turned into the doorway.

  “Their auction house is over on Magazine Street, but old man Robicheau is here at their shop unless they’re having an auction.” Russ glanced at his watch again. “We’re right on time so he should be ready for us. His office is in the back.”

  Russ took her hand as they threaded their way through the long, narrow aisles of the store. Lacey had never seen anything quite like the antiques she walked past. Each time Russ stopped to wait for a customer to move out of the way, she studied the furniture around her. She saw a large marble-topped dresser ornately carved with cherubs. It was priced at $12,000. She walked past an enormous service of Tiffany silverware in its own multidrawer, carved-wood floor stand for $125,000. It went on and on until they got to the back of the shop.

  “That’s Robicheau,” Russ said, nodding at a thin, white-bearded man who was guiding a bald man through the back of the gallery. They stopped and listened to Robicheau describe the history of a set of bookcases that must have been twenty feet long and ten feet tall. He told the customer they were priced at $95,000. He then showed the man a carved-wood partner’s desk in the same finish as the bookcases for $65,000. The man said he would take them both and asked if they could find a small table and four chairs to match. Robicheau passed them as he accompanied the customer to the other side of the building. He told Russ he would be with him in about fifteen minutes.

  “I can’t believe this stuff is so expensive,” Lacey said.

  “Eighteenth-century furniture has skyrocketed in value. It’s always a good investment if you can afford it.”

  “Where does he get all this?” Lacey asked, wandering back to the front of the store to the cases where the smaller pieces and china were on display.

  “It comes from all over. This is one of the best antique furniture galleries in the states outside of New York City. Obie’s the fifth generation of his family in the business, so he knows everyone in the South with fine old furniture. He gets a crack at antiques long before most of the other dealers and gallery owners do.”

  “Obie?” Lacey looked at Russ for clarification.

  “Obidiah Robicheau. He also has a brother Jedadiah.”

  “Poor guys. They probably had to get tough in a hurry with names like that.”

  While they waited for Obie to make his sale, they wandered through the cases. Russ pointed out pieces of majolica and pottery similar to what had been stolen from the summerhouses. Lacey was impressed with his knowledge. They were looking at a majolica fish set priced at $6,500 when Obie came to get them.

  He greeted Russ with a hearty handshake. Russ introduced him to Lacey. He stepped back to study her and then took her hand. He kissed it, telling her she looked like she had stepped out of one of his favorite Botticelli paintings. Lacey blushed. The only Botticelli she was familiar with was the one of Aphrodite standing on a clamshell.

  Obie walked them back to his office and seated them in two leather chairs in front of his carved and gilded mahogany desk. “Any changes in the plan for tomorrow?”

  “We’re still on,” Russ said. “Did you get a chance to go over the insurance list?”

  Robicheau sighed. “Jed and I both went over it and we think you’re right. The fish service she brought in puts the one on display out there to shame. It’s mint and it’s signed.” He shook his head and a look of disgust crossed his face. “We’ve got a lot of interest in it, including two phone bidders lined up from England. It breaks my heart.”

  Russ nodded.

  “Her Noah’s Ark set fits the insurance description, but your owners are way wrong on the insurance replacement price. It isn’t an old German set like they thought. It was made by a Pennsylvania Dutch wood-carver who has become very collectible in American folk art circles. His mark is on the bottom of the Ark and several of the larger animals. We’ve already got an absentee bid of ninety thousand dollars.”

  Lacey gasped. “That’s almost ten times what it’s insured for.”

  “The family’s appraiser must have missed the carver’s marks. We’re sure of what we’ve got.” Obie patted her hand. “If the family ever wants to sell their set, tell them to call me. They can put a couple of kids through college on that one piece of folk art. The pottery pieces match your list, but they are not one of a kind so they could have come from anywhere.”

  “Good try,” Russ said.

  Obie nodded. “The four Civil War swords are magnificent. They all have their scabbards. Two are Confederate and two are Union. The two Confederate ones are nearly twice as valuable as the two Union ones.”

  “Are they in better condition?” Lacey asked.

  “No, my dear.” Obie smiled. “It’s because it is harder to find a Confederate sword in good condition. When we do get them, they go for top dollar. The Confederate swords will sell for between fifteen and twenty thousand, and the Union swords for ten to twelve thousand.”

  “Obie, you know coincidences like this just don’t happen,” Russ said. “This stuff is stolen and it’s got to go back to the real owners.”

  Obie frowned. “You’re right. I know that.” He glanced at Lacey. “It’s getting very hard to find items of this age in this condition. I’ve always loved antiques, and it is such a pleasure to sell them versus some of the stuff that passes for antiques these days.” He sighed. “I’ll have my assistants pack the items up tonight so they’ll be ready when you get here tomorrow.”

  Russ and Lacey walked slowly to the front of the shop, Obie at their side answering Lacey’s questions and telling her wonderful stories about the antiques they passed on the way to the door. They walked three blocks back down Royal to the Monteleone. Lacey glanced in the door of a clothing shop just before they got to the hotel.

  “What’s the dress code for our restaurant tonight?” She thought about the slacks, jackets, and sweaters she had brought with her.

  “Jackets aren’t required, but it’s more upscale than casual. I’ve got a sport coat I’m going to put on.” He looked her up and down. “You can get by in a little black sundress and a pair of sandals.”

  “I think I need to go shopping.” She left him standing on the sidewalk as she headed back up the street.

  “Be in the lobby ready to go in an hour and a half,” he yelled to her back.

  She waved at him in response.

  The shop she had passed on Royal had everything from funky sportswear to evening clothes. Never one to spend a lot of time shopping, she walked in the store and commandeered a salesclerk. Lacey told her she had forty-five minutes to find an outfit for dinner. The clerk went to work as if this were a request she got every day.

  Lacey was outfitted with a dress, jewelry, lingerie, purse, and shoes and out the door in thirty minutes. It took her five minutes to get back to the hotel. She had plenty of time for another shower and a go at putting her frizzy hair up on her head with the new combs she had purchased.

  Monday Evening

  June 4—The French Quarter,

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  She made it down to the lobby bar with time to spare. Russ was already there, wineglass in hand. His face registered his appreciation when he saw her enter the room. She had on a royal blue sundress with a scoop neck and back. It stopped just below her calf. She had on strappy, black stiletto sandals and carried a small black purse. Her hair was pulled up on her head and held in place with two black lacquer combs. Jet-black earrings dangled from her ears.

  “You look good enough to eat. How about staying in for dinner?” Russ said, his eyes twinkling as he studied her.

  “I’m starved and I didn’t get all dolled up to eat in my room. Let’s go.”

  They strolled down Royal. Despite Russ’s admonitions, Lacey dropped dollars into the guitar cases and hats of the
street singers and musicians. It was much easier to give them a few dollars than to worry that they might actually go hungry. She decided it was true that New Orleans street musicians made better music than the professional musicians did in most cities.

  They turned onto Canal Street and walked a block to the Palace Café. They were immediately seated on the second-floor balcony overlooking the noisy, cavernous first floor. Lacey was amazed at how full the place was. Almost every seat was filled with people laughing and talking their way through dinner. The restaurant’s white tile floors and dark wood booths and tables reminded her of a drugstore. Russ told her that the building had once been the Werlein Music Company. She looked at the mural on the wall and could almost hear the musicians playing.

  “How do you know Obie so well?” she asked after they’d ordered their dinner.

  “I do a lot of insurance company work. New Orleans is one of the prime places to sell and fence antiques. Obie is one of the most knowledgeable people in New Orleans. He’s also one of the most reputable.”

  “He’s helped you out before?”

  “Let’s just say this isn’t the first time that stolen antiques have made their way to Obie. He doesn’t want to destroy his reputation by getting involved in selling anything stolen. At least not anything that was recently stolen.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Lacey asked. “You think he’d sell a stolen object as long as he didn’t think he’d get caught?”

  Russ laughed. “He handles antiques that are two or three hundred years old. Many of them have very colorful histories, and I’m sure some of them have been stolen at least once in their past. That’s different than selling something that was just recently stolen.”

  Over a delicious flounder stuffed with crayfish Lacey learned that Russ was not from Chicago as she had originally suspected but from a small town in western Nebraska called Scottsbluff. Her image of Nebraska was of the entire state looking as lush and green as Omaha. She was surprised to learn that Russ had grown up twenty miles from Wyoming on the arid high plains of the West where trees and green grass were scarce. He had been on the rodeo team in high school and was the son of an FBI agent who had worked on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation during the turbulent Wounded Knee incident.