“We’ll take care of it,” Tim said. “Give us half an hour or so.”
“Thanks. I’ll be waiting at Blackmore’s Jewelers.”
Blackmore’s was only two blocks from the station, but a northeast wind had come up, driving the rain sideways and lowering the temperature enough to make me wish I’d worn a jacket. The reporters trailed along, calling out questions. I pretended they weren’t there.
Wes called as I approached Market Square. I answered and told him I couldn’t talk to him and wouldn’t be able to for a while.
“Why?” he asked.
“I’m hanging up now, Wes. You know you can trust me to tell you everything I can as soon as I can.”
I punched the OFF button, leaving him arguing with the air.
Inside the shop, I shivered, damp and chilled from the walk. I waved to Nate Blackmore.
Nate, the owner’s grandson and Prescott’s go-to guy for jewelry appraisals, was about thirty. He was as tall and handsome as his grandfather, with manners just as polished. Blackmore’s, which had been in its current location for more than ninety years, was, hands down, the finest jewelry store on the seacoast, and it looked the part. From the cherrywood paneling to the Vivaldi sonata playing softly in the background, the shop exuded refinement.
Nate waved back and started toward me, then stopped as the three reporters entered the shop.
“May I help you?” he asked, looking from one to the next.
“I just have a quick question for Josie,” one man said.
“Sorry,” I replied, turning my back. “‘No comment’ is my only answer today.”
“What about Eric?” the man asked. “Do you think he’s dead?”
“How about Alice Michaels, Josie?” Bertie asked. “Any thoughts on why she was killed on your property? Do you think it was a warning to you?”
“Okay, that’s it,” Nate said. “This is private property. Out. Now.”
They went, but not quickly, and not without shouting out additional provocative and offensive questions. Once they were gone and the shop was quiet, I exhaled and looked around. A matronly woman looked shocked. A young sales clerk seemed stunned. I smiled.
“Sorry about that, everyone.” I turned to Nate. “Thank you.”
He shook his head. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“On so many different levels.”
“Follow me,” he said. He started toward the back. “Can I bring you anything? You look like you could use something warm to drink.”
“That would be great. I’m so not dressed for this weather.”
“Don’t blame yourself—you can’t dress for this weather. No one can. You know what they say about spring in New Hampshire … if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.”
“Totally true,” I said and glanced at my BlackBerry, hoping a text from the kidnappers had arrived. No word yet.
Nate opened the heavy door, and I slipped into the back office. Morton Blackmore sat behind his oversized mahogany desk. Ellis sat in one of four guest chairs lined up on the other side of it. Both men stood as I entered.
“There’s a restroom over there,” Mr. Blackmore said after greeting me, “if you want to dry off a bit.”
I took him up on the offer, and by the time I returned, a steaming cup of tea was waiting for me. Before I’d taken a sip, Nate opened the door and the Farmington sisters walked in. Lorna looked worried. Jamie looked wary.
“Thank you for coming in,” Ellis said. “This is Mr. Blackmore. He owns the shop and has agreed to let us meet here.” He completed the introductions, the polite convention and elegant surroundings creating a odd counterpoint to the potentially deadly scenario unfolding outside the shop. Mr. Blackmore offered refreshments, which were declined.
“Ladies,” Mr. Blackmore said, “Chief … if you’ll excuse me.”
“Please … have seats,” Ellis said as soon as the door clicked closed.
He stayed standing until the sisters sat down. They perched on the front edges of their seats. Lorna twisted her purse strap into a tight screw. Jamie kept her eyes on Ellis’s face.
“I arranged this meeting,” Ellis continued, “because I need to talk to you without anyone knowing about it. In case someone is watching, I couldn’t come to you and I couldn’t ask you to come to the station house. I don’t know that anyone is following any of us, but we’re dealing with a life-and-death situation, so I’m taking no chances. When I say no one can know about this meeting—I mean no one. I asked Josie to join us for her antiques expertise. Are you okay with committing to keeping this conversation strictly private?”
Lorna looked at her sister. Jamie kept her eyes on Ellis. “Yes, that’s all right. We can do that.”
“Thank you,” he said to Jamie. He turned to Lorna. “Ms. Farmington? Are you all right with that commitment?”
Lorna jumped as if she’d been touched by a live wire. “Yes.”
“Thank you.” He took in a breath. “You know that Josie’s employee Eric has been kidnapped.” They nodded. “Josie has received a ransom note from the kidnapper. He wants the dolls she bought from you that are currently in her possession. That’s okay. She has no problem giving them up. Where it gets complicated is why they want the dolls.”
“I read that they destroyed the ones in the van,” Jamie said.
“Right.” He nodded in my direction. “Josie, will you explain, please?”
“We searched the dolls and found that one contained rare and valuable Civil War currency.”
Jamie shot a glance at Lorna. Lorna’s mouth was hanging open.
“Rare Civil War currency?” Jamie repeated, her intonation making it a question.
I recounted what Barry had told me about the origin and potential value of the find.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she said.
“Why not?” I asked.
She glanced at her sister again, but Lorna didn’t notice. Her eyes were on me. It was educational to watch her while Jamie talked. So far, I hadn’t noticed any inconsistencies between Lorna’s nonverbal communications and Jamie’s words.
“The currency is in three Chatty Cathys,” Jamie said. “We told you that we wanted to keep them for sentimental reasons. The truth is that our mom told us that’s where she hid the money.”
“Chatty Cathys?” Ellis asked, all at sea.
“Chatty Cathy is a brand of doll,” I explained to him, “that was manufactured by Mattel starting in 1959. They’re no longer available, but at the time, they created quite a stir because they spoke. They could say eleven phrases.” Ellis still looked bewildered, so I added, “The dolls had miniphonographs in their chests. You pulled a ring in the doll’s back that set the phonograph spinning and it spoke one of the phrases randomly.” I turned to Jamie. “They’re highly collectible but not particularly valuable. First-edition blondes go for around three fifty, maybe four hundred dollars. First-edition African American dolls with pigtails are the most scarce and thus the most valuable, selling for as much as twelve hundred each.” I turned to Jamie. “Someone removed the phonograph, right, and placed the currency in the now-empty chest cavity?”
“Exactly.”
I nodded. “What’s especially clever about that is that the dolls are often mute. The pull ring snaps off or the string it’s attached to breaks. Rubber gaskets wear out. Anyone noticing that your dolls couldn’t speak wouldn’t think anything about it.”
“How much currency do you have?” Ellis asked Jamie.
“Nine hundred dollars, three hundred in each doll,” Jamie replied. She turned to me. “How much did you find? Do you know what it’s worth? Mom thought it probably had some value.”
“We found a hundred bills, giving you a thousand, total.” I paused to do the math. “Your mom was right. The currency may be worth as much as two million dollars at full retail, which would net you somewhere between six hundred thousand and as much as a million dollars, wholesale.”
The sisters exchanged glances,
and Lorna raised her hand to her mouth.
“I hope you’re right,” Jamie said, “but I still don’t understand. Mom only told us about the Chatty Cathys. She never told us about another doll.”
“Maybe she forgot, or maybe she didn’t know about it. Did she tell you how she came to place the money in the Chatty Cathys?”
Jamie nodded. “It happened when my dad died. Our mom got nervous having the currency lying around, and she never trusted banks much, so she refused to put it in a safe deposit box. Mom told us that the bills had originally been hidden in dolls, but that her mother had removed them when World War II broke out, thinking that hiding the money in dolls was too risky if they ever needed to make a quick getaway.” She shook her head and glanced at Lorna. “There’s a high-strung gene that runs through some of the women in our family. Lorna’s got it. I don’t. Grandma and Mom both had it. I know it was a horrible time in our nation’s history and everyone was on edge and scared, but from all reports, Grandma was convinced we were about to be overrun by enemy forces, so she was prepared to make a run for it. It must have been very hard on her. In any event, she must have missed emptying the cache in one of the dolls, and Mom never knew it.”
“That’s logical,” I told her.
“Which other doll had the money in it?” Jamie asked.
“A nineteenth-century European one.”
Jamie glanced at Lorna, then back at me. “Maybe there’s more in some of the others.”
“We X-rayed them all. There isn’t.”
Jamie shook her head. “I’m so taken aback.” She paused for a moment. “I don’t mean to be crude … but I assume you’ll be returning the currency.”
“Of course. There’s no question the money wasn’t part of our deal.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you know how the currency came into your family’s possession?”
“Yes. We were always told that it came directly from our great-great-however-many-greats-grandfather Salmon Chase. We have a letter from President Lincoln discussing the currency. I don’t recall that he mentioned a specific amount, but I haven’t read it in years.”
“That makes sense,” I said. “That letter sounds amazing. Depending on the content and the context, it and the others may be even more valuable than the currency. But that’s a conversation for another day.” I leaned forward. “The police think, and I agree with them, that the kidnapper knew the currency was hidden in the dolls but didn’t know which one or ones. Maybe he planned on taking the dolls with him but got spooked when someone drove by. Breaking them apart was a quick way to see if he could find the money.”
Lorna covered her mouth.
“Which brings us to the point,” Ellis said. “We want to mark the bills. We have to assume the kidnapper will check to make certain the money is intact before releasing Eric. Leaving the currency in place offers the best chance of the exchange going smoothly.”
“You mean just let the money go?” Jamie asked, shocked.
“We would hope and expect to recover it all within minutes of the transfer.”
Jamie shook her head. “That’s too risky.”
“Jamie,” Lorna said on the verge of tears.
Jamie swiveled to face her sister. “No,” she told her. She turned back to Ellis. “My sister is the rescue-the-wounded-bird type. I’m the practical one.”
“But a man’s life—” I said, breaking off as Ellis squeezed my shoulder, signaling that I should keep quiet.
“Let’s come back to that in a moment,” he said. “I have another question. Who knows about the currency?”
“No one.”
“Someone must,” Ellis stated. “Someone who’s going to a lot of trouble to get it.”
Jamie pressed her lips together. “The only person besides us who knew about it was Alice, but she’s dead.”
Ellis crossed his legs, balancing his ankle on his knee. “Your mom told you she’d confided in Alice?”
Lorna shook her head.
“Not exactly,” Jamie said. “One day, while Mom and Alice were, well, I guess you’d say playing with the dolls, Alice discovered one of the caches. My mother had gone into the kitchen to make tea. When she came back with the tray, she found Alice counting the currency. Alice had found the trick latch that opened up Chatty Cathy’s chest piece and removed the money Mom had hidden inside the cavity.” Jamie took a deep breath. “Mom wasn’t concerned. Alice and she were old friends … best friends … a friend Mom had safely confided in for years. Plus, Alice was rich. There was no reason to think there was any risk that she’d steal the money. As far as we know, Mom’s instincts were right. Obviously Alice didn’t kidnap Eric.”
“You knew Alice well,” Ellis said. “If you had to guess, who do you think she might have told?”
“I couldn’t venture a guess,” Jamie said smoothly, but my eyes were on Lorna’s face.
Lorna’s eyes had opened wide, and her mouth formed a little circle. Maybe Jamie wouldn’t venture a guess, but I was willing to bet that Lorna had plenty of ideas.
“What do you think, Lorna?” I asked, jumping in. I smiled, hoping to rob my question of significance, trying to ease Lorna into talking more openly.
Lorna sent a panicky glance at her sister. Her hands grasped the twisted purse strap so hard her knuckles turned white. “I don’t know.”
“I know you don’t,” Ellis asked, leaning back, apparently relaxed and unconcerned, “but what do you think? Unsubstantiated guesses are welcome.”
“Just that Alice and her son were very close.”
“Randall,” Ellis said. “You’re close to him, too, aren’t you?”
Lorna nodded. “We both are. Were. Randall’s a wonderful man.”
“What about Darleen, his wife?” I asked.
“I don’t know her well,” Lorna said in a different tone. Describing Randall as wonderful had sounded sincere; saying she didn’t know Darleen well had sounded polite. Her purse strap snapped. “Oh! I broke it. I’m sorry, Jamie.”
“It’s all right, Lorna,” Jamie said, patting her hand. “The cobbler will be able to fix it.”
“Might Alice have confided in anyone besides Randall?” Ellis asked.
Lorna shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Ellis turned to Jamie. “Do you have any ideas? As I said, any thoughts are welcome. Gossip included.”
“I couldn’t venture a guess.” Jamie turned to Lorna. “Our families were close when we were growing up, but Lorna and I have lived in Tomball, outside of Houston, for almost ten years now. Other than Christmas cards and dinner during an occasional visit, we haven’t been in touch with any of the Michaels since then.”
“Because of Darleen?” he asked.
Jamie snorted. “Let’s just say his marriage didn’t motivate us to stay in touch.”
“Thank you,” Ellis said. “Back to marking the money. The marks are invisible and won’t affect the value of the currency.”
“What if the kidnapper escapes?” Jamie asked. “Then our money is gone.”
“We can make copies,” I said, forcing myself to stay focused on the task at hand and directing my comment to Ellis. I didn’t trust myself to look at Jamie. Letting her see my contempt wouldn’t help my case and might hurt it. We still needed her cooperation—I hoped she’d let me use the Chatty Cathys. The kidnapper might not know which dolls contained the money, but he might have heard that three Chatty Cathy dolls were part of the collection. Everything had to appear as he expected it to appear, Chatty Cathys included. “I have a super high-end color copier at my place.”
“Good enough to fool someone who might know what the real stuff looks like?”
I nodded. “Yes. The paper will be the issue. I’ll call Barry and get some suggestions.” I glanced at my cell phone. It was eleven thirty-five. “If we have time. The kidnapper said he’ll send the instructions later today, which might mean anytime from soon to midnight. Can we use your Chatty Cathy dolls?” I asked Jamie, f
orcing myself to smile. “I won’t have time to track others down.”
“Why do you need them?” Jamie asked. “The kidnapper demanded the dolls Josie bought from us, isn’t that right? That sale didn’t include the Chatty Cathys.”
“You’re right,” I agreed, carefully keeping my tone neutral. “We’re dealing with three distinct batches of dolls. The first batch includes the ones Eric had in the van. The second batch includes the ones I have in my safe. The third batch is the Chatty Cathy dolls in your possession. I included the Chatty Cathys in the Seacoast Star article listing to cover all bases. At this point, we have to assume the kidnapper thinks they’re actually in the second batch.”
“Maybe that’s why he tried to break in,” Lorna said, her eyes showing panic. “To steal the Chatty Cathy dolls.” She looked at Ellis. “You asked us about that man who tried to get past Eric.”
Ellis nodded. “Yes, but if that’s the kidnapper, he probably was after all the dolls. At that point, it’s unlikely he knew that Eric had packed them up. Still, it raises a good question. You might reconsider keeping that much currency at home.”
Jamie nodded. “We will.”
“I’d recommend sending the currency out for appraisal after I make the copies,” I said. “We should confirm what we have, and in my opinion, we should do it sooner, rather than later. There may be something about these bills in particular that we don’t know, and knowing it might lead us to the kidnapper. It’s a long shot, but it can’t do any harm, and sometimes long shots pay off.”
“Like what?” Jamie asked.
“Like association or provenance.” She looked bewildered. “Association refers to connections between an object and important or interesting historical figures or events. Provenance refers to an unbroken record of ownership. For instance, if President Lincoln personally presented these bills to Secretary Chase, that association adds value to the currency. On the other hand, if there’s some marking on the bills that indicates they’re part of a stash that was stolen during a robbery two years, ago, well, obviously, we don’t have a clean provenance.”
Dolled Up for Murder Page 12
