A Fatal Fabergé

by Ellery Adams

  A Fatal Fabergé

  In the grips of a cold and drab autumn, Collector’s Weekly reporter Molly Appleby is thrilled to be attending a festive black-tie fundraiser hosted by the very private Natasha Gordon, an heiress known for her charitable events and aversion to the limelight. It’s Molly first chance to see the stunning interior of the Gordon estate, but when a rare book dealer is pushed from a high window to his death, she’s confronted with a sight that’s become all too common for her. And despite the fact that the crude and pompous victim was roundly disliked by all who knew him and that any number of people may have wanted him dead, Molly agrees to look into the murder for his surviving son.

  As the police go about their steady business of interviewing the dozens of people in attendance that night, Molly decides to look closer to home and begins questioning the staff and anyone else connected to the estate and the victim. More and more stories of the dead man’s troubled life and marriage begin to emerge, including a potentially lucrative deal that’s gone bust and an old Gordon family heirloom that’s gone missing—a rare jeweled Fabergé egg once owned by the Empress Alexandra of Russia.

  When clues to the murderer’s identity begin to accumulate, so too do the threats to Molly, and she knows she’s getting close to the truth. But with a secret family history and an untold amount of money on the line, Molly knows she’ll need to tread carefully before she becomes the latest victim of a killer trying to cover their tracks . . .

  Title Page

  Copyright

  A Fatal Fabergé

  Ellery Adams and Parker Riggs

  Copyright © 2020 by Ellery Adams and Parker Riggs.

  Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

  Beyond the Page Books

  are published by

  Beyond the Page Publishing

  www.beyondthepagepub.com

  ISBN: 978-1-950461-36-3

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Books by Ellery Adams and Parker Riggs

  About the Authors

  Chapter 1

  On a crisp autumn day, Molly Appleby pushed her son, Tyler, in a stroller down a quiet side street in Burlington, Vermont. They were on their way to Monkey Paws Antiques, where Molly was hoping to talk to the shop owner about an interview for Collector’s Weekly. As senior staff writer, she was always on the lookout for stories, and she’d heard that Monkey Paws had recently celebrated its twenty-fifth anniversary. Her niece (and Tyler’s nanny), Starling Harrison, was accompanying them, and when they arrived at the store, Starling held the door open for Molly to push the stroller inside.

  A table by the entrance held a dozen mason jar candles for sale, and one burned brightly on the counter behind it, filling the air with the sweet scent of apples and cinnamon. It was two weeks before Thanksgiving, and the autumnal theme was going strong in the store with ceramic pumpkins, cozy throw blankets, brass trays, lanterns, and goldenrod wreaths on display.

  “I see a rack of vintage clothes,” Starling said. She’d lately become interested in vintage wear, as evidenced by the 1970s beige tartan coat she was wearing. “Do you mind if we split up?”

  “No, of course not. Go.”

  Starling went off in the direction of the clothes, and Molly pushed the stroller down an aisle of antique furniture. A Georgian mahogany chest caught her eye, but it was a jelly cupboard/pie safe that made her stop in her tracks. She’d been thinking of buying one for her kitchen.

  As she looked over the cabinet, a tall, lanky man appeared out of a back room. He was around fifty, clean-shaven, with thinning gray hair swept back from a high forehead. When he saw Molly, he made a beeline for her.

  “That’s a charming piece,” he said. “It’s made of solid pine, and it’s been refinished.” He opened the doors. “You can see there are two interior shelves, which is very handy. And, of course, there are the two top drawers for storage.”

  “It’s gorgeous, and in excellent condition,” Molly said. “I don’t see a price tag.”

  “It’s two thousand dollars.”

  She thought it was a fair price for the piece, but she wasn’t ready to make any snap decisions. “I’ll talk it over with my husband,” she said. “Are you the owner, Felix Shaw?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Hi, I’m Molly Appleby. I—”

  He cut her off. “I know who you are.” He smiled as he stuck out his hand. “With your hat on, I didn’t recognize you from your byline photo. I’ve been a subscriber to Collector’s Weekly for years. I really enjoy your articles. They’re very informative.”

  Molly felt herself blush. “Thank you.” She always got a little embarrassed when people complimented her work.

  “How do you like living in Vermont after your recent move from North Carolina?”

  “Actually, it’s been three and half years.”

  “Has it?” He looked surprised. “The older I get, the faster time seems to go by.”

  “I know what you mean. This little guy is already fourteen months old, which amazes me, he’s growing so fast.” She indicated Tyler, who was clutching his favorite stuffed bunny rabbit and chewing on its ear.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, I’m curious what brought you to Vermont. You never said in your articles.”

  “My husband, Matt, was offered a surgical residency at the University of Vermont Medical Center,” she said. “I was fortunate that the magazine allowed me to work remotely. I’ve been enjoying exploring stores like yours in New England. Which brings me to the reason for my visit to your shop. I was wondering if you’d be interested in sitting down with me sometime for an interview. My stepfather told me you’ve recently celebrated twenty-five years in business, which is quite an accomplishment. I’d love to write a feature article on
you, about how you got your start, how you’ve managed to continue your success into the Internet age when so many stores are closing.”

  His smile widened. “Well, this is very exciting. Did you have a date in mind?”

  “Early January, after the holiday rush is over.” She opened her vintage Chanel handbag. Matt had given it to Molly to thank her for all the sacrifices she’d made for him while he was in medical school. It was the only piece of designer “clothing” that she owned. She took out a business card and handed it to him. “Here’s my contact information. I’ll give you a call after the first of the year.”

  “Wonderful. Thank you, Molly. I’m honored you’d even consider me for an article.” He tucked her card into his shirt pocket. “Um, who’s your stepfather?”

  “Sorry, I should’ve said. Sean Murphy. He owns the Treasure Trove. He told me you gave him some advice when he first moved to Burlington.”

  “That’s right, I did,” Felix said. “He stopped into the shop one day and we got to talking. He mentioned he was putting together his own business plan for a new store, and I gave him some pointers.” He grinned. “I’m glad the Treasure Trove has done so well, even if Sean is the competition. Last time I dropped in to see him, he introduced me to your mother. She seems like a very nice lady.” He sighed deeply. “Finding love later in life isn’t easy to do. I’m happy for both of them on their marriage.”

  Molly noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but before she could ask him anything about his personal life, the phone behind the register counter rang, and he excused himself. She found Starling standing in front of a display table, having moved on from the vintage clothes rack. She was holding a large ceramic punchbowl shaped like a giant pumpkin.

  “Isn’t it adorable? Please tell me you need this,” she said.

  Molly took the bowl from her and checked the price tag. “It’s a hundred and sixty dollars.” She set the pumpkin bowl back on the table. “Far too expensive for my tastes, and besides, I don’t need one. We got a crystal punchbowl as a wedding gift and I still haven’t used it. What I need is a Christmas present for my mother.”

  Starling’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought you bought her that hand-knitted woolen scarf at the craft fair we went to last weekend. Or did you decide to keep it for yourself?”

  “No, it’s for my mother, but we always buy each other a few small gifts.” There was a revolving jewelry carousel on the table, and Molly turned it around, stopping it when she saw a pewter cat brooch. “This is perfect. It’s vintage, and only twenty dollars.”

  With the cat brooch in hand, Molly moved on with Starling. They walked through the entire store, taking their time, exploring every nook and cranny. When they made their way back to the entrance by the register counter, Starling bought one of the autumn fragrance candles. Molly decided to buy one too, and handed it along with the brooch to Felix to ring up. As he scanned her items, she looked out the front window.

  “There’s a bookstore across the street,” she told Starling. “Let’s go there next.”

  Felix looked up. “Don’t waste your time,” he said. “Rarus Books will spoil your day.” He lowered his voice, even though there was no one else in the store. “The owner has a drinking problem, and he’s let the shop fall into disrepair. I expect it will close soon.”

  “That’s too bad,” Molly said. “I guess we’ll skip the bookstore.”

  “Good decision,” he said.

  There was a stack of glossy flyers on the counter, and Starling picked one up. “Look, Aunt Molly. It’s advertising the charity gala ball at Misty Vale.”

  “I’m selling tickets for the event, if you’re interested,” Felix said. “It’s a fundraiser in support of the pediatric unit at the hospital. But it’s tomorrow night, and black-tie, so you’d need something fancy to wear.”

  Molly handed him her credit card. “Actually, I already have tickets. My husband bought them a few weeks ago.”

  He inserted her card into the credit card reader. “Right, of course, you said he’s a doctor.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing the inside of the manor house,” Molly said. “I visited the Gordon Museum with my mother a couple of years ago, but the ticket didn’t include a house tour. I wonder why they don’t open it up to the public.”

  “The owner, Natasha Gordon, is a very private person,” he said. “This is actually the first time she’s hosting a fundraiser at the manor house. Although, I’m sorry to say, she won’t have her private rooms open to the public.”

  “Oh. Too bad. She must have some lovely artwork.”

  “It’s not just the art. There’s antique furniture and so many collectible items. I’ve been trying for years to persuade her to sell some of them to me.”

  “What does she have that you’re interested in?”

  “There’s a hand-painted Russian lacquer box I’ve always admired, and a Russian gilded silver and enamel creamer, circa 1900, that I have the perfect spot for in my home. There’s also a silverware service for twelve that’s been gathering dust for years. I told her, it’s not like you’re doing anything with these things, so why not give them a new home? It’s a shame, really. I’d pay her a fair price, and I have no intention of selling them. But she won’t do it.”

  “They must have sentimental value,” Molly said.

  Felix frowned. “Everything in the manor house has sentimental value to Natasha.”

  “How do you know her?”

  “My mother works there. She’s been a cook for the Gordon family since 1968, if you can believe it.”

  Molly was impressed. The longest she’d worked at any one place was for eight years, when she was an English teacher at an exclusive private school in North Carolina. She was getting close to achieving that milestone again at Collector’s Weekly, but she couldn’t imagine herself working there forever.

  “Are you going to the ball?”

  “Me? No.” He shook his head. “Would you like a gift box for the pin?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Felix reached under the counter and brought out a small white box and a stack of thin red tissue paper. “Natasha hired a catering firm, but my mother wants to make sure everything goes off without a hitch.” He opened the box and tucked some of the sheets of tissue inside. Then he set the pin on top of the paper and folded the sides over the pin. “She’s seventy-two, and I worry about her stress levels.” He put the lid on the box. “I told her I’d keep her company, in case she needs help with anything.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” Molly said. “She certainly has worked on the estate a long time.”

  “Yes, she has. That’s why I’m selling tickets for the event.” He put the box into a white bag with Monkey Paws Antiques written in swirling red letters on the front. “I’ve only managed to sell eight, but Natasha told me last week that over a hundred tickets had already been sold.”

  “That’s good news for the pediatric unit,” Molly said. “I Googled Natasha. There wasn’t much on her, other than she’s known for her philanthropic work. Does she have a profession?”

  “No. Although I suppose being a fundraiser and party planner for charities could qualify as a type of profession, couldn’t it?”

  Starling said, “Only if you don’t need a steady paycheck. She’s lucky she doesn’t have to work for a living. She must be very comfortable.”

  “She inherited the entire Misty Vale estate after her parents passed away in the late nineties,” he said. “I admire her for managing it on her own all these years.”

  He handed Molly her credit card, and she slipped it into her handbag. “I read she’s never married, and has no children.”

  Felix handed the bag to Molly.

  Molly tucked the bag into the zippered tote she kept in the stroller. “Well, maybe one day you’ll be able to convince her to part with a few of her treasures,” she said. “In the meantime, it was very nice meeting you, Felix. I’ll be in touch about a date and time to get together fo
r an interview.”

  “The pleasure has been all mine.” He raced around the counter to the door and held it open for them. “Have a nice day, ladies.”

  When the door was shut behind them and they were alone on the sidewalk, Molly looked across the street at Rarus Books. She wondered if Felix had badmouthed the owner because he didn’t like him. But then she noticed the gilded gold paint on the store’s wooden sign above the window appeared faded and chipped, and she realized Felix was probably telling the truth. The owner wasn’t taking care of his shop.

  Starling saw where she was looking and said, “If Felix hadn’t told you not to go to Rarus Books, I would have. Tony and I stopped in there once, and we lasted about two minutes before we started sneezing. The shop is shabby and it smelled musty. Felix was right about the owner, too. He never said a word to us. He didn’t even smile, or say hello. He just stood there staring at us like we were aliens from another planet. I thought he was weird and creepy, but maybe he was drunk. I could smell alcohol when we walked by him.”

  Molly pushed the stroller down the sidewalk in the direction of home. She didn’t want to look at Rarus Books and its faded sign. What she did want to do was talk to Starling about Tony Lombardi, and her mentioning his name was the perfect opening. The couple had broken off their relationship twelve days ago, but Starling hadn’t told her or Matt the reason, and Lombardi had been tight-lipped about it, too. The only thing he’d told Molly was that it “just didn’t work out.” She hated to pry, but she also wanted to know what happened. Lombardi wasn’t a stranger to their family. He was a good friend, and Tyler’s godfather.

  She cleared her throat. “Um, speaking of Lombardi . . . you know I invited him to Thanksgiving dinner long before you broke up. I’ve been meaning to ask you if I should rescind the invitation.”