A Fatal Fabergé

by Ellery Adams

  Felix thought for a moment. “You know what? I don’t think I can. I have nothing nice to say about him. He was a selfish man, and Galina deserved far better.” His eyes filled with tears again. “She never should have married him.” Molly opened her purse and took out a packet of tissues. She handed him one, and he took it and wiped his eyes. He took a deep breath and said, “When she told me they were engaged, I warned her not to marry him. I said he’ll never change, and you’ll never be happy with him. She said I was worrying about nothing, that she knew what she was getting into. But the truth is, she had no idea. She wore blinders when it came to Curtis. She couldn’t see his flaws . . . or maybe she didn’t want to, I don’t know. She fancied herself in love with him, and no one was going to talk her out of it.”

  “I’m curious about how they reacted when it became clear she’d been disowned by her parents. Did she confide in you?”

  Felix looked away, past the row of graves, toward the quiet woods along the edge of the cemetery. His shoulders slumped as he went back in time, remembering things he couldn’t change, that no one could. “Galina told me when she got the letter from her parents’ lawyers informing her, Curtis stormed out of their apartment, went to a bar, and got drunk. The next day, he started talking about divorce, but it turned out she was pregnant, and when she told him, he said he would stay.”

  “He stayed because she was pregnant?”

  “Actually, I think it had more to do with his father still being alive.” He looked at Molly. “Mr. Cobb was a good man, and he adored Galina. I always thought if Curtis had told him he was leaving her because the money had been cut off, his father would never have forgiven him. And if there was one person in the world Curtis respected, it was his father. He took his death hard. He didn’t get out of bed for two weeks. Galina had to run the shop on her own. When he did come back to work, his heart just wasn’t in it.” He paused. “Looking back on it now, I think that was the beginning of the end for Rarus Books.”

  Molly imagined the two men, both of them young, both of them after the affections of the same woman. Felix had every reason in the world to hate Curtis for stealing Galina’s heart. But why did Curtis dislike him so much? Was it jealousy over a long friendship? Or was it something more?

  “Did Curtis know that you tried to talk Galina out of marrying him?”

  “Yeah, he found out, because Galina told Hattie, and she decided to tell Curtis. Then he and his friend, Joey Blair, kidnapped me.”

  Molly felt her eyebrows shoot up. “Did you just say they kidnapped you?”

  He nodded. “They drove me out to the old Salter farmhouse. It’s an abandoned house out in the woods. Teens of my day used to go there to hang out and smoke cigarettes. They beat me up, stripped me naked, and left me there.”

  Molly was astonished. “Did you report the assault to the police?”

  “No. I didn’t want to upset Galina, and quite frankly, I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. It was a long walk back to the main road, though. Mosquitoes were feasting on my flesh the whole way. I hid in the bushes until I saw Mr. Hawley coming down the road in his pickup truck. I flagged him down, and he gave me a ride home.”

  “Did Galina know?”

  “I never told her,” he said. “Hattie swore to me she never told her.”

  “So Hattie knew about the kidnapping, too?”

  “Yes, because Curtis told her. She thought it was hilarious, said she wished she could have been there to see it in person.”

  Molly was disgusted. She couldn’t understand why Felix and Galina had ever been friends with her.

  “Did you know that when Galina went abroad in the summers, Hattie and Curtis were seeing each other, and I don’t mean just as friends?”

  Felix’s eyes widened. “I had no idea. I didn’t see much of them over the summer. I was always working. How could they do that to her?”

  “Hattie told me they were discreet, but do you think Galina knew?”

  He shook his head. “No. If she’d known, she would have broken up with Curtis.”

  Molly wasn’t so sure about that. A young teen with blinders on could convince herself it didn’t mean anything.

  “Felix, did you blame Curtis for Galina’s death?”

  Again, tears filled his eyes. “I suppose I did blame him,” he said, sniffling. “If he hadn’t made a mess of everything, she never would have gone to Florida, and she wouldn’t have drowned.”

  He started to cry, but despite the waterworks, Molly wasn’t getting the impression that Felix had killed Curtis because he resented him for marrying the love of his life, or to exact revenge, because he’d been in Florida with her when she died. If she’d never heard about the Fabergé egg, she’d be willing to draw a line through Felix’s name and move on to someone else. But she did know about the egg, and by his own admission his involvement in the sale, and his desire to see it returned to Natasha. She couldn’t write him off as the prime suspect, not yet.

  “It’s obvious to me you loved Galina very much,” Molly said gently. “Anyone would understand if you felt Curtis was responsible for her death. You must have thought about making him pay. He’d put her into a difficult position with his gambling and drinking, racking up all that debt, making them dependent on Natasha to pay the bills. If Galina hadn’t taken the egg to sell, she wouldn’t have been in Florida, and she’d probably be alive today.”

  Felix stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You’re accusing me of killing Curtis?”

  “No,” Molly lied. Accusing him was a good way to push his buttons, to see what kind of reaction she’d get out of him. He did seem genuinely shocked at the notion.

  “Look, I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “I didn’t like Curtis, not from the first time we met, and I won’t cry over his grave. But I didn’t kill him.” He glanced down at Galina’s grave and wiped fresh tears from his cheeks with the tissue. “I would have killed him though,” he said in a near whisper, “if it would have brought her back to me.”

  Chapter 14

  As Molly drove away from Fairhill Cemetery, she licked her dry lips and tried to ignore her growing hunger pains. If she was going to spend so much time in the car, she thought she better bring a bottle of water and some granola bars with her the next time she left the house. She thought about calling her mother, but she knew when Clara got home from Boston she’d want to unpack and unwind a little, and she’d probably already had lunch with Sean on the road. Instead, she called Lombardi. “I have a million things to tell you,” she said. “A lot has happened since yesterday afternoon. I think I know why Curtis was killed.”

  “Well, this I have to hear. Go ahead. And then I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Molly wasted no time. She told him everything Maxim had told her about the Fabergé egg, and her subsequent meetings with Peggy, Natasha, and Felix. She ended by saying, “What strikes me is how they all have a connection to the egg. Felix found the buyer, Hattie and Maxim were helping Curtis search for it, and Natasha was worried Curtis would find it and try to sell it on his own.”

  He laughed and said, “I’m blown away, Molly, how people talk to you. They clam up around me.”

  “Well, I’m not as intimidating as you, and I can’t arrest them,” she said. “But what do you think about the egg?”

  “I like your theories about Curtis blackmailing Natasha for it, or Felix feeling duty-bound to get it back to her at all costs. But without any proof, it’s meaningless. Finding the egg would help, especially if it turns out she has it.”

  “Can you get a search warrant for Misty Vale, and search every building?”

  “I’ll look into it, but without more to go on, it’s probably a long shot. I’m working on other leads, though. The door knockers are out in force, so keep your fingers crossed, maybe someone at the gala ball saw something. Also, I’m leaving here shortly to question two people. One is a former customer of Curtis’s named Jeremy Phillips. He filed a statement of claim against Curtis
three years ago regarding money he gave to him to purchase a rare book. Curtis didn’t follow through and refused to return the money. They settled the dispute out of court, but I want to know more about it. The other person is a man named Joseph Blair.”

  “Wait. I know that name. Remember I told you Curtis kidnapped Felix when they were younger, and he had a friend help him? Well, his name was Joey Blair. It has to be the same guy. How did Joey’s name come up?”

  “A year ago, Curtis and Joey got into a fight at a bar. Joseph punched Curtis so hard he knocked him out. The police were called, a report was written up, and Curtis was taken to the emergency room. He didn’t press charges, so the case was dropped. The report says they got into an altercation over a baseball game. Not sure I believe that, but I’ll see what Joey has to say. He works as a mechanic at Precision Auto. As soon as we hang up, I’ll be stopping by there to talk to him.”

  “Would I be getting in your way if I talked to Joey?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “But why do you want to talk to him?”

  “Because he’s a friend that goes way back, and you’re not the only one who’d like to hear what he has to say about Curtis. Besides, he might tell me something he won’t talk about with you.”

  “Well, if he confesses to murdering Curtis, be sure to let me know.”

  They promised to stay in touch, and as Molly ended the call, she felt satisfied that the investigation was moving along, even if Lombardi wasn’t convinced the Fabergé egg was the motive. She knew he had to consider others, and not settle on a single thing without firm evidence. But if the egg was at the center of Curtis’s death, as she believed it was, then whoever killed him had to be someone who knew about it, and that meant the field was limited to Maxim, Natasha, Hattie, Felix, and Peggy. This gave her one advantage over Lombardi. While he was pursuing other leads, she could concentrate on the five of them.

  Her phone rang again and she saw it was Starling calling. She quickly answered.

  “Is Tyler okay? Are you?” She tended to panic whenever she saw Starling’s name flash on her call screen.

  “Nothing to worry about, we’re both fine,” Starling said. “I’m calling because there’s a silver sedan parked in front of Mrs. Houghton’s house. Do you want me to try to get the license plate number?”

  “No. I’m really close to home. I’ll pull up behind the car and get it myself.”

  Molly turned down her street ten minutes later and saw the sedan was still parked along the curb. She drove slowly, not wanting to scare the driver off, and smoothly pulled into the spot behind the car. She could see the back of a man’s blocky head, but he didn’t turn around, and he didn’t drive away.

  She scribbled down a Massachusetts license plate number and wondered what the driver would do if she went up to the window and knocked on it. Would he give her his name and tell her why he was parked in front of Mrs. Houghton’s house? She was thinking about doing just that when his door opened and he stepped out of the car. He was in his mid-forties, with a shaved head and a goatee. He wore black jeans, a black leather jacket, and heavy black army boots. She thought he looked like a biker, not a boring silver sedan driver. He came back to her car and she got a good look at his face: crooked nose, close-set eyes, and a scar on his left cheek.

  All of her senses went on full alert. Be careful, she thought, he could be dangerous. She did not power down the window.

  “Molly Appleby? My name is Noble Dyson.” He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a business card, holding it up to her closed window so she could read it. Underneath his name, she saw a Boston address and Private Investigator. “Can we talk?”

  He took a step back, giving her space to get out of her car. After a moment’s hesitation, Molly unlocked the door and stepped out. She snatched his business card from his hand and walked past him to the sidewalk, where she waited for him to join her.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I was following Detective Lombardi yesterday morning, and he led me here,” he said. “It wasn’t hard to find out who you are. Molly Appleby, senior staff writer for Collector’s Weekly, only you don’t just write about antiques. You solve murders, too. Impressive.”

  She slipped his card into her purse. “What do you want?”

  “Your help in recovering a valuable item,” he said. “I work for a very wealthy, powerful man who was negotiating to buy a rare antique from Galina Cobb. You know what I’m talking about?”

  “I assume you mean the Fabergé egg.”

  “Right you are,” he said. “The sale didn’t go through because Galina Cobb died.”

  “I was told your client disappeared when he heard the news.”

  “Yeah, he did, because he was being cautious. He feared he might have fallen prey to a scam, or worse, some kind of FBI sting operation. The thing is, Molly, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the egg. He really wants it.”

  “Maybe you haven’t heard, but the egg is missing, and Galina’s husband, Curtis Cobb, is dead.”

  “I know.”

  “You were at the gala ball at Misty Vale?”

  “No, I was in my hotel room most of the night. I heard about Cobb’s death on the eleven o’clock news. I drove out to Misty Vale and talked to a cop at the door. He told me the detective in charge of the case was Detective Anthony Lombardi. I waited around for him to leave.”

  “He was there a long time.”

  “So? I had nothing better to do. I wanted to see what he’d do next, and lo and behold, first thing the next morning he came here. When I realized you’ve helped the police solve other cases when there’s an antique at the center of it, I figured he must have found out about the egg, and he came here to ask you for your help. And if that’s true, then you’re my new best friend.” He grinned, and Molly saw he had a gold front tooth. “You’re a lot easier to follow than Lombardi. He would have spotted me by now. You’ve been busy.” Molly was annoyed with herself. She hadn’t noticed Dyson was tailing her. “So, tell me, what have you found out? Do you know where the egg is?”

  Molly ignored the question. “Why did you come to Vermont?”

  “I told you, my client wants the egg.”

  “I get that part, but what’s your plan?”

  “My initial plan was to talk to Curtis, which I did Saturday afternoon.”

  “The day he died?”

  “Yeah. I hung around his shop until his son left around three. I renewed the offer from my client, and that’s when he told me his wife had hidden the egg in his house and he was looking for it.”

  “You didn’t know it was missing?”

  “No. My client knew Galina Cobb had died, not that she’d hidden the egg. Curtis told me he was confident he’d find it soon, and promised to get in touch when he did.”

  That rat, Molly thought. He would have sold it the minute he found it. “He’s dead now, which means the deal is off,” she said. “So why are you still here?”

  Noble Dyson regarded her for a long moment. His dark eyes were so devoid of expression, it sent a chill down Molly’s spine. “The deal is the same as it’s always been. Six million for the egg. You’re my new plan to get it. So, if you know where it is, and you give it to me, my client will pay you the money.”

  “What makes you think I know where it is?”

  “Like I said, I know what you do for a living, and since I’ve been following you around, I know you’ve been talking to a lot of people.” He smiled, and his gold tooth gleamed. “You must have found something out.”

  “Yes, I have.” She didn’t want to let on that she’d learned Curtis wasn’t a successful book dealer, that his shop was on the verge of closing, that he was in debt up to his eyeballs due to mismanagement, gambling, and excessive drinking, and but for the generous nature of his sister-in-law he would have had to declare bankruptcy years ago. “I know the people I’ve talked to, people who knew Curtis, aren’t very upset that he’s dead.”

  “Really.
Poor fella. I thought he was a perfectly nice man.”

  “He was nice to you because you told him who you represented, and there was a pot of money at the end of the rainbow.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said. “But come on, Molly. There’s got to be more. I know you’ve been out to Misty Vale a couple of times now. I figure you’ve been talking to Natasha Gordon, Hattie Mills, and heck, maybe even the cook, Peggy Shaw. Am I right?” Molly stayed silent. “You also stopped at the cemetery.” Now she felt sick. He really had been following her around, and she was oblivious. How had she not seen him? “Did you have a little chat with the late Galina Cobb, ask her what she did with the egg?” He grinned. “That would be one for the books.”

  “I found Felix Shaw visiting her grave, and I talked to him.”

  Dyson took a step toward her, and Molly took a step back. He was making her nervous, even standing out there in the open, on the sidewalk, in broad daylight.

  “Who’s Felix Shaw?”

  Molly smiled. He wasn’t as well-informed as he pretended to be. “You don’t know?”

  “Obviously, I don’t. Who is he?”

  “Felix is a friend of the Gordon family.” If he didn’t know Felix was the intermediary for Galina’s deal, she certainly wasn’t going to tell him. He kept his identity as hidden as the buyer’s. “He doesn’t know anything about the egg,” she lied. “Honestly, I don’t think any of the people I’ve talked to know where it is. You’re wasting your time following me. I can’t help you.”

  “And I told you, my client wants that egg. You get it, hand it over, and you’ll get the money. Don’t tell me you can’t use six million dollars.”

  “The egg belongs to Natasha,” she said. “She wants it back, too. Her sister had no right to take it.”

  Dyson looked slightly amused. “No right to take it? Well, what do you know. It seems I’m not the only one who doesn’t know everything. Let me tell you something. When Galina met with my client, she told him if he wanted the egg, he better make up his mind fast, before her sister changed her mind.”