by Jane Tesh
Neither did I. “This could be a prank, Pierson. Don’t get your hopes up.”
Chance Baseford was not happy to see either of us. “What is it now?”
I looked at his bookshelves. Like the optical illusion of Fulfillment, a small green box sat on the second shelf, innocently masquerading as one of Baseford’s many books. Without explaining or asking, I walked over to the shelf, took the box down, and opened it. Inside lay the set of little leafy Art Nouveau silverware.
Pierson gave a choked cry and snatched the box from my hands. He cradled the box in his arms. “Thief! How dare you take my priceless treasures?”
Baseford looked stunned but not as guilty as I’d hoped. “I—I don’t know how that got there, I swear! I’ve never seen that box before!”
“You’ll probably want to make up a better story for the police.”
“Wait! I’m telling you I did not take anything!”
Pierson tore around the office in a frenzy. “Where is my poster? My ashtray? My dragonfly?”
“I didn’t take them! I didn’t take anything!” Baseford’s face was gray. “I swear I didn’t know that box was there. Someone must have put it there.”
For the first time, Chance Baseford wasn’t sneering or preening. He looked genuinely upset.
Pierson shook with indignation. “Liar! You’ve hated me for years, and this was your feeble attempt to get back at me for some imagined slight. Well, it won’t work. Call the police, Randall.”
Baseford attacked. “How did you know that box was in my office? You’re in on this together. It’s a setup. You won’t get away with it. I’ll call the police myself.”
“Thief! Dastardly villain!”
“It’s your word against mine, Pierson. If you accuse me of theft, I’ll say you planned all this to discredit me. I know you wanted my job. The Herald will do a full investigation. They’ll prove I had nothing to do with this.”
I kept myself between the two men. “Who would plant these things in your office? Who has access?”
“Anyone could come in here. As for planting evidence, you need look no further than this man right here.” He pointed a trembling finger at Pierson. “I did not steal those stupid spoons, and I did not steal anything else. That box was planted here. I am innocent of any crime. Get out.”
“Randall, have this cad arrested!”
“Both of you, calm down,” I said. “There’s no real proof Baseford took your spoons, Pierson. When the person called you, what did he say?”
“He said, ‘I found something you might be looking for. It’s in a green box in Chance Baseford’s office.’”
Exactly what the mystery source had told me. “Baseford, have you discussed the robbery with anyone? Who else besides you knows about Pierson’s missing artwork?”
“Everyone who reads the paper, you dolt. Take your idiot client and get out of my office.”
Pierson clutched the box. “This isn’t over. I’ll find some way to prove you took them.”
“And I’ll prove you set this up. Get out!”
Pierson kept a tight hold on the box all the way back to the parking lot. “How can we expose Baseford as the thief he is? We must force him to return my dragonfly.”
“I’m not sure he has the dragonfly.”
“You think he’s telling the truth?”
“It’s as you said. He has nothing to gain by stealing your artwork. He wouldn’t jeopardize his cozy job at the Herald. I think he was set up.”
“Then who has the rest of my treasures?”
“Are you sure you don’t know anything about this?”
He stopped in his tracks and reacted with theatrical astonishment. “Me?” I’m surprised he didn’t say, “Moi?” “We’ve been through all this, Randall. You know full well this is the dragonfly at work.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t believe in curses. Someone planted your silverware in Baseford’s office to throw blame his way. No curse. Just some clever thieves who are trying to find the money.”
The expression in his huge eyes was mournful. “I can’t imagine anyone hating me that much. I feel exactly like the fisherman in The Wake of the Storm. ‘My nets lie empty, and all have now deserted me, even those I considered friends and companions. How unkind is fate, as unpredictable as the ever-rolling sea.’” He looked down at the box of spoons, and his large hands caressed the lid. “At least my silverware has come back to me.”
“We’ll find the other things.” I wished I could be more certain.
Pierson took his silverware home where he no doubt spent the rest of the day staring at his spoons. I found Jordan’s squad car parked in the driveway of 302 Grace, and Jordan parked in one of the rocking chairs on the porch, his short black hair at attention and his small blue eyes narrowed.
“You’re racking up the points today. Chance Baseford called with a complaint. You been roughing up the old curmudgeon?”
“‘Curmudgeon.’ Good one.”
“You and Cam are not the only ones with a vocabulary. What’s going on, Randall? How many people have to die before you get the message?”
I sat down in another rocker. “I have the right to remain silent, unless you’ll share some information. I think Baseford’s telling the truth. Someone planted the missing spoons in his office.”
“So, does this someone also have the rest of the stolen articles, and if so, would he or she be obliging and plant them, too?”
“Wishful thinking. Whoever it was, called me and Leo Pierson with the tip. He said, ‘I found something you might be looking for. It’s in a green box in Chance Baseford’s office.’”
Jordan rubbed his chin. “Baseford has so many enemies in town, I imagine there are hundreds of people who wouldn’t mind seeing him in trouble. What’s the connection to Pierson?”
“Professional jealousy. At one time, Pierson was considered for Baseford’s job.”
“When did you get your tip about Baseford?”
“About an hour ago.”
“No caller ID?”
“The person called from the Herald. Could be any one of a hundred employees.” All of whom hated Baseford and wished him ill. It would be a daunting task to interview that crowd.
Jordan’s eyes narrowed further as if daring me to lie. “And you don’t have a clue where the rest of Pierson’s stuff is.”
“Not at the moment. Now it’s your turn. Anything new on the Stein case?”
“They found more pieces of the boat, including something that looks like a television remote. But since Stein had not one but four televisions on board, a TV remote is not surprising.”
“What does it look like?”
“It’s nothing special. A small silver box about five inches long.”
Richard Mason’s remote control for his artwork had been a small silver box about that size. Hadn’t he said something about being invited to parties on Stein’s boat? A good opportunity to snoop around to see what he could zap. Or he could’ve rewired the remote so the next time Stein turned on one of his TVs, everything exploded.
“That’s all the sharing I’m up for today.” Jordan’s chair creaked as he adjusted position. “How’re things with Cam?”
“He’s off Tranquillon, but there may be something else, and I don’t know where he’s getting it.”
“Well, say the word, and I’ll help with the intervention.” His phone beeped, and he answered it. “Be right there.” He wedged himself out of the chair. “Have you ruled out that weird hippie woman he’s got living here?”
“Yes.”
Jordan shook his head as if he couldn’t understand why Camden felt the compulsion to take people in off the streets. “Someday I need to have a word with him about who he lets move in here.” He pointed at me. “That includes you.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“Le
t Me Die”
I was wondering what to do next when Turbo came up Grace Street and turned into the driveway. Kary got out and came up the walk, her arms full of music books.
“I am through with the festival for the day,” she said. “Everyone is as ready as they’re going to be.”
I took the stack of books. “You must have left the house at dawn.”
“I had to be there by seven-thirty. Did I see Jordan’s squad car heading out?”
“He stopped by for an exchange of information.”
“Anything useful?”
“Not really, but I found Pierson’s silverware in Chance Baseford’s office. Looked like he’d been set up. Pierson and I got the same anonymous tip.” I held the screen door for her, and we went inside to put the books on the piano bench.
“In Baseford’s office?”
“Hidden in plain sight.” I thought of Pierson’s little silverware and how the green box had been right on the bookshelf. Was the ashtray at a flea market on a table with other ashtrays? Was the dragonfly sitting around a pond with other dragonflies?
“Why would someone do that?”
“Baseford’s got plenty of enemies.”
Kary hung her pocketbook on the hall tree. “Well, this complicates things, doesn’t it? Have you seen Cam today?”
“I guess he’s still in bed.”
I started toward the island when footsteps pounded down the stairs, and Camden ran into the kitchen, wild-eyed.
“Snakes! In my bedroom! They came down the chimney! Get them out!”
At that moment, Slim and Jim Python came slithering down the stairs.
“Oh, Lord.” Kary retreated to the island. Camden made a dash for the front door, but the larger snake blocked his way.
“They’re harmless, remember?” I said. “Calm down and listen to them.”
“They scared the hell out of me!”
Way to go, guys, I thought, as the smaller snake passed me and reared up in front of Camden. “Relax and listen. It’s probably tree time.”
The smaller snake, Slim, cocked his head and peered into Camden’s eyes. Camden was breathing hard, but slowly his expression changed. “They say I’m going to die.”
“What, now? We haven’t had the official death report from Kit.”
“I’m going to die if I keep taking pills.”
A bit harsh, but if it worked, okay. “Sounds like good advice.”
Camden spoke to the snake. “How did you know? You came all this way back to Grace Street to warn me?” Jim, the larger snake, moved closer and stared up at him. “What? Wait, no. You’re going to keep coming back until I quit?” Slim nodded and must have said something else. “You’re going to follow me around—you’re going to sleep in the bed with me?” He shuddered. “You don’t have to do that. I quit. I promise.” He got a double-barreled stare from both snakes that made him hold out his hands as if keeping them away. “I promise. I haven’t taken any today.”
“Where are they?” I asked.
“In my room in one of my sneakers.”
I went upstairs and found a small plastic bag with three red pills. When I returned, Kary was still watching from a safe distance in the island, and Camden was gingerly patting Slim on the head.
“Yes, okay, I promise,” he said again. “Now you need to get back to Graber before he misses you.” He edged past Jim to open the screen door. “There you go.”
The snakes paused for one more hard look before rippling out and down the porch steps. Camden braced himself on the hall tree, one hand to his heart. “Oh, my God.”
Kary put her arm around his shoulders, led him to the sofa, and sat him down. “You’re okay. You just need to do what Slim and Jim said, and you’ll be fine.”
He took a deep breath in and out. “I was asleep and heard a noise. I turned over and there they were, right at eye level, grinning.”
Surprise! If that didn’t do the trick, nothing would. “What were their parting words?” I asked.
“‘We’ll be watching you.’”
Way to go, snakes.
Camden winced. “Something’s coming in.”
“I’m impressed you can see anything,” I said as the sound of more footsteps on the stairs heralded Kit and his inevitable announcement.
“Almost death this time, Cam!”
Camden stared at me. “Baseford. In his office. Go now. Hurry!”
Kary and I didn’t pause to question either of them. We jumped up and ran out to the Fury. I drove as fast as I could to the Herald office. We hurried past the main desk and up the short flight of stairs to Baseford’s office. At first I thought he’d fallen asleep at his desk. Closer and careful inspection revealed an empty bottle of pills, an empty vodka bottle, and a message on his computer monitor:
I can no longer live with myself. I stole Leo Pierson’s artwork and destroyed it. I was jealous and angry. Forgive me.
Exactly the kind of melodramatic high-flown suicide note the man would write. But was it suicide? Was it real?
As I called 911, Baseford’s assistant and a group of people came dashing into the office. They ignored me, all talking and exclaiming at once.
“Did you call 911?”
“It’s too late for that! He’s dead, can’t you see?”
“But what’s this about somebody’s artwork?”
“Somebody needs to call the police!”
The office was soon crowded with paramedics, reporters, and gawkers. Kary and I moved back and listened. Baseford’s assistant stood to one side, white-faced, wringing his hands. By all accounts, he should have been doing the dance of joy. Instead, he looked like his best friend had been snuffed. I watched his face as the paramedics worked, and when one said, “He’s stable,” the relief on the assistant’s face was palpable.
The paramedics hauled Baseford out of his chair and onto a stretcher. People jostled each other to take cell phone pictures, and one reporter asked if there was room on the front page of tomorrow’s edition for the story.
Baseford was carried out to the waiting ambulance. The rest of the crowd followed for a better view of the action. Kary gave me a little nod and followed them. I hung back. The assistant had stayed in Baseford’s office. He steadied himself on a desk and took several deep breaths.
“Pretty scary, huh?” I said. He turned, startled. “Did somebody’s practical joke backfire?”
“Joke?” The word caught in his throat. “It was a suicide attempt. Didn’t you see the note?”
“Anybody could’ve typed that. You really think Baseford’s the kind of guy who’d commit suicide?”
The assistant’s face was gray. “But he’d stolen some artwork.”
“How did you know about that?”
He stammered. “Y-you were here before with that actor, Pierson. We heard a commotion. All of us, not just me.”
“Some stolen artwork was found in Baseford’s office. Someone called me, and I found it, but anybody could have put it there. What do you know about it?”
He edged away from me. “I don’t know anything. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Pierson won’t press charges. He’s happy to have his spoons back. But somebody with a big grudge against Baseford might have thought to make major trouble for him by planting them in his office.”
“Why wouldn’t Baseford have taken them himself? He and Pierson have never gotten along.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.” That same day I almost ran over the assistant as I came out of Baseford’s office. “I think you might have heard some things, too.” I imagined this guy’s ear was always pressed against the door.
The assistant closed up. He looked away, and his throat worked as if he were trying to swallow something impossibly large.
I figured I had his number—literally. “You called me, didn’t you
? I don’t recall discussing Pierson’s missing artwork with you. How did you know his silverware was in a green box?”
He gave up. “The other day, when Pierson was in here bellowing about his stuff, I couldn’t help but overhear. I happened to find that box, that’s all. I looked inside and knew those things didn’t belong to Baseford.”
“So you called me, hoping to get your boss in trouble?”
“He shouldn’t have taken it! I was trying to do the right thing.”
“The police are going to question everybody on the paper about this, and as Baseford’s unhappy and underpaid assistant, you’re suspect number one. I happen to know somebody on the force. I can help you out.”
He gripped the edge of the desk. “I don’t need any help because I haven’t done anything wrong. Baseford took those things. Leave me alone.”
I would—for now. “If you change your mind, give me a call. I think you already know my number.”
Kary and I met at the Fury. I told her my suspicions about Baseford’s assistant, and she reported that Baseford was going to pull through.
“We’d better get home and see what’s left of Camden,” I said.
Kary and I expected a complete meltdown on the sofa, but Kit was sitting with Camden and from their seriously concentrated expressions, they were shutting psychic doors like crazy.
Camden came back for a moment to ask if we’d been too late.
“No, Baseford’s alive. Looks like attempted suicide, though. You all right?”
“Everything came crashing back in. It’s worse than before.”
“It only seems that way,” I said, as if I knew what I was talking about. “You’ve been in a vacuum for days. It’ll readjust.”
“Yeah, that’s what I told him,” Kit said.
Kary got out her cell phone. “I’ll call Ellin.”
I went into the kitchen and fixed some tea with plenty of sugar. I brought it to him, and he took a big drink. He was trembling and his eyes were huge, as if he were seeing the universe.
“It’s like ten days’ worth of visions all at once.”
