“There’s a tale about Al Capone’s armored car being appropriated by FDR when he delivered the ‘Day of Infamy’ speech. It had three thousand pounds of armor plating and gangsters were the only ones who could afford such luxury back then. Unfortunately, the story’s apocryphal.”
The V-16 engines, made only by Cadillac and Marmon, were common on the show circuit, Handleman told us. “I guarantee we’ll have at least one at the show tomorrow.”
There were photos of spacious leather interiors, little jump seats, mohair grab ropes, and lap robes. Handleman gave price estimates for various cars that ranged up to and even exceeded a million dollars.
“Prices at the top end may be negotiated over several years and are highly confidential, but I’m giving you educated guesses.”
He talked about eras and told us how to estimate the date a car was manufactured by examining its wheels. “Wooden spokes came in with wagons and were all but gone by nineteen thirty.”
For the first time, I learned there would be two separate categories of cars being judged at the Fairhope-Point Clear show. “The concours will feature certified classics, almost exclusively prewar automobiles with only a few specific models from later years. But there’ll be a sports car group, too. Some of the nicest cars anywhere will be here.”
“Do you have an entry?” someone asked.
He shook his head. “I’m minding two entries for the museum, but they aren’t mine. They don’t belong to the museum, either. They’re cars we display on long-term loan.”
Finally, with only a few minutes remaining in his final presentation, he clicked back to the elephant slide.
“And now we come to the best, most elegant cars in history. We may see one of these tomorrow, probably not the crème de la crème. But who knows about next year, when word gets out about this new show.”
In the United States, the best was Duesenberg. In Europe, it was Bugatti.
“Both companies were in the aircraft engine business during World War I, and both made the shift into high-performance automobiles.”
He covered the Duesenberg first, showing handsome photographs and giving production numbers. “The models J and SJ are the standouts but before that, there was the Duesenberg Model A, arguably the first straight-eight automobile in the US. And I’m delighted to tell you there’ll be one in the show this weekend. I’m eager for you to see it.”
He then shifted to various models of Bugatti and finally to the Type 41. “These cars were manufactured for royalty. Prospective buyers were interviewed and approved by Ettore Bugatti himself.”
He flipped quickly through slides of people, estates, and a few animal topiaries, and then the silver elephant hood ornament, “…crafted by a member of the Bugatti family shortly before his suicide.” There was international intrigue, too—a secret, underground vault where a few prized cars were concealed throughout the war, to prevent Nazis taking them.
Handleman sat on the edge of the table and spoke, firmly and plainly, his gaze gliding person to person, mesmerizing us. As a series of six Bugatti Type 41s flashed briefly on the screen, one of them in a couple of guises, he gave us their frame numbers and the current owners or locations of each.
“Six examples of the Type Forty-One were manufactured and we’ve accounted for every one. Remember that. There’s an investment scam that goes around every few years announcing the discovery of a seventh, previously unknown, Type Forty-One. I’ve heard that it’s in Germany and subject to repatriation. Or it’s in Alsace, still buried, or the Bugatti family sold it to a collector in Switzerland.”
He took a sip from his water bottle and replaced the cap, then smiled and looked around the room, snake charmer and snake rolled into one.
“The latest story is that it’s being shipped to America as soon as investors find a couple more people willing to chip in a hundred thousand to join their little consortium and share in the fortune the Royale will bring at auction. Like most scams, there’s enough truth there to overpower skepticism. An unknown Type Forty-One would sell for millions of dollars. Tens of millions, even. But there’s not one.”
Another smile.
“The first Type Forty-One, the one wrecked by Ettore Bugatti, causes all the trouble. Five other examples were made, each slightly different, all of them utter perfection. The wrecked one was repaired and rebodied and then rebodied again. And some people, who had counted it number one when it was manufactured, counted it again with the new body, making it number seven. Got it? Well, don’t fall for it. And why am I emphasizing this? Because the rumor has resurfaced. Be careful out there, especially if you’ve got a lot of money to lose. I can suggest much better things to do with it. And with that, I want to thank you for your time and interest.”
He stood up. “I hope you’ll have a wonderful weekend at the inaugural Fairhope/Point Clear Grand Concours. It takes place Friday and Saturday, with a gala Saturday night. Cars will be judged Friday morning. If you want to see the winners, wait and go in the afternoon or on Saturday. Does anyone know the ticket prices? I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“A hundred and forty bucks,” someone shouted. “Give or take.”
Handleman pointed toward the speaker. “There you have it.”
The final round of applause was loud and long. When it ended, no one seemed anxious to leave. Even Dolly Webb was still there, which must have been a record for her. The remaining refreshments didn’t last long.
Chapter 8
Riley leaned toward me. “Are you aware of the power of that man’s presence?”
I told him about Patti’s initial reaction to Handleman. “She spent days avoiding him, but I saw her chatting with him before the program started. I think he really wanted her for the contest.” I got up.
“You were the perfect choice.” Riley stood and stretched.
Nita joined us in time to hear his comment. She agreed. “Perfect. I was so impressed.”
“Too bad I didn’t beat Travis.”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “You did it exactly right, my dear. You handed him the victory, and he knows it.”
I laughed at her assertiveness about passivity. At the front, Handleman shook hands, hugged, and posed for one photograph after another.
Patti was in the middle of everything, getting photographs for our use. Handleman was a shaggy fellow, I noticed, compared to Travis or even Jim, who had always reminded me of a silver buffalo. Could that shagginess explain Patti’s ape-man reference, or whatever it was she’d called Handleman? Regardless of his parentage, I’d find it difficult to call him a person of color. Travis’s complexion was definitely darker.
“He does have the most unusual eyes,” I said to Riley and Nita, watching beside me. “Navy blue and penetrating. Do you suppose he’s honest?”
Riley was looking at him. “Do you think he’s not?”
I laughed and shrugged off suspicion. “Powerful people frighten me, even when they’re museum ambassadors.”
Riley had his own suspicions. “What if, instead of warning us about the scam, he’s the scammer?” He smiled at me. “We’d be lined up to give him our money.”
Riley had unusual eyes, too, but not alarming. Self-possessed. I smiled back and saw Nita do the same. Did she already know about his—what should I call it? Not a proposal, certainly, and not exactly a proposition…his interest in me? Their friendship went back a long way.
We joined the line for the refreshment table.
Patti was zipping through the crowd, getting candid shots of people with refreshments or in conversation. She arranged groups of residents beside the speaker and coaxed everyone to smile. The bulletin board would be made over tomorrow, I knew. And residents would come by throughout the day to talk about the event or get her to email photos to their family members. The effects of these lectures would reverberate for days or weeks, which was why they wer
e so important.
A team from the Mobile FOX channel had set up in the garden and people circled around to watch. I recognized the anchorwoman who clipped a microphone to Handleman’s lapel while her helper lit up the fountain and an elephant ear plant for a backdrop. Then she lobbed him a few questions. He smiled and chatted his way through the interview, plugging the car show and Harbor Village just like he was doing a commercial, and praising Fairhope.
“So wonderful for a town this size to have an international event like this. And the chief judge will be Harry Lipton, a thirty-year judge. You don’t get any better than Harry and his team.”
“Who’s Harry Lipton?” Riley whispered to me. “The name rings a bell.”
“Don’t mention bells.” I shivered. “Lipton sounds like tea. Let’s see if there’s any left.”
At the refreshment table, conversation hopped from person to person.
“I haven’t heard of any of those cars. Can you still buy them?”
“They’re too big to fit into garages.”
“Or parking spaces. Imagine driving down de la Mare in one of those land yachts.”
“It’s been fifty years at least since you could go to a dealership and buy something like that. Isn’t that right, Riley?”
Riley laughed. “You can still buy them. There might be some for sale tomorrow. Just bring your checkbook.”
“Hey, wasn’t there a car named Riley?” someone asked.
“Yes,” Handleman said, right behind me. “A reliable British vehicle. Respectable bordering on sporty, I’d say.”
I grinned at Riley.
“Ms. Mack?” The TV newswoman touched my arm. “Can you give us a little background on the lecture program? The camera’s right out here.” She steered me back to the garden, pasted on her professional smile, and tugged her V-neck a little lower just as the camera’s red light came on.
I remembered to mention Harbor Village and to give Charlie Levine and his community affairs committee credit for an always-stimulating lectures series. And I praised Reg Handleman’s expertise and thanked him for educating us.
“Is there anything you’d like to say to Travis McKenzie, who won the automobile trivia contest tonight?” The interviewer turned syrupy sweet and reached out a hand to Travis, who’d been standing an arm’s length away, listening.
He stepped into camera range, grinning and handsome. The interviewer obviously liked bad boys. She was smiling and flashing some serious cleavage, but if he took a peek, I didn’t see him.
“You certainly know a lot about automobiles, Mr. McKenzie. Doesn’t he, Ms. Mack?”
“Yes, he certainly does.” I smiled right back.
She asked Travis another question or two, letting him show off, before she gave a signal and the camera lights went off, along with the high-wattage smile. I backed away and tried to disappear into the crowd.
“What do you think a Duesenberg would cost today?” I heard someone ask.
“Do you suppose that’s where the word doozy comes from? Reg, do you know?”
Travis pulled me aside a minute later, no longer smiling. “Listen, Cleo, about that banquet. Get somebody else to go with you. Maybe take some of the staff if it’s too late for residents to be out.”
Did this mean what I thought? “Are you backing out? I thought you wanted to go. I thought you’d invited a friend.”
He had the decency to look guilty. “I’m thinking I may just hit the road tomorrow. Work’s piling up. I need to get back and spend the weekend in the office.”
I scowled but he kept talking.
“You can put in an appearance and fly the flag for Harbor Village. Invite Reg Handleman. Here’s Jim. Hey, Jim! You and Nita want to go to the banquet Saturday night? Cleo’s got a bunch of tickets and needs somebody to keep her company.”
Nita was diplomatic, telling Travis they wouldn’t think of taking his ticket.
Jim was angling for a better deal. “Are you driving, Cleo? Should we go early to get good seats? Maybe we should sit at the back, so we can slip out when it gets boring. What’s on the menu?”
Anybody who really wanted to go would have tickets already, I was thinking.
“Are you at least going to the car show tomorrow?” I asked Travis peevishly when the discussion quieted down. “It’d be a shame to come all this way and not even see it.”
He shrugged and tugged at his shirt collar, not meeting my gaze. “I’ve been out there all afternoon. The show cars were coming in early, some of them driving around in the paddock. Might’ve been the best day to go. To tell you the truth, I’m pretty bummed out with cars.”
I could sympathize but didn’t want to say it in public. He kept talking.
“But the banquet, that’s business. Publicity. You want to go high profile. Get Handleman to escort you. He’s got visibility. Not your type but you can manage for a couple of hours. It’s something you get used to. Want me to set it up? Where’s your buddy who drives?”
Was he talking about Riley? My buddy who drives?
“We haven’t even had a real talk, Travis.” My voice had an obvious edge. “I thought you were going to look over my budget proposal.”
“Well, we didn’t count on having a murder, did we? And you don’t want a meeting tonight. We’re both tired. What about nine in the morning? We can meet at that breakfast place in town and I’ll leave from there.”
I agreed before he could escape and then did some mental calculations. He was usually late, which would make it closer to ten. Perfect for a coffee break, not breakfast. I could have my usual toast and jelly at seven and meet with the rental agent at eight thirty for our regular Friday review of Harbor Village rentals. And I could, and would, take some time away from the office next week to make up for this week.
Charlie and Eloise Levine were crossing the lobby when I got there. I called out to them and they stopped and looked around.
“This is last-minute planning and I apologize for that, but I’m trying to set up a table of Harbor Village people at the gala Saturday night. May I give you two tickets?”
Eloise was a head taller than me. “Cleo!” She took the tickets I held out. “Look, Charlie. What do you say?”
He shrugged. “Will we know anybody?”
“Nita and Jim Bergen will be there. Is there someone else I should include?”
“How about Reg?” Eloise asked. “You’d like to visit with Reg, wouldn’t you, Charlie? For old times sake? I know I would.”
Charlie Levine looked more positive than I would’ve expected. “Why not? He’s leaving the next day, right?”
“I suppose.” I didn’t really know what his plans were.
“Will there be dancing?” Eloise asked.
“I’m sure. And a silent auction.”
“Oh, Charlie. Let’s go. How much are the tickets?”
“Free,” I said. “Harbor Village has a sponsor’s table. It’d be a favor to me if you’d help represent us.”
She gave Charlie a pleading look.
He threw up a hand in submission. “Whatever you want, Eloise.”
She looked at me and squeezed her shoulders and head together, eyes closed and lips pursed, sort of a Marilyn Monroe pose. “We’ll go! What are you wearing?”
“A long blue dress with sparkles around the neckline. It’s my only fancy dress.”
“I’m sure you’ll be beautiful. And I won’t wear blue.”
She probably had a closet full of fancy clothes.
I left Stewart and Patti in charge of locking up and went by my office for the budget worksheets, thinking I might go over them once more before I went to bed. Then I walked home with a little group that included Riley, everyone talking about Handleman’s lectures and the excitement of the car show.
“I can’t believe it’s finally here,” Georgina said. “And,
Cleo, you’re a car expert! Did y’all rehearse that quiz? I loved the way you knocked that bell across the room!” She threw a pretend punch and the group laughed.
At my porch I called out good nights.
Riley circled back and let the others walk on. “Want to take the shuttle to the show tomorrow?” He leaned against the doorjamb. “About noon?”
“That would be nice. I’ve got tickets for the banquet Saturday night. Will you go? Nita and Jim are going, and the Levines. I don’t know who else yet.”
“They don’t see too well at night. If you’ll hang on to Jim, I’ll drive and look after Nita.”
My friend who drives. I gave him a tired thumbs-up and went in.
The porch light was on at Ann’s. She never stayed out late. I wondered again why she’d called me without leaving a message and hoped she wasn’t sick. But she had family she could call if she’d had a problem.
Tinkerbelle was waiting in the living room. I dropped my bag on the coffee table and took out my phone. Stephanie had called a few minutes earlier and left a message telling me to call back if I got home before ten. I moved over to the desk, opened the laptop, and fired it up. While I waited, I clicked on Stephanie’s number.
“You’ve been out late every night this week.” She didn’t even say hello.
“Tell me about it. But tonight’s the end. Well, not really. There’s a gala Saturday night and then it’s done. The car expert gave his last lecture tonight. And your father managed to humiliate me in public.”
“How?”
I told her about Handleman’s competition and Travis’s triumph, which tickled her. “It was fun, I suppose. For the audience, anyway.” Tinkerbelle climbed into my lap and made a nest.
“I know you’re glad it’s over.”
“I learned way more than I need to know about cars, but I saw a master showman at work.” I told her a bit about Handleman’s techniques. “Wish I’d seen him when I was still teaching. I could’ve used some of his techniques.”
“What I want to know about is the dead man.”
I had to think for a moment. “Was that just this morning? It seems like a week ago. Haven’t we already talked about it?”
Murder at Royale Court Page 12
