by Abigail Keam
“That’s a red flag for me. Why would a Norwegian immigrant commission English designed chairs?”
“English? I thought the Irish first designed Windsor chairs.”
“Perhaps the Welsh, but that’s not the point, Miss June. Chairs like these are heavily used. Typically, something is missing like a drawer or a spindle, and it’s not unusual to see signs of repairs. Except for some nicks here and there, these chairs are almost perfect.”
“Asa, you have not given me any real evidence of something being wrong. Just a feeling, you say. These chairs were very popular and functional as well. Jansen would have commissioned furniture that was in the style of the times to keep up with the ‘Joneses.’ He wanted to fit in with his rich friends, and what better way to boast about his fortune than to commission two of these chairs?”
“I have never seen a bill of sale for Windsor chairs made by Porter Clay. My nose is not wrong. Trust me. Please don’t bid on them.”
“Listen to her, JuneTooney, because I want those chairs.”
Everyone gasped except for Boris, who unclasped his hands and put one inside his tuxedo, ready to pull his gun out if necessary, while Asa positioned herself directly in front of Rosie.
Rosie reached up and clutched Asa’s hand.
There stood Gage with a big old smile on his craggy face.
“How did you get out of jail, Gage?” June asked.
“The judge is an old friend of mine and very sympathetic to my case. He threw the Protection Order out, saying it should never have been issued in the first place.”
Rose spoke up, “I’ll go to the DA first thing in the morning.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. A lot can happen between now and Monday morning.”
Boris asked, “Are you threatening this lady?”
Gage drew back, acting hurt and insulted. “Look, friends. I’m here to bid on some antiques. I wanted to let you know I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. I’ve decided not to sue for my unlawful arrest. Of course, it will be my right to shoot your dog, Josiah, if I see him on my property again, and the same goes for any dog I see on my property.” Gage glared at Boris.
I stiffened. I was getting tired of people threatening Baby. It had been going on for years now. I wanted to punch Gage in the nose, but there were too many witnesses. Sometimes it’s best not to say or do anything.
Hunter curled his hands into fists and shifted on the balls of his feet.
I pulled on his coat sleeve and gave a slight shake of my head. It was best we didn’t interact with Gage, but instead act as witnesses when we went with Rosie to the DA on Monday.
Gage continued to bluster. “But then again, I might miss that hound of yours and hit you accidentally, Josiah—or maybe you, Rosebud.”
Did Gage just threaten to kill Rosie and me?
Rosie hissed, “You stay away from me. I mean it, Gage. I’ve had enough of your bullying.”
Gage ignored Rosie, turning his attention to June. “Don’t you start licking your gravy yet, June. I’ve got my eye on them chairs. Let the best man win.”
“Or best woman,” June replied.
“No contest then.” Gage winked at June and nodded at the rest of us before sauntering over to a knot of his friends drinking on the patio.
“There’s a man who brightens a room when he leaves it,” Hunter remarked.
I was fuming. “He’s got some gall.”
Franklin looked confused. “What a hideous creature. What was he talking about? Was Baby on his property? Who is he? Tell me, someone.”
No one answered because the auction was starting.
Charles ran over with June’s paddle and helped her into a seat closer to the stage where they were rolling out the antiques.
The rest of us hung back because we were outclassed, out-moneyed, and out-finessed, except for Asa who snatched up a small Henry Faulkner painting for eighteen thousand dollars.
Jewelry, paintings, and dishware were auctioned first. Then came the furniture—mostly nineteenth-century pieces, but there were a few mid-century pieces, which I would have given my eyeteeth to own, but the days when I could throw money at beautiful but useless things had passed. Everything I purchased now had to be practical.
What a bore!
11
I was bored. Did I already admit to that?
“Quit fidgeting,” Hunter said.
“The seats are too hard.” We were sitting in the back, so no one saw me scooting this way or that, but several people turned around and gave us the eye.
“Mind your own beeswax,” I advised, making a sour face.
Hunter scolded, “Nice.”
“Let’s get on with it,” I groused. The auction pace was too slow for my taste. My leg was starting to ache, and I hadn’t brought my silver wolf-head cane. I have no patience when my leg starts to throb. What I needed was a stiff drink. Heck with this sissy champagne. Bourbon with lots of ice. Maybe another Kentucky Mule made with bourbon, Ale8-One, and a twist of orange. Sounded delicious to me, but I was afraid to lumber over to the bar. I might miss June bidding on the chairs.
Looking around I tried to place everyone. Asa was sitting next to Charles and June. Boris was standing near the bar striking his best James Bond pose. Rosie had met some friends and was sitting with them. Franklin was behind June and Asa, learning forward and constantly peppering Asa with questions until she turned around and smacked him on the head with her catalog.
Where was Gage? I scanned the crowd.
Gage was standing in the back on the right side, far away from us.
Skulking behind Gage was an odd-looking man wearing a rumpled gray suit and sporting a three-day beard. He held a rolled-up auction program very tightly in his hand. I guess I noticed him because of the intense expression on his face. He seemed agitated and nervous.
Hunter nudged me, and I turned to face the stage just as the eighteenth-century chairs were brought up.
The auctioneer announced, “We have a pair of matching eighteenth-century comb-back Windsor writing chairs with much of the original black paint intact from the estate of Roald Jansen, one of the first pioneers to settle the Bluegrass. The chairs are verified as not having been refinished since the black paint was applied. The chairs have continuously curved armrests and a sack back with two quill drawers. There are no repairs or breaks in the wood. The scooped saddle-shaped seat is made from walnut as well as both removable quill drawers, which have their original locks but no keys. All the spindles are intact as well and are made from hickory.
The armrest drawer is scratched underneath with the date 1799 and the initials PC. We believe that the initials PC refer to Porter Clay, brother to Senator Henry Clay.
We know Porter Clay returned to Lexington from Manhattan in 1799 as there is another bill of sale for bed frames from Mr. Jansen’s estate that is plainly signed by Porter Clay of the same year. The signature on the bill of sale has been authenticated as Porter Clay’s. We think the chairs are some of the earliest examples of Kentucky furniture and of great historical value. Included in your program is the complete provenance of the chairs. May we start the bidding at two thousand for the pair?”
June held up her paddle which had a number assigned to it.
“We have a bid of two thousand. Do we have a bid at three thousand?”
A woman sitting across the aisle from June held up her fan. I recognized her from June’s parties as an antique dealer from Louisville. She had been a heavy buyer during the evening.
“Thank you, Madame. Do we have a bid at four thousand?”
June threw up her paddle again.
“Thank you, Lady Elsmere. The bidding now stands at four thousand. Do I have five thousand?”
The antique dealer held up her paddle and shot June a dirty look.
June held up her paddle again and barked, “You might as well quit bidding, Mamie. Those chairs are mine. Six thousand.”
The audience gasped.
I sat up in my chair, takin
g notice. The evening had finally become interesting. Thank the Lord.
Asa leaned over and whispered to June. What was she saying?
The auctioneer wiped his glasses with his polka dot handkerchief. He asked Mamie, the Louisville antique dealer, “Madame, the bidding now stands at six thousand. Do you wish to bid at seven?”
Mamie shook her head. Being a good sport, she threw a kiss to June.
The auctioneer raised his gavel. “Going once. Twice.”
“Ten thousand,” a voice boomed from the back of the room.
Everyone turned in their seats.
“Sir, are you bidding ten thousand dollars?” asked the auctioneer, trying to make out who had bid in the audience.
“Who’s bidding against me?” June demanded. She stood as Charles tried to calm her.
“I am, June.”
I groaned.
It was Gage, standing in the back of the room with his homies.
June’s eyes narrowed. “Eleven thousand!”
“Twelve thousand!” shouted Gage.
“We can go all night, you old buzzard. I want those chairs.”
“So do I, but you don’t have to be so personal, June. After all, this is for charity. Right?”
The auctioneer picked up his gavel, his squinty little eyes bright with anticipation. “Going once.”
June snapped back, “Thirteen thousand.”
“Fifteen.”
The crowd murmured.
Excitedly, Hunter jumped to his feet, as did several others in the audience.
Enraged, June called out, “Twenty!”
Asa was frantically whispering to June, but June was having none of it. Asa turned and looked helplessly at me. I knew she had been advising June to quit bidding.
“Thirty.”
“Forty!” June countered.
“Fifty!” Gage shouted smugly.
“Sixty!”
“Seventy-five thousand dollars!” Gage cried out.
Lady Elsmere, aka June Webster from Monkey’s Eyebrow, grinned and said, “Too rich for my blood. You win, Gage. Congratulations.”
“Madame, have you stopped bidding?” asked the auctioneer.
“Yes.”
“Sir, your last bid was seventy-five thousand dollars.”
Someone from the crowd yelled, “What’s the matter, Gage? You look a little pale.”
People twittered.
I had to admit the bidding war over those chairs was the high point of the night so far. My blood was up like everyone else’s, and Gage did look like a deer caught in a headlight. His color was off, and he weaved a bit on his feet before he steadied himself by grabbing the back of the chair in front of him.
The auctioneer ordered, “Quiet. Quiet. The bid stands at seventy-five thousand dollars. Are there any other bids?” The auctioneer scanned the room, which had now become deathly quiet. “Going once. Twice,” he paused, “three times.” He banged his gavel. “Sold for seventy-five thousand dollars. Congratulations, Mr. Cagle.”
Everyone clapped while many raced over to shake Gage’s hand.
The auctioneer announced, “This concludes the auction portion of our evening. Y’all are invited to the ball. For those of you who purchased items, my staff will assist you. Please see them before you proceed to the dance area. Thank you.”
In other words, pay before you play.
12
Hunter helped me out of my chair. Oh, great, my right leg was asleep.
“I didn’t know Gage Cagle is a collector. Those chairs are not worth seventy-five thousand. Not even close.”
“Nicely put, Hunter,” Asa said, coming up to us. “If they were made by Porter Clay, they would have some historical significance, but not seventy-five thousand dollars’ worth. If I were Gage Cagle, I would have the insignia tested.”
“You can test for that?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, signaling to Boris.
He immediately trotted over.
“I’m going to the dance. Are you two coming?” Asa asked.
I looked at Hunter.
He wrapped my arm around him as we followed Asa and Boris into the ballroom.
Spying June sitting at a table with ladies of her own age, I pulled Hunter along toward her table.
She looked at me with eyes twinkling like the diamonds she was wearing.
I bent over and asked very softly, “Did you set Gage up?”
June turned away from her friends so they could not hear her answer. “I knew as soon as Gage said he wanted those chairs, something was wrong, so I turned the tables on him, or should I say chairs. I knew I’d get him. Gage was always a lousy poker player.”
“Do you think he did it to get back at you for interfering with Rosie?”
June shrugged. “Makes no never mind to me, but if that odious man thought he could take advantage of me, he’s certainly learned his lesson, don’t you think?”
“Seventy-five thousand dollars’ worth.”
June threw back her head and crowed, sounding like a rooster relishing a juicy bug before she swirled around in her seat to join her friends.
Hunter escorted me to a table where Charles and Rosie sat. Charles was eating, and Rosie was nervously fiddling with an empty champagne glass.
Hunter asked, “Rosie, can I get you anything from the buffet?”
“No, thank you.”
“Charles?”
Charles shook his head while slathering cream cheese on smoked salmon. “No, Hunter. I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Josiah?”
“As long as you’re offering, load a plate up for me. I’m starving.”
“I’m off.”
I watched Hunter weave through the dance floor, only to be sidetracked by a woman he knew. They chatted while dancing couples zigzagged and bobbed around them. I saw Hunter give the woman his card before excusing himself. When I turned to ask Rosie if she knew the woman, she was gone.
“Charles, where did Rosie go?”
Charles looked up from his plate and scanned the room. “I didn’t notice her leaving. She probably went to the ladies’ room. You want me to look for her?”
“No. You’re probably right. She’s in the powder room or she’s visiting at another table.”
“What’s the problem?” Hunter asked as he placed a plate laden with food in front of me. Franklin brought up the rear with drinks.
“Nothing. Rosie left, and I don’t see her.”
Franklin sat down beside me, pinching food from my plate. “She probably has an illicit romantic interlude somewhere.”
“I wish you were having an illicit romantic interlude somewhere.” I moved my plate out of Franklin’s reach.
He immediately snatched goodies from Hunter’s plate.
Irritated, Hunter said, “Franklin, get your own food.”
“Don’t I get a reward for carrying your drinks?”
Charles wiped his mouth with a heavily starched linen napkin before saying, “Franklin, don’t forget to return Lady Elsmere’s bracelet before we leave.”
“What bracelet?”
“The one you’re wearing on your ankle.”
Franklin glanced down and looked back up at us with his best how-did-that-get-there expression.
Hunter nudged Franklin. “Give it to Charles now. He’s responsible for all of June’s jewels. You don’t want the insurance company to cancel June’s policy.”
Franklin argued, “They wouldn’t cancel because I’m wearing a bracelet.”
“They might,” Asa said, sitting down, “if your name is not on the policy entitling you to wear her jewels. They might renege if you were responsible for losing the bracelet. It’s a clause in many policies as a way to escape paying if something is stolen. They certainly would run a background check on you. You’ve had your run-in with the law, Franklin. You’re not in the market for more, buddy.”
Franklin gulped and quickly took off the “bangle”, handing it to Charles who slipped it in his inside coat p
ocket.
Boris wandered over to the table with several tall drinks in his hands.
“Vodka?” I asked.
“Water.”
I gave Boris a look that questioned his honesty.
He smirked while handing Asa one of the glasses.
I think Boris liked teasing me.
Asa said, “This has been some night. I’m relieved June quit bidding on those chairs.”
I inquired, “What is their real worth?”
“If the documentation is correct, perhaps nine thousand apiece at an important antique auction in New York or Boston with serious collectors attending.”
Hunter whistled. “Wow, and your neighbor paid seventy-five thousand.”
I fumed, “Gage is no neighbor of mine.”
Asa nudged me. “Look over there.”
I turned to where Asa indicated and saw Gage in a heated discussion with two men. One was Eli Owsley, who was jabbing Gage in the chest with his finger. Beside him stood the peculiar man in the rumpled suit slapping his program against the palm of his hand. If I read humans well, and I do, I would say those two men were quite angry with Gage.
Why would Eli Owsley be irate with Gage who just purchased his chairs for seventy-five thousand dollars? Especially since he would be getting a fat commission. And who was the elf with the rumpled suit?
Asa motioned to Deliah and pointed to the three men.
Deliah nodded and sauntered over to them. “Gentlemen, smile,” she said.
The three men looked up just as Deliah snapped a shot.
The man in the shabby suit stepped forward, making an aggressive move toward Deliah, but was pulled back by Eli Owsley. All three men quickly moved outside into the garden.
Deliah glanced at Asa before moving to the other side of the ballroom.
Asa muttered, “That was odd behavior.”
“Yes, wasn’t it,” Hunter drawled. “The only thing I can think to elicit such a response is that Gage just informed the antique owner that he doesn’t have the money.”
“I wonder who the other man is.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Hunter, sweeping me out of my chair. “We’re here to have fun. Let’s dance.”
