by Dale Mayer
She nodded. “I know Fen said it was valuable, but I don’t remember if he gave me any figure. I’ll check my notes.”
“Not to worry,” he said. “Once we get all the pieces back to Christie’s, I can get it assessed by another specialist and give you a full accounting.”
She nodded. “That would be lovely if you could,” she said with a beaming smile.
He turned to the two men with him on the main floor and said, “Because this is here and ready, I suggest we pack it and load up before we start in on the other pieces up in the bedroom.”
They nodded, then headed to the truck, pulled out more packing blankets, and she thought some tissue paper or something. She watched in amazement as the entire surface of the rug was covered with the tissue, and then it was slowly rolled lengthwise, the long side forward, until the entire rug was packed up into a tight bundle. Then they took the packing blanket and wrapped all around the outside. Finally it was tied together and the ends closed off. And before she knew it, even though it had taken at least an hour, if not two, it was tossed onto the men’s shoulders and carefully carried outside to the truck.
Some sort of old rug had been left behind, had been underneath the nicer rug. She pointed at it and said, “Why would that be down here?”
Scott looked at it, made a funny face, and said, “People do weird things. Maybe it was to protect the good rug from the flooring.”
She wasn’t sure why any rug should be protected from the wood flooring that she now saw definitely needed refinishing. She grabbed the vacuum again as Scott headed back upstairs, and the two moving men came back from the truck and joined him. She vacuumed all around the old ugly piece of rug, wondering if she should just toss it. Mugs, hating the vacuum hose, finally came over and sniffed as soon as she shut it off. She looked at him and said, “It smells weird, doesn’t it?” He sniffed to the point he was actually lifting a corner of it. “Hey, hey, hey,” she said, pulling him back gently. “That’s pretty strong snogs you got there, buddy.”
But he strained at the leash and refused to be budged.
Sighing, she pulled the vacuum handle back, laid it gently down on the hardwood floor. Now she was worried that this old rug had value too, and she crouched beside Mugs at that corner he was sniffing at and lifted it up. As she flipped it back, she stared in amazement. There appeared to be an inset handle flush within the wooden floor, all stained with the same finish. She sure wouldn’t have seen it without moving out all this furniture and the rug under the rug. But for Mugs’s barking, she wouldn’t have noticed, it was so well done.
She slowly rolled back the piece of junky rug, realizing Scott was quite correct; it was just a piece of old tattered something or other that didn’t even have a finished edge. Somebody had just cut it and put it down and then placed a good one on top of it. It was also very thin. She rolled it up carefully, and, since it wasn’t too big or too heavy, she dragged it outside on the porch and laid it over the front railing. Then she came back with the vacuum and cleaned up all the dirt and dust underneath it. How was it even possible there was so much? Mugs alternated between straining at the leash away from the vacuum and toward the secret space. The only reason she’d had any idea the handle existed was because of him.
She also didn’t want the men upstairs to know about it. Not until she inspected it further. She walked back over to the spot, her fingers gently going over the piece of wood that appeared to lift and, checking around to make sure nobody was watching her, she tried to pull up the handle. But it wouldn’t budge. She frowned, looked at it again, and gently tapped the wood all around it. She heard a hollow echo. Excited, she walked into the kitchen and came back with a butter knife. She wasn’t sure this was the best thing to do, but, considering the condition of the floors, she thought it worth a try. She gently scraped along the edges of what she thought was a handle. But, even after that effort, again when she pulled, nothing shifted. She frowned and said, “Well, Mugs, we’re wrong sometimes. It looks like it’s this time.”
He just shot her a look as if to say, No. I’m not wrong. You’re wrong.
Just then she heard footsteps again. She bolted to her feet, picked up the butter knife, and casually walked back into the kitchen, placing the knife in the sink. As she returned to the living room, the men were gently carrying the vanity mirror outside, followed by each of the drawers wrapped up in what appeared to be more Bubble Wrap. As they came back in again, they brought rolls of more Bubble Wrap. She watched in amazement. She wanted to go upstairs and see what they were doing but knew her bedroom would be chaos with so many people in it.
Just then Scott came back down. He whistled at the living room and said, “I can’t believe how big this room is now.” She watched his gaze dart around. He glanced over the hardwood floor straight to the pot chairs, grimaced before focusing on her. But he didn’t appear in any way to notice the flooring. He motioned at the chairs. “I guess that’ll give you something to sit on until you figure out what else you want in here.”
She smiled at him. “And I gather from your response to seeing them, they have zero value.”
“I’m sure they have value to someone,” he assured her. “But not in the antiques world. Those are cheap knockoffs from anywhere in the last ten years. Hardly any historical value.” He looked around. “You’ve done incredibly well, particularly adding the rug to this collection of yours going to Christie’s.” He stood in the middle of the living room and said, “Of course the floor is pretty damaged.”
“That’s not what I expected,” she said. “I figured the rug would have protected it.”
“That just goes to show you the floor had a lot of use before the rug was laid,” he said, “and maybe that’s why your Nan bought it. Not only for its antique value but because her living room floor needed to be redone.” He pointed at the scratches and the dullness to it. “But it is true hardwood,” he said, “so you could get it refinished, and it would look splendid.” He smiled as he looked around. “Right, and I never did give you those names of somebody to look at the small stuff, did I?” He walked over to a vase that had blue-and-white markings. “I don’t think this can be a Ming vase,” he said, “but it’s sure a nice copy.”
At the term Ming, her ears perked up. “If it was real, huge money would be involved, right?”
He chuckled. “Thousands again. May I?” he asked as he reached up a hand.
She nodded.
As he lifted it, there were sounds of rattling on the inside. She shrugged and said, “I’ve never even looked inside.”
Holding it gently, he slowly reached his hand in and came out with several huge marbles. He chuckled. “Remnants of the children who lived in the house,” he suggested. “And this is why I love antiques. Because some people have such irreverence for them that they become common household items that everyone, including children, can enjoy.”
He handed her the marbles to hold, and she stared at them. They were bigger than she remembered from her childhood. She wasn’t even sure these could be classified as marbles because something appeared to be inside them, maybe like a bug or whatnot. She shrugged and stuck them in her pocket.
She waited with bated breath while Scott studied the vase. He looked inside at the base and then at a mark on the bottom. “Well,” he said, letting out his breath slowly. “I’m not the expert on this, but this might be the real thing.” His tone was so dazed, as if this was the last thing he expected.
She stepped forward and said, “Really?”
He nodded. “I need a place to lay it down, so I can take some pictures, and I’ll contact a colleague of mine.”
At that, she wanted to jump around and scream. Instead, she picked up her phone and called Nan. “Hey, Nan?”
“Oh, I do love having you close,” Nan cried out cheerfully. “What can I help you with now?” she asked. “Did you get any closer to finding out if Penny was a murderer?”
“No, no, no,” she said. “That’s not what I’m calli
ng about. Remember that big blue-and-white vase on your mantel?”
“Oh, that Ming vase?” she asked in a loud voice.
Scott’s head turned and looked at Doreen’s phone, and then he glanced up at her. “Ask her if she has a receipt,” he said.
“I heard that,” her grandmother said. “Not sure about a receipt. I had it appraised for insurance once though,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m not exactly sure where that is either now.”
Doreen just closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m still trying to find any paperwork,” she said, turning to look around the living room. “Now that the living room furniture is out in the truck, I felt sure they would be here somewhere.”
And her gaze went to the floorboards she had tried to lift. “Do you know anything about this vase, Nan?”
“Sure, I picked it up at a garage sale years ago,” she said. “I thought it was lovely, and then one of those antique road shows came through town, and I asked one of the experts. He tried to buy it from me back then,” she said. “For quite a bit of money, as I recall.”
“Do you remember how much money?” Doreen asked.
“Oh my, this was quite a few years ago now, and I think he offered me seven or eight thousand dollars.”
Doreen’s gaze locked on Scott’s, and his eyebrows shot up. He nodded slowly. She smiled. “Do you have any problem with me selling it?”
“Of course not, my dear. I told you. All those antiques in there are your inheritance. And you need to probably sell them all sooner rather than later. You need the money now, not when I die,” she said. “Besides, things in that house probably need to be fixed.”
“You can certainly see the wear and tear on the living room floor now that the rug is gone too.”
“Oh, right,” Nan cried out. “I forgot about the rug. I paid a pretty penny for that quite a few years ago.”
“Yeah, we could use receipts for that too.”
“They’re all together. Whenever you find them, you’ll find them all,” Nan said cheerfully.
“Any idea where she got it?” Scott asked from her side.
“Nan, do you remember where you got the rug?”
“Somebody who was selling off his antiques, dear. He tried to tell me it was worth a lot of money. I figured it was just him telling me that he needed more than I was offering. You know what negotiating is like.”
“But did he have any proof?”
“Nope, I don’t think so. That’s why I wasn’t too interested in paying a higher price,” she said. “Of course he tried to tell me there was some sort of mark on the underside. But all I found was some washed-out names. Really wasn’t a whole lot there to prove what he was saying. But he was also dying and trying to clean out his property before his family came in and sold it all for pennies.”
“That makes sense,” Doreen said. She looked to Scott and lifted her shoulders as if to say, What else can I ask?
Scott nodded and said, “You need to find those receipts.”
“Oh, is that the appraiser there?” Nan asked through the phone. “Hi, I’m Doreen’s grandmother.” And didn’t her voice turn flirty? Doreen just rolled her eyes.
“Yes, this is Scott Rosten here,” Doreen said. “He’s the man from Christie’s.”
“You might as well have him take the vase and get it properly appraised,” she said. “I’m sure somebody at Christie’s will know the value of it. You know what? You can be a specialist in a certain area of antiques, but it’s pretty hard to be a specialist in all of them, and that’s why I didn’t know anything about the rug. It’s the only rug I’ve ever bought, but I loved it.” She said, “Did you recognize the hummingbirds all through it?”
Doreen winced. “I don’t think I did,” she said. “Over the years it got rather dirty.”
Nan said thoughtfully, “Speaking of which, I don’t think I ever cleaned that rug. I wonder if that devalued it.”
Scott piped up. “You probably retained the value because you didn’t,” he said. “Now we can treat it properly and get it cleaned up without damaging it.”
“Oh, good,” Nan said. “I always did hate housecleaning.”
Chapter 11
Monday Midafternoon …
Doreen hung up from her conversation with Nan, watching as Scott carefully photographed everything he could on the vase. She couldn’t believe what a gold mine this house had become. And all of it had been Nan looking out for Doreen. She could feel tears pricking the back of her eyes.
“What was this about whether Penny is a murderer?” Scott asked.
Doreen tried to brush it away but knew that curiosity was best killed right at the moment. “Somebody just mentioned that a neighbor’s husband had a heart attack, but his symptoms didn’t look like a heart attack.”
“A lot of things can cause a heart attack,” he said, “and murder is usually for the most basic of reasons.”
“Money, greed, and passion,” she supplied.
“And power,” he said, tilting his head at the house. “He who controls is often the one murdered.”
She hadn’t thought about it that way. As she traipsed outside, watching the beautiful vase be packed up in the back of the big truck, she couldn’t understand how mentally she’d shifted to thinking the vase was beautiful, when before, on the mantel, it had been just a vase. Back inside she watched Scott studying everything else on her mantel. “Let me know if anything else is of interest,” she said in a dry tone. “I’m sure a year’s worth of dust covers everything.”
“That’s often how antiques are treated,” he said. “At least the ones nobody knows have value.” He picked up a couple small vases and replaced them and then turned back to her. “All I can say is, at the moment, I’m not seeing anything else.”
“I presume the lamps are no good or not worth anything?”
He looked at them and shook his head. “No, much too modern for anything I’m interested in. The pot chairs, the lamps … are all yours.”
“What about the dining room?” she asked. “It’s full too. Do you want to take a look?”
He looked at her with interest. “I don’t think we ever discussed the dining room.”
Nan’s house was laid out in lots of small rooms. Not Doreen’s preferred style. Doreen led the way through the living room to the parlor on the other side. Scott stepped in, and she could hear him suck back his breath. She turned to look at him as he stared at the dining room table. “So I guess I’m eating in the kitchen forever now?”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I must have been so dazed by the living room furniture,” he admitted, “that it never occurred to me to venture into an adjoining room.” He turned and looked back at the door and said, “It was shut, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “Yes. I was wondering about taking off the door and widening the opening so we could have a more open concept.”
“As long as you’re not trying to keep the natural heritage of the house, I would,” he said. “I know this was a charming house in its day, but all the closed-off rooms make it darker and smaller looking, doesn’t it?”
“Absolutely,” she said. She watched as he walked around the dining room. His gaze was on a huge candle thing in the center atop a long runner across the table, and then his hands gently stroked the table itself. She watched as his focus jumped from one chair to the next, as if counting. And then he took the chair closest to him, crouched beside it, and tilted it slowly onto the floor so he could look underneath. She pulled out her phone and texted Nan. Is the dining room set worth anything?
Nan sent back a bolded caps text with lots of exclamation marks.
YES!!!!!!
Doreen sagged onto the closest chair. “You know I haven’t even had a meal at this table yet?”
“Good. It’s a completely different maker,” he said, “and not as valuable as your living room set, but it’s certainly a very nice piece, and the fact that you have all eight chairs …” He shook his head, almo
st as if at a loss for words. “We won’t be finished today, my dear,” he said, straightening up. “I’ll do a little bit of research on this set, and we’re still finishing your bedroom.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s already three o’clock.”
“So tomorrow too then?” She wasn’t trying to be pushy, but she was desperate to know if this table was worth money and if he would take it. She hated the avarice rising up within. She looked at the table, deciding if she liked it or did she just not care? It was very dark, and that she didn’t like. She much preferred light wood, like the light pine cupboard, which Scott hated. Even oak would be better. “Is this mahogany?”
He sat back and nodded. “It is, indeed. And very much the color of its era.” He checked the upholstery on the chairs and said, “I’m not sure this is the original upholstery though. I’ll do some research on that.”
She nodded, realizing that would, of course, devalue the set. But maybe not a lot.
Scott sighed and said, “How is it I didn’t know about this room before?”
“Because we were so busy,” she said, “talking about that big set from the living room and the rest of it in the master bedroom.”
He nodded. “I’m not even sure we can get all this done tomorrow, but we will do our best. All of it has to go back to the warehouse and be crated. And then it’ll be airlifted.”
She raised her eyebrows at that. “Sounds expensive.”
He nodded. “It is, indeed. But it’s also mandatory.”
She had no clue either way and wasn’t about to argue with him. She checked the upholstery on each chair. “Well, all the chairs have the same upholstery.”
He looked at the table and said, “Another leaf goes with this. Any idea where it might be?”
She looked around the room. “Two hutches are here, but I don’t see any table leaf stuck behind them. I’ll text Nan again.”
He followed her, his hands going over to the hutch. “This is a matching set to the dining room,” he cried out happily. He just stood and stared for such a long moment that she realized this really was a surprising discovery for him.
