The Big Steal (32 page)

Before I could even get out of the car, Michelle had opened the front door. And as soon as I reached the top step she started talking. “You need to hear what they have to say,” she said, adding, “It's about the burglary.”

I swallowed hard. “Do they know who did it?”

She didn't answer my question. Instead, we started down the steps toward the officers huddled together in the drawing room. “This is Sterling Glass,” Michelle said, “the woman I was telling you about. The one from the insurance company.”

I extended my hand and said, “You are—”

“Officer Cash, ma'am. Johnny Cash.” I didn't have to say a word. “Yes, ma'am, that's right. My mother named me after him,” he said. I smiled.

The other officer stepped forward. “And Sergeant Terry. Ron Terry. Good to see you, ma'am. Sorry we had to pull you away from your meeting but Miss Hendrix here said you're the person in charge.”

“Won't you have a seat, officers,” I said, motioning to the area where Peggy Powers and I had chatted a day or so earlier. “There's room for all of us there.” I turned to Michelle. “Have you called Dr. Houseman?”

“I thought about it,” she said, “but it seemed to me with the insurance man coming this afternoon that you were more important than Houseman.”

“Ah, excuse me, ma'am, but we don't have a lot of time,” the younger officer spoke up. “We've been waiting for you and—”

“That's fine. I understand. Michelle, my briefcase is in the
car, do we have some paper to write down any of the details we might need later?” I took advantage of the moment to remove my coat and collect my thoughts. “Here's my card,” I said, handing one to each of them and taking theirs in exchange. “I'll be going back to Leemont, but I'm easily reachable, and I may have some additional questions when I'm making out my report for the insurance company.”

“Yes ma'am,” they said in unison.

“So, just what has happened?” I asked.

Sergeant Terry referred to the notebook in his hand and began to read. “On the night of Thursday, February twenty-third, Emmett Cheatham was a customer at Do-Drop Inn on Oglesby Road. Also present was one Cary Walker and his companion Pamela Bass. Ms. Bass later reported that she became suspicious when Mr. Cheatham started bragging about owning a lot of valuable antiques, but she didn't say anything at the time. Around midnight when it got close to closing time, Mr. Cheatham began to cause a disturbance. Pop Dinder, the proprietor of said establishment, refused to continue serving Mr. Cheatham when it became obvious that he was inebriated. When Mr. Cheatham began making inappropriate comments to Ms. Bass, Mr. Cheatham and Mr. Walker got into an altercation and the police were called. While taking statements from the parties involved, Ms. Bass told Officer Cash that Mr. Cheatham had been bragging about antiques. Ms. Bass had not been drinking. Ms. Bass said she remembered there had been a burglary at Wynderly. When Mr. Cheatham offered to show her some of his ‘fine things' in his truck she got suspicious.”

Terry turned to Cash. “You can fill her in on those details.”

“Well, ma'am, since most everybody around had read about the theft, after we'd arrested Mr. Cheatham for public drunkenness and disorderly conduct, it seemed appropriate to ask Mr. Cheatham what he'd meant about the antiques. Of course he denied having said anything, but Mr. Walker had heard it too, and so had Pop. Pop had started listening real close when he saw things were getting heated up over there. With so many people having heard it, we felt we had due cause to search his truck. In the glove compartment there was this ah, little statue of one of them gods with lots of arms. It was all wrapped up in paper like he didn't want anything to happen to it.”

I looked at Michelle. Her eyes burning with anger. “That—” she started.

I raised my index finger to quiet her.

“That's one of the items missing,” I said quickly. “A bronze figure about, oh, so high.” I held out both hands. “It's Lokesvara, a Buddhist god.”

“Yes, ma'am. Maybe if you could spell that for me, I could put it in my report.”

I told him I'd write it out for him, and that there might be other things he'd want me to write out as well.

“Well, once we found that,” he said, “it was easy to get a search warrant for Mr. Cheatham's house. We incarcerated him on public drunkenness and disorderly conduct, like I said. This morning we got the warrant, conducted the search, and found other things.”

“Officer Cash.” I smiled weakly. It was all I could do to keep standing, much less keep my wits about me. “Officer Cash and Sergeant Terry, wh … when did Mr. Cheatham get to the bar? Do you have a time on that?”

Terry looked through his notes. “About ten o'clock, ma'am. He was there a long time. Seemed to have been drinking before he got there, too, Pop said. That was one reason why Pop had his eyes on him so careful.”

“Was there anyone with him?”

Michelle jerked her head toward me. She was obviously as mystified as she was upset. I shot her a look to silence her.

“No, ma'am. He said Joe Boggs had been with him earlier, but he'd dropped him off. Mr. Boggs confirmed that. He'd gotten home around nine thirty, he'd said. You're not from around here, are you?”

“No. I'm from Leemont.”

“Well you see, Mr. Boggs's house is about five minutes from the Do-Drop Inn over the other side of Route 20. That's how Emmett Cheatham happened to stop by there. It was the closest beer joint around.”

“I see.” My head was pounding. Nine thirty? That pretty much eliminated him from being responsible for Frank Fox's accident, didn't it? “Ah, one more question before we get back to the Wynderly things. In the paper this morning I saw about Dr. Fox's accident,” I fibbed. “He's on the board here at Wynderly. I was ah, well, just thinking, ah, if Mr. Cheatham was driving drunk, is there any chance—”

“Mr. Cheatham wasn't anywhere near that wreck, ma'am. It was way across the other side of town.”

“Oh. Just wondering. You're right. I don't know these parts well. You see, I was on some road around here last night and well, I kind of got lost, and I was just wondering where I'd been.” I gave a half laugh.

Again Cash looked at his watch. “How about if we leave
this list of what we found at Cheatham's house with you?” He held out a piece of paper and looking sheepish said, “We hope you aren't going to grade us on what we call things. It's as best we could do. Like that silver thing … it really stumped us.”

He glanced sideways at Terry. “It was real funny-looking, like an old dog's face with its ears laying flat against its head. It was about … oh … about this big and shaped like this.” Cash held his left hand out as if he was making a shadow image. With his right hand he made a twisting motion. “And it had a screw top.” He looked bewildered. “We didn't know what it was.”

When I laughed, they joined in. “That would be a stirrup cup,” I said.

“What's that?”

“Let's put it like this, it's something like a small flask, though a very fancy, sterling silver flask. It's what English gentlemen who were ‘in the stirrup,' or mounted on their horses, would drink from—usually sherry or port, or whiskey. Kind of like a toast before or after the hunt.”

“I told you it looked like a hound dog,” Cash said to Terry.

“Well, that particular one was probably a rabbit's head,” I said, “but with its ears back I can see why you'd think it was a hound. They made them to look like foxes and deer, too. Want to take a guess of how old it is and what it's worth?” I asked. “No takers?”

I watched them when I said, “It's over two hundred years old and worth about eight thousand dollars.”

The policemen just looked at me. I could only imagine what they were thinking.

“And I have one more question,” I said. “I don't know why
I didn't ask earlier. Has Cheatham said anything about how he stole the things?”

“No, ma'am. He's got a lawyer, so he's not talking. But he hasn't been able to make bail yet … or he hadn't about three o'clock when we left to come over here. We do know where he's employed, though,” Terry said with a knowing smirk. “Luck Security.”

Michelle suddenly spoke up. “So, this lets me off the hook, right?”

Cash and Terry glanced at each other.

My heart, which unfortunately oftentimes jumps in before my mind has a chance to think, said yes. But in this instance my good sense took over.

“Sergeant, did Mr. Cheatham say anything that would involve Ms. Hendrix in his theft of the antiques,” I asked.

“No, ma'am. In fact, we don't know much about Mr. Cheatham's modus operandi. We're waiting for him to give a full confession. If he doesn't, we'll start an investigation. This case has just been opened. Right, Officer Cash?”

“Yes, sir. The first charges were about his disorderly conduct. Now we're looking into the theft.”

“He's my cousin,” Michelle said out of nowhere.

Officer Cash spoke up. “Isn't everybody related around here somehow? Those Cheathams are kin to just about anybody who's breathing.” He laughed.

I wished Michelle hadn't mentioned that she was kin to Emmett, but it certainly hadn't seemed to make much impression on the police.

“So I don't see anything for you to worry about, Michelle.
Do you, fellows?” I asked in an attempt to console her and absolve myself of my lingering doubts about her.

“No, ma'am. And I'm sure we'll learn more about those antiques soon. Mr. Cheatham's lawyer will advise him to come clean. Judges always dole out lighter sentences when they hear a full confession. Well, guess we'd better be going. If you've any questions …” Sergeant Terry grinned. “And about that list. Yeah, we'da never known what that stirrup cup was if you hadn't told us,” he said as they started toward the door. “Imagine we'll learn about a whole lot of stuff before this case is over.”

Michelle was still sitting, statue-like, when I closed the door behind them. When the phone rang, I didn't bother to suggest she get it. I'm glad I didn't. It was Ginny Kauffman calling from Belle Ayre to say that I had not one, but two gentlemen waiting to see me.

Dear Antiques Expert: A friend whose uncle lived in the Orient during the 1920 has inherited his collection of snuff bottles. He has no interest in keeping them. What would be the best way for him to sell them?

Snuff bottles became the rage in 18th-century China and Japan where snuff-taking was an upper-class social ritual. Small, attractive snuff bottles made a fashion statement much the way a pocketbook does today, and fine craftsmen made them in every imaginable material from jade and amber to glass and ivory. Many had silver and gold stoppers. These days fine snuff bottles sell for tens of thousands of dollars each, so I would recommend that your friend contact an international auction house to assess his collection. If they are of outstanding quality he may be looking at considerable money.

W
HEN DEEP LAUGHTER
greeted me the instant I opened the door of Belle Ayre, I froze. A male-bonding session between Southern-aristocrat, ex-priest turned thrift-shop-keeper Peter, and sophisticated Yankee business executive Matt, was not part of the bargain. I moved quietly down the hall and had
almost made it to the steps when Ginny came bursting into the foyer from the kitchen.

“Sterling! I thought I heard you drive up.”

I was trapped. I retraced my steps and stuck my head in the parlor door. The two men in my life rose to their feet.

Matt was even more handsome than I remembered.

And Peter? I'd never seen anyone look happier to see me.

“So … I see you two have met,” I said. “Peter, Matt. Matt, Peter.”

Matt stepped forward, leaned over, and bussed my cheek ever so lightly. “I'm afraid this job has been more than you, or I, bargained for. Peter here has been filling me in a little. A fine bunch this foundation's board turned out to be. I hope I haven't scared you away from other jobs.”

I fought the temptation to touch my cheek.

“Let's say it's been a challenge,” I said. “But you'll never believe what I have found out. We've got the thief, and guess what? He works for the security company.”

Matt groaned. “Not another one of those. It's epidemic. We had one like that a few weeks ago in a house in Westchester County. Took a collection of snuff bottles if you can believe that. Thought they were
cute
.” He smiled that smile of his and my heart skipped a beat.

“Turned out to be a couple of hundred thousand dollars worth of cute. Well, you can tell me all about it over dinner.” Matt laughed jokingly. “Speaking of which, I know you want to freshen up before we go out. And Peter, you'll be joining us won't you?”

I avoided looking in Peter's direction to get his reaction. I was more concerned with how I looked. I must have been a
wreck. Matt had as much as said so when he said I needed to freshen up.

“Yes, indeed,” Peter said. “I'm looking forward to hearing ‘the rest of the story,' as they say. And what's the situation with Dr. Fox? Have you heard more about him today, Sterling dear?”

Sterling
dear
? Where did that come from?

“Fox? Dr. Frank Fox?” Matt said.

“N … no, I haven't. I should have asked the police about him, but—”

“Police?”

“Yes, at the house—at Wynderly when they came to tell us about catching Emmett Cheatham—the burglar. Oh, it's complicated. I'll tell you all about it at dinner.”

I looked from one to the other. Nothing had been said about dinner plans when Matt had said he was coming down. I was becoming more flustered by the moment. “I guess Ginny will have heard something about how Fox is doing.”