"What's your name?" Molly asked, trying to control her temper.
"Brittani, with an i."
"Well, Brittani with an i, I am going to leave my number again, since it must have walked away from your bulletin board, which is where I hung it yesterday." Molly recited her number and roughly placed the phone back into the cradle. Brittani sounded like a manipulative, vindictive little twerp. Molly would have to call Clayton at home to find out more about her.
Before she could get any more worked up about the new receptionist, there was a knock on her door. Molly took a quick peek at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser and, satisfied with what she saw, grabbed her purse and opened her door.
Garrett stood outside, looking refreshed and incredibly handsome. He wore white pants with a salmon-colored shirt and a tan suede jacket that begged to be stroked. He smelled of an earthy cologne and a hint of hazelnut coffee. Molly stared at him and tried to ignore the heat rushing throughout her body.
"Can I offer you a lift?" he asked brightly. "I've got to head over to the set and I know you want to meet up with Frank and the gang to poke through his mum's digs."
Before Molly could open up her mouth to accept his offer her stomach issued a loud growl. Trying to stifle the sound with her hands, Molly covered her soft middle in embarrassment.
But Garrett only laughed and held up a small berry basket filled with an enormous blueberry muffin, a banana, and a glass of orange juice in a lidded cup. "I thought you'd be too short on time to join us for breakfast, so I asked Mrs. Hewell to pack you a picnic basket."
"Oh, thank you." Molly inhaled the muffin's scent gratefully, amazed over Garrett’s thoughtfulness.
"And I wouldn't forget your coffee." Garrett pulled a small thermos from the basket and handed it to her, brushing her fingertips with his own over the warm metal. "Light and sweet, right?"
"Right." Molly smiled, once again unnerved by her attraction to this man. Matt was trying to reach her, and she resolved to keep that close in mind and Garrett Huntington more at a distance. Still, it was difficult to get her mind to listen to reason when her body was longing to throw itself into his strong arms.
Garrett chatted amiably over how well he expected the Civil War exhibit to impress the American home viewing audience. He enthusiastically described some of the rare artifacts while smoothly maneuvering the car around slower drivers. Molly was too busy enjoying the freshly baked muffin while trying not to get crumbs down the front of her shirt to focus on much else. As they pulled up in front of the museum in record time, it was Victoria, not Frank, who awaited the group of appraisers.
"Good morning," Victoria greeted Garrett and Molly flatly. She was dressed in a gray suit with a light blue blouse. A triple strand of pearls dangled from her chest and once again, a black and white handkerchief stuck out of her jacket pocket. Molly thought that Victoria was wearing one of her better outfits. At least it was an improvement over yesterday’s ensemble. For a moment, Molly lost herself in a fantasy in which she was given Victoria’s clothes budget. In her mind, she entered Nordstrom’s and came out again seconds later, wearing large sunglasses, a fabulous black dress, and carrying armloads of shopping bags. In the fantasy, Molly looked like a heavier version of Natalie Wood and turned the heads of everyone near the department store’s entrance.
"Frank's getting the car," Victoria said, gesturing feebly toward the parking garage across the street. Molly blinked and reluctantly let go of her fantasy.
At that moment, Jessica and Borris walked over from the direction of the garage followed by Tony and Alicia. They all greeted one another with raised coffee thermoses.
"Can we play hooky all day?" Tony asked hopefully.
"No, Frank's mother's townhouse isn't that big," Victoria replied flatly.
"The mother-in-law. I can’t imagine what she was like. Did you guys get along?" Tony raised his eyebrows.
"Not really. She didn't want anyone to marry Frank. Ever. No one was good enough." Victoria hastened to change the subject. "Look, you guys can head over, but Tony, there are no toys except for a few old dolls. Frank said the house should be easy to find because there's a cafe called Oodles of Noodles next door to the townhouse—"
"Don't you know where the house is?" Borris asked in befuddlement.
"Isn't Strawberry Street within walking distance?" Garrett asked, eyeing the car.
"Yes, it is." Victoria seemed to be growing impatient. Indicating her husband with the slightest tilt of her head, she explained. "But Frank wants to stay out of the fresh air and I'm not wearing my running shoes. I’m sure you’ll find the place.”
"What's the house number? We'll meet you there," Borris suggested.
"Four hundred and sixteen. Make your second right up at that light." Victoria waved a languid hand at the intersection just east of the museum and got into the passenger seat of Frank’s sedan.
"Have fun!" Tony waved as the unlikely couple drove off. He turned to the rest of the appraisers. "You guys go on. No toys, no Toy Man." Tony poked Molly playfully in the arm and said, "By the way, your trooper is meeting me inside. Hope he's got something good!"
"Your trooper?" Jessica asked curiously, her brows raised. Borris put his hands on his hips expectantly and a shadow of suspicious flitted across his face.
"I'll tell you about him later," Molly said as Patrice, Alicia, and Garrett joined them. Alexandra also arrived, looking gorgeous and sophisticated in a black pantsuit with a chartreuse blouse. She gave the group a displeased once-over, mumbled something about American collectibles being junk, and sauntered inside the museum.
After a short walk on the fractured sidewalks of Broad Street, the group turned south onto Strawberry Street and were instantly granted shade by a row of old live oaks. Neat row houses with small front gardens lined the street.
Ten blocks into their walk, Borris spotted number 416. Frank and Victoria were waiting in their car in front of the two- story row house with cracked stucco siding and peeling shutters painted decades ago in Williamsburg Blue.
High grass speckled with dandelions occupied the small garden area and the brick stairs leading up to the wooden front door were crumbling near the edges. A black railing pocked with rust flanked the stairs. Brown leaves were scattered under the shelter of the front porch and a pile of old newspapers in dirty blue cellophane wrappers were thrown carelessly on a pair of wicker rockers. Frank dug a set of keys out of his pocket and opened the front door. It creaked in protest.
He disappeared within and, after a moment’s hesitation, his wife joined him.
Following Victoria inside, Molly couldn't see much in the dim light until Frank switched on the lights and moved off to the room on the left to raise the shades. Molly was immediately struck by the cold damp within the house. A layer of dust covered the floor and a large cobweb had been erected across the chandelier hanging above their heads. The rest of the appraisers filed into the hall and waited expectantly and Molly wondered if they were expecting to be disappointed by the home’s contents. After all, the place was infused with an aura of neglect. How many treasures could be hidden in a place that had received so little attention?
As the appraisers silently gazed around, Frank finally returned, his respirator mask covering his mouth and a pair of latex gloves garbing his hands.
"How long did you say this house has been empty?" Molly asked, her voice echoing eerily in the high hall.
"Over six months," was Frank's muffled reply. "I hired a handyman service to cut the grass and tidy up in here, but I think I should ask for a refund."
Molly followed Frank around the first floor while the others took their time investigating items in each room. Frank focused on examining the furniture whi
le Molly took a mental note of Mrs. Sterling's collections.
The front room contained a china cabinet loaded with Hummel figurines. In the dining room, every possible surface was covered by dusty pieces of Cranberry glass. The kitchen featured a collection of cheerful Fiestaware, and the office was crammed with leather-bound books and dozens of pieces of Staffordshire.
A set of very narrow stairs led to the top floor, which held three bedrooms and two baths. One of the bedrooms, decorated in yellows and blues with antique oak furniture, contained Mrs. Sterling's immense collection of Royal Doulton figurines. The second room, which had been painted sage green and furnished with heavy Victorian pieces, boasted a souvenir spoon collection displayed in cobweb-covered spoon racks.
"This was my mother's room," Frank said, leading Molly into an explosion of pink and white hues. The wallpaper was a riot of pink roses, the bed was pink satin with a frilly white dust ruffle and all of the country furniture was white with pink tassels hanging from the knobs. Pink and white checked curtains hung from the windows and pieces of pink and green Depression Glass covered every flat surface.
A display case with four deep shelves featured a stunning collection of antique dolls. Each doll stood erect on her own stand and varied in style from a group of Madame Alexander Little Women, to a cluster of celluloid Kewpie dolls, to valuable bisque dolls with human hair and nodding eyes made in Germany.
Molly noticed that the sensation of dampness had increased within Mrs. Sterling's bedroom. A stale, musty odor permeated the stagnant air.
Peering into the bathroom, Molly saw that the skylight had leaked, leaving brown water stains all over the toilet and the tiled bathroom floor. The tub faucet was leaking in a slow but steady drip and the basin was covered by a black, moldy stain. The same blackness had completely discolored the wallpaper, crawling vertically up the wall like an army of small roaches. The room exuded noxious putrid smell, reminded Molly of sunbaked garbage.
"Yuck," said Victoria, who stood behind Molly. Frank appeared next to his wife's shoulder and shrieked like a little girl confronted by a spider.
"Oh, my god, look at all that mold!" he squealed through the mask. “I’ve got to get out of here! Tour's over!" he shouted down the hallway and began to usher the dumbfounded appraisers from the rooms.
"What's the matter?" asked Borris crossly as Frank gave him a firm shove onto the front porch. "I was looking at a nice first edition Kipling in there."
Patrice was the last person to be extricated from the house and he wailed as Frank locked the door, sealing his mother’s treasures away once again.
"But I didn' t even get upstairs!" Patrice fumed and Molly noticed he had more of a Boston accent now than a French one. "And that Royal Doulton! Frank, I must get back in there!"
Standing by his car, Frank inhaled deep breaths of air and dabbed at his eyes with a tissue. "I'll never be able to go in there again! What am I going to do?"
Molly jumped forward. "You can still have all the contents cleaned and put up for auction," she said soothingly, her mind racing. "You don't need to go back inside. Let someone else handle that for you."
"But I want to sell that stuff right away. I need to take care of this before I leave town."
"I know an auctioneer who could handle everything for you," Molly suggested calmly, thinking of her friend, Lex Lewis. If Lex came up to view Mrs. Sterling's estate, he would certainly bring Clara with him. If she played her cards right, Molly would have a companion to eat out with in Carytown after all.
"Do you? Oh, that would be great,” Frank gushed in relief. “How soon do you think he could look the place over?"
"I'll call him as soon as we get back to the museum," Molly promised. "He’s an excellent auctioneer and will do his best to get you top dollar for your mother's things."
"Don't you want to keep any of it?" asked Jessica in surprise.
"No." Frank waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not interested in her smalls and the furniture I have at home is of a much higher caliber. I can't stand that Victorian garbage. Oak, oak, oak. Yuck. Now, I need to get back to the set. I’ve had enough dust and mold for one day." He turned to Molly. "Let me know when your friend can get here."
While Frank and Victoria drove off, Molly walked a bit behind the rest of the group as they headed back to the museum. She excitedly dialed Lex's number, hoping he wasn’t out on another call or busy appraising an estate. Luckily, he answered on the third ring.
"Hey Lex," Molly greeted him, speaking loudly over the rumbling of a passing garbage truck. "Feel like coming to Richmond?"
"Molly? Speak up! I can barely hear you."
Molly scowled. She hated cell phones, but she explained the immediacy of the situation and succinctly described some of Mrs. Sterling's collections. By the time she had finished her account she had reached the museum. Just as she was easing herself into a comfortable bench outside the front door, Lex agreed to drive up and take a look at Frank’s mother’s estate.
"Any luck?" Frank suddenly appeared in front of her. Molly jumped, clutching her cell phone hard in surprise. She then shoved her phone into her purse and gave Frank an encouraging smile. "Yes. The auctioneer and his staff will be here tomorrow afternoon. Is that okay?"
Frank sneezed. "I'll be a bit tired as it's the first day of the show when I have to meet with the public, but I suppose I'll manage."
"You can give me the house keys if you're too tired," Molly suggested as they walked toward the front door.
"Good idea. I don’t want to go back inside anyway." Frank handed her the key ring with his thumb and forefinger as if it were a contagious disease.
At that moment, Molly stumbled on a turned up corner of the rubber doormat and the keys clattered to the concrete floor, bouncing alongside among three pairs of shoes. Molly raised her eyes to see whose bodies the feet belonged to.
She recognized all three men immediately. Garrett was smoking a cigarette with Frank's cleanup boys, Randy and Chris. As Garrett smiled widely at her, Randy bent his thin body over to retrieve the keys. He dangled them in front of his chest, narrow eyes boring into Molly's wide grey ones. There was something cold and menacing about the intensity of his stare as he dropped the keys into her open palm.
"Don't you have work to do?" Frank demanded in annoyance, and Chris immediately stumped out his cigarette and hurried inside. Randy stubbornly continued smoking, his gaze on the cloudless sky. Frank began to cough and shot Randy a look of pure revulsion. "Nauseating habit," Frank threw the remark over his shoulder as he headed into the museum.
Disappointed to discover that Garrett was a smoker, Molly quickly followed in Frank's sneezing wake. Molly didn't mind the smell of pipe smoke. In fact, her grandfather had once puffed merrily away at a lovely rosewood pipe as he told her stories of undersea kingdoms and magical forests filled with tamed dragons or vindictive fairies. There was something nostalgic and romantic about the scent of a burning pipe.
On the other hand, cigarette smoke reminded her more of the packed rooms of country auctions, where stale air and a floor littered with spent butts, which occasionally floated in the spittle that was the result of a discarded hunk of chewing tobacco, made a five-hour auction a trying affair.
Molly had often imagined that she was turning a shade of unattractive yellow as her contacts protested and burned and she squinted uncomfortably at the item being sold through a circulating fog of cigarette smoke. Taking notes for an article during one such auction, Molly decided that she was simply not paid enough to endanger her health every week, but then a miniature fire pole whose tapestry had been woven by a seven-year-old girl in 1862 came up for sale and Molly forgot all about her tobacco smoke-induced complaints.
Back inside the smoke-free museum, Molly spent a pleasant morning interviewing Alicia and photographing a fabulous folk art portrait of a young girl holding a gray kitten. Next, she spent some time with Lindsey, whom she photographed with a Baltimore quilt done in reds, greens, and golds on an ivory
background. Hoping to catch Jessica and Borris for lunch, Molly headed in their direction.
On her way to their stalls, she dropped off her heavy bag filled with her camera and her interview notebook and mini recorder in the staff room. Everyone else had left purses and briefcases in there, so she figured her equipment was perfectly safe.
Borris spotted her approaching their exhibit area and swiftly headed her off. "Come on, lunch is being served in the cafeteria. Jess is already down there. It's just sandwiches, but rumor has it there's homemade chicken salad."
"Yum." Molly's stomach rumbled agreeably. She joined the other appraisers at a long cafeteria table and helped herself to a chicken salad sandwich, a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips, and two chocolate chip cookies. Feeling guilty, she replaced her soda with bottled water. Molly was chagrined to see that Alexandra was eating only the turkey, lettuce, and tomato from her sandwich and had neither chips nor cookies by her plate.
"How was your visit to Strawberry Street Manor, proud neighbor to Oodles of Noodles?" Alexandra teased Garrett as he slid into the empty chair next to her. Since Frank and Victoria had yet to join the group for lunch, Molly felt free to embellish on the neglected state of the house, especially in regards to Mrs. Sterling's upstairs bathroom. She thought her lively descriptions would draw Garrett's attention away from Alexandra.
"There was that much mold?" asked Lindsey, crinkling her nose. "I'm amazed Frank is still among the living."
"I got a brief glimpse," Alicia added with a grimace. "Right before Frank threw us all out. It was like the bathtub had been painted black. I’m amazed that Frank didn’t drive himself straight to the emergency room."
At that moment Victoria arrived and joined in the complaints about the state of the bathroom. Molly noticed that at the next table over, Randy had stopped eating and had fastened his beady eyes on Victoria's face with a look of intense longing. Suddenly, he stood and flung his uneaten food in the trash and without a backward glace, stomped out of the room.