appraisal. He exuded a paradox of auras—sensual lips and changeable eyes. I could picture him in a magazine ad, shirtless, barefoot, wearing only jeans with the top button undone. When I transposed myself in the place of a sultry model mounting him, my cheeks flushed with heat.
Cole looked down at me. “Finish here. You can start downstairs tomorrow. I’ll have a word with Ms. Warner.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” He turned and walked out the attic door.
I shivered and put on my turtleneck. I continued cataloging until long shadows gave way to dusk then called it quits. I didn’t think there was anything of value in the attic. I’d come across only two things of importance: a shell-shaped Majolica ewer with creepy bugs on lily pads and an old Royal Doulton character jug in the guise of Mephistopheles, king of the underworld. Along with the ewer and character jug, there were a few pieces of Indian pottery and a rusty, lanceless knight in armor. I listed them as numbers 96, 97, and 98 on Elle’s list.
There was only one part of the attic I hadn’t inspected—a small recessed area next to the pig creature. I deduced it was a warthog because of its tusks. I walked to a black lacquered screen, one more Deco wannabe, and bent down to read the attached tag. Another gift from Aunt Mildred. Behind the screen, a white sheet puddled on the floor. I folded the screen, leaned it against the wall, and tugged on the sheet magician-style. Abracadabra! I exposed anexquisite mahogany bookcase with carved seashell flourishes and a satiny finish.
It looked old. Real old. I wondered why it was hidden in the back of an attic filled with junk. I snapped a grainy photo with my prehistoric cell phone and jotted down a detailed description for Elle. I replaced the sheet, put the screen back in front of the bookcase, and closed the windows.
I felt the knight’s sightless eyes boring into my back as I moved toward the staircase and jumped like a sissy when I saw Cole’s jacket hanging like a specter in the gloom. I grabbed the jacket with my free hand and held it under my arm, but as I struggled with the doorknob, something slipped from the jacket pocket and slid to the floor. On all fours, I felt around until my hand closed on a Swiss Army knife. It was etched with initials impossible to decipher in the weak light. It looked like a deluxe model, with a can opener, file and even a miniature saw. I stuck it back in Cole’s jacket pocket and made my way downstairs. Before I reached the bottom of the last staircase, I looked around to make sure the coast was clear then stuck my nose into the collar of Cole’s jacket and inhaled the earthy scent.
When I reached the foyer, a bag with a logo from an East Hampton camera shop stood on the hall table. Inside was a new camera. Apparently things were that simple when you had bazillions of dollars at your disposal. I folded the jacket and placed it on a rush-seat bench, noticing a piece of ripped leather under the pocket that held the knife. Doc’s words came back to me about the missing double-edged weapon and the piece of leather found at the murder scene. I grabbed my things and stepped out the front door.
The temperature had fallen twenty degrees since I’d entered the house. The tan Mercedes SUV was parked in the drive, along with an East Hampton Town patrol car andCole’s Harley. The officer in the car gave me a slight nod of farewell—either that or he was dozing.
Just as I put my key in the Jeep’s door, Cole appeared.
“Did you finish?” He stood coatless, icy smoke escaping his pouty lips. I should tell him his jacket, knife and all, was inside, but something stopped me. It felt good to make him suffer in the frigid air; payback for his being rude to me in the attic. I pushed away the vision of me sniffing his jacket. “Yes, but part of it still needs to be videotaped.”
“Was I right about there being nothing of value?” He folded his arms across his chest.
“Yep, guess
Cole looked down at me. “Finish here. You can start downstairs tomorrow. I’ll have a word with Ms. Warner.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” He turned and walked out the attic door.
I shivered and put on my turtleneck. I continued cataloging until long shadows gave way to dusk then called it quits. I didn’t think there was anything of value in the attic. I’d come across only two things of importance: a shell-shaped Majolica ewer with creepy bugs on lily pads and an old Royal Doulton character jug in the guise of Mephistopheles, king of the underworld. Along with the ewer and character jug, there were a few pieces of Indian pottery and a rusty, lanceless knight in armor. I listed them as numbers 96, 97, and 98 on Elle’s list.
There was only one part of the attic I hadn’t inspected—a small recessed area next to the pig creature. I deduced it was a warthog because of its tusks. I walked to a black lacquered screen, one more Deco wannabe, and bent down to read the attached tag. Another gift from Aunt Mildred. Behind the screen, a white sheet puddled on the floor. I folded the screen, leaned it against the wall, and tugged on the sheet magician-style. Abracadabra! I exposed anexquisite mahogany bookcase with carved seashell flourishes and a satiny finish.
It looked old. Real old. I wondered why it was hidden in the back of an attic filled with junk. I snapped a grainy photo with my prehistoric cell phone and jotted down a detailed description for Elle. I replaced the sheet, put the screen back in front of the bookcase, and closed the windows.
I felt the knight’s sightless eyes boring into my back as I moved toward the staircase and jumped like a sissy when I saw Cole’s jacket hanging like a specter in the gloom. I grabbed the jacket with my free hand and held it under my arm, but as I struggled with the doorknob, something slipped from the jacket pocket and slid to the floor. On all fours, I felt around until my hand closed on a Swiss Army knife. It was etched with initials impossible to decipher in the weak light. It looked like a deluxe model, with a can opener, file and even a miniature saw. I stuck it back in Cole’s jacket pocket and made my way downstairs. Before I reached the bottom of the last staircase, I looked around to make sure the coast was clear then stuck my nose into the collar of Cole’s jacket and inhaled the earthy scent.
When I reached the foyer, a bag with a logo from an East Hampton camera shop stood on the hall table. Inside was a new camera. Apparently things were that simple when you had bazillions of dollars at your disposal. I folded the jacket and placed it on a rush-seat bench, noticing a piece of ripped leather under the pocket that held the knife. Doc’s words came back to me about the missing double-edged weapon and the piece of leather found at the murder scene. I grabbed my things and stepped out the front door.
The temperature had fallen twenty degrees since I’d entered the house. The tan Mercedes SUV was parked in the drive, along with an East Hampton Town patrol car andCole’s Harley. The officer in the car gave me a slight nod of farewell—either that or he was dozing.
Just as I put my key in the Jeep’s door, Cole appeared.
“Did you finish?” He stood coatless, icy smoke escaping his pouty lips. I should tell him his jacket, knife and all, was inside, but something stopped me. It felt good to make him suffer in the frigid air; payback for his being rude to me in the attic. I pushed away the vision of me sniffing his jacket. “Yes, but part of it still needs to be videotaped.”
“Was I right about there being nothing of value?” He folded his arms across his chest.
“Yep, guess
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