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 Give that to me, she demanded, holding out one hand.
Dick surrendered the tube. She tucked it under her arm, and
turned on me.  What are you doing here? Why are you going
through my things?
 I was just 
 She s working at Aaron s place, darling. When she
learned we lived nearby she stopped in to say hello.
 And you decided to entertain her in my absence? He-
lena glared at her husband, who squirmed.
BRUSH WITH DEATH 235
 I d best be going, I said, inching toward the door.
 Thanks again for the coffee and conversation.
Neither Dick nor Helena said anything as I crossed the
shadowy foyer and slipped out the front door. Hurrying
down the steps and along the wet sidewalk, I wondered
about their relationship. Nothing in Helena s attitude indi-
cated the least bit of warmth, much less respect, for her hus-
band. I could only speculate what it was about this
unpleasant woman that made Dick so smitten.
Curly Top was nowhere to be seen, so I fired up the truck
and started across town. I wished I could have seen the
painting Dick was trying to show me. Surely it couldn t be
an original Raphael that Helena had squirreled away in a
cardboard tube. She didn t need the money, her worship of
Tim O Neill suggested she had no taste, and it would be an
awfully risky thing to do. Still, I didn t trust her.
I pulled into the parking lot of my studio building and
parked next to Frank s shiny Jaguar. As I climbed the stairs
I ran through today s To Do list but couldn t remember
what was on it. That was the problem with mental To Do
lists.
I flung open the door to find Mary sitting on the wood
plank floor, Louis metal box in her lap and its contents scat-
tered around her.
 I don t see what they were so excited about, Mary said
as she helped herself to a blue Peeps marshmallow chick
from a package she d bought for half off at the after-Easter
sale at Long s Drugstore.  It s just junk.
 You went back and dug it up, after what happened the
other night?
 Dante did it for me. Got back this morning and boy, was
he pissed about me going without him and almost getting ar-
rested! Mary smiled.  He said he just dug it right up,  cause
he blended in with a bunch of Bosnians.
236 Hailey Lind
I jumped at the sound of the espresso maker spitting.
Speaking of Bosnians . . .  Is that you, Pete?
 It s Evangeline, Mary said.  She s scared to look at this
stuff. Says it s unnatural.
 I ain t takin no chances, Evangeline called out.  I ll
jes stay back here.
 Sounds like you ve got the espresso machine working,
I said. The only other person who was able to manage it was
Pete. The two might well be a match made in heaven.
I sank to the floor, helped myself to a Peeps, and sat
cross-legged next to Mary. My assistant was right: the con-
tents of the metal box were something of a letdown. There
were a couple of lead soldiers, an old pocket watch, a lock
of hair tied with a blue silk ribbon, and a couple of dingy let-
ters. I skimmed them. They appeared to be from Louis
Spencer s relatives. Sad, but hardly enough to justify chas-
ing a person around a columbarium, much less killing a
young graduate student.  That s it?
 Some crappy baseball cards, Mary said, pulling an en-
velope from the bottom of the box.
 Baseball cards? I said. They would have to be from the
1920s and  30s at the latest.  That has possibilities. The last
time my nephews visited we went to Collectors Corner to
buy Pokemon cards. The baseball cards in their display case
were worth hundreds of dollars.
 Serious? Mary said, popping another Peeps in her
mouth and shrugging.  Maybe there s a Babe Ruth card.
Babe Ruth s a good candy bar, but I like Abba Zabba better.
I nodded.  I like Three Musketeers.
 What, are you s two kiddin me? Evangeline s face was
a picture of indignation as she poked her head around the
kitchenette partition.  Is it mint?
 You mean the flavor? Mary said.
 You mean the color? I said.
BRUSH WITH DEATH 237
Evangeline made a production of rolling her light blue
eyes and letting out an exasperated sigh.  Like,  mint condi-
tion ? Duh. She fixed me with a look.  I thought you was
Ms. Smarty-Pants.
I didn t recall applying for the position. In fact, depend-
ing on if I d had enough sleep and when I d last eaten, I was
sometimes Ms. Dopey-Pants.
 Evangeline, how much would a mint-condition Babe
Ruth baseball card be worth?
 Dunno. Hundreds of thousands, pro ly. Maybe more.
 Serious? Mary said again.
 Is there a Honus Wagner? Evangeline asked, relenting
and coming over to check out the stack.  That s the Mona
Lisa of baseball cards. One sold for more than a million
bucks on eBay. They re rare on account o they put his card
in tobacco pouches, but he was against using tobacco, so
they had to pull it.
A million bucks? Now, that was a treasure worth killing
for.
Mary reached for the cards, but Evangeline intervened.
 Gimme that. Your fingers are blue. Look at  em.
We looked. Her fingers were a bright Peeps blue.
Evangeline sorted the cards but found no Honus Wagner.
No Babe Ruth either. And none were  mint, having gotten
moldy and brittle after decades in a dank tomb. Nonetheless,
I asked Evangeline to show the cards to a dealer. Couldn t
hurt to have all the facts.
 What s this? Mary asked, as she pulled something from
beneath the silk lining.
It was an exquisite miniature portrait on an ivory oval that
looked as if it might be by Rosalba Carriera herself. Could
this be what all the fuss was about?
My studio neighbor and friend Samantha poked her head
in the door.  Knock, knock.
238 Hailey Lind
 Sam! we said in unison.
 The three of you look like naughty children, Sam said
in her soft Jamaican lilt as she sank gracefully onto the Vic-
torian sofa.  What you got there?
 It s a miniature portrait. Isn t it lovely?
 It s beautiful.
 How late is Mayfield s Auction House open?
 It s almost closing time, but it s not far. Should I give
Rachel a call?
Rachel agreed to spare us a few minutes if we hurried [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]