Рита Браун - Probable Claws

Tucker, on patrol, kept silent. They were alone and safe for now. Shining the flashlight, Harry stuck the tooth in her pocket. She dug some more through the frost covering the dirt, but the pile, so huge, had not frozen through or she would have had to work harder with her little mountaineers pick. The tooth spurred her. Digging further in and making a straight line of four feet, her reach, she vigorously dug. Then she saw them—some sort of bones, gleaming in the dirt. She renewed her efforts, but whatever it was, it was buried too deep for her to dislodge. She took a picture with her cellphone.

She had what she wanted. She knew what this was about or at least what lay underneath Richmond.

Looking around, no security guard, no one at all, she felt safe. Then again, why have a security guard for a big hole? That thought occurred to her as she climbed up the ramp to the street. Whoever was behind this was supremely confident. Well, so was she. She had a big part of the answer. Hers was a misplaced confidence. She failed to notice the small cameras mounted on top of parts of the fence and one even on top of a large yellow excavator. She knew about the cameras from that discussion in Sean’s office. But so intense was her obsession, she forgot.

Yes, Harry had her evidence, but they had her.

42

February 21, 2017

Tuesday

Sean Rankin’s office offered a fabulous view of the James and the streets leading down to this wide, swift river. Kayakers loved it for they could live in the city, go down to the river, set off, and paddle. The falls might prove a problem for the neophyte but not the advanced. Truly, it was a beautiful river with bald eagles, great blue herons, ospreys, all manner of fishing birds and even a few fishing people, although not on a bitter day like this one.

Marvella, body still terrific, sat next to Sean. Her cashmere dress, a shocking magenta, revealed just how good her body was.

Leather boots completed the outfit along with a golden pin the shape of an Irish harp. Sean, buying his clothes from Paul Stuart on Madison Avenue in Manhattan, looked equally well turned out but less colorful. Both individuals loved fashion.

With a thumb drive in his personal computer, he clicked through Russian artists.

“I do see why this would be good for the VMFA. It compliments the Fabergé collection in the sense that this is another way into rich Russia, the sophisticated Russians who were as comfortable in Paris as they were in St. Petersburg. Have you spoken to Alex Nyerges?” Mr. Nyerges was the VMFA director.

“Yes, he has seen the paintings. He is willing to mount an exhibit. The museum, now world class, intends to show us the world. It’s thrilling, really.”

“How do you propose to get the artworks?”

“The museum has European experts, as you know, quite strong in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. And of course, more works from those centuries remain intact. But really, Sean, there isn’t a weak department at the VMFA anymore. It truly is world class. Those individuals can call their counterparts at other museums. Most will loan the work. It’s undervalued and unknown for the most part. This will help the breakthrough to Russian art. Most people just think of icons.”

He smiled. “They’re in for a surprise.” Then he asked, “How do you propose to get those works that are in private hands?”

“We will need Sotheby’s for that. They really have led the way on selling Russian art and artifacts. Sotheby’s has specialists in London, New York, Moscow, Paris, even a private client group. It’s to their benefit for us to mount such an exhibit. I think they will help us reach private clients who have bought their offerings over the last few years.”

He leaned back in the chair, then forward, popped out the thumb drive, slipped another one in. The Cloudcroft bedrock appeared, a shadowy figure with a corgi, picking at a dirt pile. The figure was clearly caught by each camera, although far away and therefore a bit fuzzy. One camera somewhat revealed Harry’s face. Her cap pulled down for warmth covered only a part of her face.

“Could this be your friend?” he asked smoothly.

Marvella’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. In that instant she knew Rankin was behind, at least, the disappearance of Edward Elkins, who had been found underneath what was the old Kushner Building. Something in his tone, his feigned innocence, told her. She pulled herself together, leaned forward.

“It’s difficult to make out features but it could be. Then again, how many women could fit this image?” She prayed that was enough to allay his fears.

“Yes.” He folded his hands together. “I’m still waiting on Dad for the exhibit confirmation. I have been working on him and I’ll get back to you.”

As she left his sumptuous office she knew what he really said was “Help me out and I’ll help you out. Discreetly.”

Sweat rolled down Marvella’s back like an old hot flash.

The minute she reached home she picked up her landline. Much harder to trace the call.

“Harry.” Her voice’s urgency alerted Harry.

“Marvella, what’s wrong?”

“Were you at Cloudcroft last night with your corgi?”

A long pause followed, then “Yes.”

“They know. Cameras. Protect yourself, Harry. I don’t know what is going on but I feel strongly that you are in danger.”

“I could be.” Harry told the truth. “Marvella, thank you and watch out for yourself.”

“I didn’t identify you. I did say it might be you but so many women could fit the description of that shadowy woman in the dark.”

“You risked your exhibit.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Marvella immediately replied. “Promise you will protect yourself and not do anything so foolish.”

“I will. I found old bones, Marvella. Not human. Older. Much older.”

“No good can come from old bones, no matter to whom they belonged,” Marvella said with feeling, for after all, one does not disturb the dead.

43

May 16, 1787

Wednesday

Spring, late this year, exploded. Dogwoods opened, the redbuds bloomed and bloomed longer than usual. The daffodils finished just as tulips popped up. Man and beast breathed in the delicious air, happy the last frost was finally over.

Catherine, watching Ralston ride, stood next to Jeddie.

“He’s stiff. His elbows are locked. Tell him to get off,” Jeddie criticized.

“He’s not the rider you are but the horses need a bit of work. I’ve seen a lot worse.”

“Just let me ride. I can do it with a sling. I only need one arm and I’ve walked them with this sling. I can trot and gallop.”

“No,” she sharply replied. “That’s final. Walking, yes. The rest, no.”

Grimacing, he stared at Ralston, his eyes narrowing. “All he thinks about is girls.”

“Well.” She decided not to pursue that.

“I can’t stand this.”

“A few more weeks. They’ll fly by. Now stop complaining. Have you any ideas how we can help Yancy?”

“Do what?”

“Well, he’s paid off Maureen for William’s labor. Actually, he paid double. She was insisting that Yancy pay William’s value, which of course she trebled. She did not offer to pay for the loss of Black Knight. Yancy quite rightly said this was a matter for the authorities.”

“William can’t keep Black Knight, although he could get a high price for the horse. If he’s smart and I think he is, he left the horse, started walking by foot.”