Out Of Hounds

CHAPTER 15

February 20, 2020 Thursday

“When was the last time you had contact with Delores Buckingham?” Ben Sidell questioned Carter Nicewonder.

Both did not hunt this Thursday.

“A year and a half ago.” The slightly overweight Carter replied, then leaned forward. “The woman possessed sophisticated taste. I knew her preferences, of course, and I had acquired from a Richmond estate a perfect pair of sapphire and diamond earrings and a bracelet to match; 1890s. Couldn’t be made today.”

Ben couldn’t help a half smile, for Carter was always selling if he could. “Did you go to Lexington?”

“I did. I brought some other jewelry, as I have clients there. Delores tried on the earrings and bracelet. For an eighty-something woman, she looked good.”

“Your card was in her secretary. When the chief of police called, I volunteered to question you.”

“That secretary, French, was remarkable. Buddy Cadwalder, the Philadelphia dealer, knew Delores, too. He would kill for that secretary.” Carter stopped. “Sorry.”

“An expression. Do you remember the Munnings?”

“Who wouldn’t? Once seen you never forgot Mrs. Filley.”

“Did Mrs. Buckingham ever mention her painting?”

“Only that Mrs. Filley was such a great beauty in her day and a strong rider. We focused on, uh, personal adornment.”

“Delores Buckingham was a good client?”

“A delight. Yes, she was good. The great wealth of her family diminished over the generations, but she lived at ease, don’t get me wrong. She inherited the farm, the furniture, everything, but she was careful.”

“How so?” Ben smelled someone making coffee in Carter’s home in Ivy, a sort of subdivision west of Charlottesville itself.

Carter smelled it, too. “Would you like a cup?”

“No, thank you.”

“That’s my houseman making it. What the English might once have called a batman. I have him and a maid. Given my odd schedule I need to have the house covered.”

“Odd?”

Carter smiled. “People often think a long time before selling family jewelry. It’s so personal. It represents the deceased. Either that, or they sell the minute Momma has died. Greed,” he said with a little smack of his lips. “When they call I need to get there.”

“The seven deadly sins.” Ben closed his notebook.

“Accurate,” Carter agreed.

“Can you think of anything, a conversation? An offhand comment? A feeling?”

“With Mrs. Buckingham?” Carter put his fingers to his lips. “She had two daughters. Well married or married well. Once she said the oldest daughter would take over the farm. The younger, sixty-something by now, would remain in Phoenix. They all seemed to get along.”

“Can you think who might have stolen her Munnings?”

“No, but as you know, the value is astronomical.”

“Crawford’s painting as well as the work stolen in New Jersey were, too. Have you any idea why she was killed?”

“No. It was after the painting had been stolen. She wasn’t in the way.”

“She was killed in the same manner as Parker Bell. We’re at the point where we have to consider some connection. It is possible Mrs. Buckingham knew too much. For Parker, a blank. A total blank.”

“Yes.” He then sighed. “Fennell’s makes indestructible leather tack. This is dreadful proof of that.”

“The chief has questioned the Fennells. Kit, her son, and his wife, Marguerite. They are sick about it, of course. The chief said they are part of Lexington. People adore them, his exact words.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that they are sick about it, but I guarantee you, sales will go up.”

Ben tucked his small notebook in his pocket. “People are funny that way. There is no such thing as bad publicity. I bought one of their bridles for Nonni and a lead shank with a brass plate with her name on it. I know how good they are.” He stood up, asked one last question. “Let me come back to Mrs. Buckingham. Is it possible Mrs. Buckingham figured out who stole her Munnings?”

“Well…” A long pause followed this. “She was a woman of high intelligence. It is possible.”