Probable Claws

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.