Scarlet Fever

CHAPTER 14

March 11, 2019 Monday

Two brilliant emerald eyes peeked above a pavé diamond tail draped over the end of the fox’s snout. The divine Erté ring rested on Marion’s desk while the Faquier County detective, a competent, attractive-looking woman, sat opposite her.

Knowing she was coming, Marion had suffered a brief fit and tidied up her office, which wasn’t a mess but by her standard it was.

Officer Serena Neff often had to slide through the unacknowledged prejudice of whoever she was questioning. This reserve, if you will, would have been there anyway. No one really wants to talk to a law enforcement detective. Add race, a bit more reserve. Marion factored in race, class, all the now so important divisions, but cared little for any of it. She focused intently on the individual in front of her and saw Detective Neff as an individual. An individual she was discovering knew her job.

“Fifties?” Detective Neff looked at the piece of jewelry.

“Perhaps the forties. I have no record of its creation but I do have records of where I purchased it, from Georgia Untergraf’s estate.” Marion slid a folder over to the middle-aged woman.

“I remember my grandmother nattering on about Miss Georgia.” She smiled. “Apparently a lady one did not cross. Imperious and rich.”

“I barely remember her but I do remember her shoes, hat, and gloves matched even walking down Main Street.” Marion recalled a tiny powerhouse with a big step.

“Owned half of Waterloo,” Detective Neff murmured. “Can you believe what’s happened to it now?”

Waterloo, an area west of Warrenton, once home to large estates, had been developed. Parts of Warrenton, again to the west, had held firm, but not so much Waterloo, although it remained quite pretty only with more homes.

“Here.” Marion handed her another folder, with detailed reproductions of some of Erté’s jewelry.

“I confess I know nothing about him. When I started researching his output, wow, impressive. Paintings, jewelry, scenes for theater. Quite the dandy, too.”

“Lived almost to one hundred. He was born in St. Petersburg, Russia, in 1892 and died in 1990. Nicholas II was Czar when he was born. Erté got out in time.”

Detective Neff flipped through more pictures. “Lucky for him. Lucky for us.”

“Same with Poland and all those countries. Those who got out, whenever they got out, brought us so much. Detective Neff, you aren’t here for politics but I hope we don’t forget who we are.”

She smiled, a warm smile. “Me, too. My husband and I sent off for the 23andMe DNA kit. A complete surprise. I am twenty-three percent North African, which could mean Egyptian, thirty-eight percent Dahomey, or a close West African tribe, and the rest is British Isles. We laughed about that.”

“What’s he?”

Detective Neff waved her hands. “Mostly Scandinavian with a hint of French. Odd, not one of us has Native American blood and I thought we would.” She returned her gaze to the ring. “It’s a sure bet Erté had none of it.”

Marion laughed. “No.” Then she leaned forward. “I have no idea why this was in Harry’s pocket.”

“Well, neither do I, which is why I’m here. How long have you had items from Georgia Untergraf’s estate?”

“The family brings it in whenever.” Marion paused after whenever. “The ring came in a month before Christmas. Just got it into the catalog.”

“Interest?”

“Yes. But, as you can surmise, it’s quite expensive. If I had a store in New York City like old Knoud’s on Madison Avenue I would have priced it for, oh, ten thousand.”

“You could do that on the Internet.”

“I could but I like people to come into the store and I know my people. We do sell online but I know two people who would love this ring and I was rather hoping. So I priced it at seven thousand four hundred dollars, which is still costly.”

“Even with all these pavé diamonds and the emerald eyes?”

Marion nodded. “The young don’t know who Erté was. My fear was a dealer would buy this ring, pop out the stones, weigh them, and create another, more modern ring. I couldn’t do that. I truly want his work to stay intact and in a way it’s my small gesture to a great lady, impossible as she was reputed to be.”

“I understand.” And Detective Neff did, coming from a line of impossible, demanding ladies. “You and Mr. Dunbar both sold to the public, in your case the antique jewelry and the silver. For him, furniture.”

“Oh, Harry Dunbar could talk a dog off a meat wagon, but Detective Neff, people come into my store because they need something. They might see something they now want that they are seeing for the first time, but in Harry’s case his customers were driven only by want.”

“Ah. Do you think he had a customer who wanted this ring? Obviously he sold to the wealthy.”

“I don’t know. When I put the ring in the catalog, he called and asked did I have more of Georgia Untergraf’s estate? I said no. Then he asked had I seen any of her furniture, for she had pieces going back to George II. I told him no. I don’t do furniture, which he knew. He was fishing.”

“Did you like him?”

“I did. I can’t say I was close but we had years to know each other.”

“I see. We all have enemies. Did you know his?”

A long pause followed this. “Well, I knew a few people who felt he bought low and sold high when they were in need. The Taylors in Charlottesville, the Blys in Culpeper, and I heard once he was hoping the Wadsworths outside of Rochester, New York, longtime masters of Genesee Valley Hunt, might part with valuable items. They didn’t, and it was one of the few times when Harry couldn’t wheedle a few pieces to sell. Old families often need money.”

“Do you think these people held a grudge?”

“Not the Wadsworths. I don’t know them all that well but Harry wouldn’t be an irritant to them, an amusement perhaps. As to the Blys and the Taylors, there was bad blood there.”

“Bad enough to kill him?”

“Oh, I can’t answer that, but if either family were to kill him it would have been years ago when he first bought their furniture, when tempers were hot.” She shrugged. “I don’t believe in gouging anyone up or down but the basis of capitalism is knowing when and where to buy or sell and value. Harry knew value and the truth of the matter is neither the Blys or the Taylors did.”

“I see. They simply needed money.”

“The Blys did. The Taylor heirs didn’t want what they considered old furnitrure.”

“Back to this ring. Do you know anyone who collects Erté?”

“No. Again, the young don’t know who he was and anyone owning a painting or a piece of jewelry isn’t going to part with it. There isn’t any more.”

“What about when they die?”

“My generation may be the last to know Erté but Harry used to talk about this, too, how the young don’t like what they call brown furniture. In time that will shift. Their children may come back to appreciate the exquisite workmanship. Nothing stays the same.”

“Isn’t that the truth. The women who work for you…each of whom has been most cooperative, by the way…each one said she liked Harry.”

“We all did. He was a man who paid attention to women in a gentlemanly fashion. Of course, he’d sell ice to the Eskimos, as I said before. However, none of my girls are in the market for five- and six-figure pieces of historic furniture.”

“You know what I think about? Here you have a valuable, extremely valuable, piece of furniture, someone sits on it and, boom, the dog eats a corner.”

“There is that.” Marion laughed. “At least the dog wouldn’t wear this ring.”

“Who would?” came the key question.

Another long silence followed that. “I wouldn’t say a hundred percent but close to it, it would have to be a woman who foxhunted. Who attended hunt balls, big fundraisers, maybe not disgustingly rich but well off.”

“One last question. Jean and Roni said the expensive items, the jewelry, the silver hunting horns, might be put in the safe or locked up at night.”

“Now that I have the latest security system we don’t have to always put everything in the safe but we lock the cases. As for the jewelry, it is so easy to misplace or knock off a shelf, we usually do put that in the safe. Here, let me show you the jewelry.”

Detective Neff’s eyes lit up, for she was not immune to beautiful things. Marion walked her to the front of the store, where they both faced the lighted glass case.

“See those crystals? Painted?”

“The hounds heads, fox, what do you call them?”

“Masks. Older ones tend to be more expensive than newer ones and they usually come from England. Martha!” Marion called to Martha back in the small accounting office, “come here for a minute.”

Martha did, smiling at Detective Neff. “Yes?”

“Hand me those clear crystal earrings and the ones with the green background.”

Martha carefully extracted the earrings, placing them side by side on the top of the glass case, where they showed to good effect.

“See these clear ones?”

“Yes,” the law enforcement officer said.

“These are new. About one thousand dollars. Part of the reason being, it’s not easy to create this, to paint on the crystal,” Martha filled in as Marion moved the earrings closer to Detective Neff.

“Okay. Here, these green ones are from the, mmm,” Marion flipped them over, “1890s. Before World War One for certain, but like everything else, colors, stuff like that, can give you hints. This green background, popular then, fell out of fashion after the war. These are worth two thousand dollars, give or take. As they are in good condition, two thousand.” She dropped them in the detective’s palm.

“Are the earrings always round?”

“Usually, the bar pins, say with a running horse, those can be even more expensive because some of them have the colors of the owner’s horse painted on the jockey. Also, more gold for the pin.”

“Did Mrs. Untergraf have crystal jewelry?”

“She did. Still in the family. Jewelry is often so personal it’s the last thing to go. Which is why I was surprised when the ring became available.”

“Did the Untergrafs know Harry?”

“Everyone knew Harry.” Marion smiled. “As far as I know, no problems. Of course, he would not be inquiring about jewelry. He knew while the fortune had eroded the furniture stayed put.”

“I see. What about a woman scorned? Any of that?”

“Harry squired ladies to all the balls, but I don’t think he ever became serious about one.”

“Gay?”

“Well, Detective Neff, usually I can tell. Harry, he never spoke of it, pro or con, if you will, and he always noticed a pretty or rich woman.”

Having heard part of the exchange while she hung up her coat, Jean, back from lunch, smiled devilishly. “Harry was sneaky. I think he had women all over the East Coast.”

“Jean, he wasn’t rich enough to keep them.” Marion laughed.

“Maybe they kept him.” Jean winked.

Detective Neff smiled. “I can see I have more work to do. We left the ring on your desk. If we need it, say for a court trial later, we will come to you.”

Marion waved her hand. “Keep it in your safe. Better than here.”

The word murder did not escape Marion’s lips but she knew the detective wouldn’t be here if the department felt Harry’s death was simply an open-and-shut accident.

Best to be silent and vigilant.