business.”
So Olivia showed her the Napoleon chest that the seller swore had actually been in the Emperor’s camp tent. And the handmade leather club chair that Clark Gable had once owned—verified by a photo of the actor sitting in it staring lovingly at Carole Lombard. Next the twin lamps made from ebony and a pair of beautifully twisted antelope horns that rumor had it, Hemingway himself had shot.
“Olivia! You have some serious goods here.”
“I know. And if this sale doesn’t pull me out of the hole this weekend, they will end up on the auction block.”
Tuesday slammed her fist into her palm. “We’re going to do something about that. And I’m not going home until we do!”
“Okay,” said Olivia. “I like the sound of that. I don’t know what we can do, but you’re right. Let’s get out of here for a bit. So what if there is dust on the library stairs. Who’s going to see it? Let’s go. Oh, but first I want to show you the little treasures that arrived yesterday. My netsuke.”
They threaded their way around the silk-shaded floor lamps and carved dining chairs to the Duchess’s table. “They aren’t worth that much,” Olivia explained over her shoulder, “but sometimes a little gem of an accessory can attract a customer to the expensive table it sits on. Over here.”
When they got to the table, Olivia’s eyes widened. “Where are they?”
Tuesday drew her Cleopatra eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”
“I set these on the table yesterday morning before Cody arrived. Now they’re gone.”
Tuesday tried to be helpful. “Maybe they got swept onto the floor. You know how people are when they browse through a shop. They can be so careless with things that don’t belong to them.”
“I didn’t have any customers yesterday. Well,” she said, remembering Charles Bacon. “One, but he didn’t come back this far.”
She hoped. The table stood next to the French doors, far from the chairs where Olivia and the car collector had sat. He would never have seen them.
“Unless,” she said, remembering that she had left him alone while she ran to check her calendar. “Nah,” she answered to herself. “How would he have known they were there? And I saw them after he left, didn’t I? Or did I?”
Tuesday wasn’t putting her mind at ease. “Could someone have come in the day before and cased the joint.”
“Tuesday, really? Cased the joint? You have to get your head out of film noir.”
“Well, excuse me. Perhaps someone came in and surveyed the premises and conveyed the information to a colleague who returned the next day and surreptitiously removed the items from said premises. Madam.”
They laughed, but Olivia dismissed that possibility because she had only unwrapped them yesterday morning. She ran through the rest of the day. “Nobody else was in here except for the police. They came in to talk to me in the afternoon for a few minutes before they took off and walked through the front door into my office. But I can’t imagine a cop recognizing potentially valuable netsuke.”
Olivia remembered the crew of officers and detectives eying the shop and checking price tags when they thought she wasn’t looking, nudging each other with raised eyebrows.
“And I locked up after they left so no one else was in here.”
“What about Mrs. Dimwit downstairs.”
“Tuesday! Be nice. She’d need a key to get in and I had the locks changed during the renovation. And she never comes up here.”
“Olivia, yesterday was a crazy day. You probably moved them without realizing it. You can get a little spaced out when you’re stressed.”
“Oh, look who’s talking. You, who had the key to the Tea Room on opening day and left it at Starbucks, then tried to open the shop with their restroom key.”
“Mistakes happen. I’m just saying. If nobody was in here, they have to be someplace. Let’s get a pendulum.”
Olivia waved her hands in front of her face. “No, I can’t
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
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