Dolled Up for Murder by Jane K. Cleland Page A

lacing his hands behind his head, his eyes firing up with excitement. Fred was an antiques snob, and rare currency with a Civil War pedigree impressed him. When I finished we sat silently for a moment, thinking. I pictured the destruction in the van. Someone had stomped the dolls, a quick way to open them up and see if anything was hidden inside. Someone had known the currency was hidden in a doll, but not which one. I felt my fingers curl into claws. If we could find that person, we’d find Eric.
    The wind chimes tinkled as the CSI technician who’d video-recorded the inside of the van stepped into the office. As Ellis started to greet her, my cell phone rang, and I reached for it so quickly it skittered off the desk. I caught it just before it hit the floor. It was Ty. I pushed into the warehouse for privacy.
    â€œI’m reeling,” I said after I filled him in. “I’m sick with worry about Eric. I can’t even imagine how Grace must feel. I’ll call her later, just to touch base.”
    â€œYou know you’re doing everything you can, Josie.”
    â€œI know. Still.”
    â€œYeah.”
    I sighed. “How are you? Talk to me about your day.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to report. We’re beefing up training protocols, interesting stuff, but with all the interdepartmental cooperation I need to arrange, I’m stuck in extra meetings.”
    â€œI understand,” I said, disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to scoot out early but not surprised. “I miss you.”
    â€œMe, too. More than you can imagine.”
    After we finished talking, I stood for more than a minute, staring at nothing, thinking, wishing, and praying. By the time I got back to the office, the CSI technician had left. Fred handed me the receipt she’d given him. She’d taken the doll, the doll’s head, and the currency.
    â€œThey’re halfway through the X-rays,” Ellis said, his eyes on his BlackBerry display. “Nothing so far.”
    *   *   *
    â€œObviously Jamie and Lorna don’t know about the money,” I said, “or they never would have sold me the doll.”
    â€œOr they knew about the money and it was an oversight,” Ellis said.
    â€œA two-hundred-thousand-dollar oversight?” Fred asked.
    â€œIt happens,” I said.
    â€œIs the currency ours?” Fred asked. “I mean, the Farmingtons didn’t consign the dolls to us, they sold them outright, so we own everything free and clear, right?”
    â€œProbably not. When I worked at Frisco’s I once found a ruby the size of my thumb taped to the bottom of a drawer in an oak secretary—a desk,” I added for Ellis’s benefit. “That was a moment, let me tell you! We’d bought the desk from an older couple getting ready to retire to Florida about a month earlier.”
    â€œYou got a bonus from the company?” Ellis asked.
    â€œNo way. Along with everyone at work, though, I assumed the ruby was ours, just as Fred assumed we own the currency. In order to discover the ruby’s provenance, Frisco’s jewelry appraiser asked the sellers for information about it—that’s how they learned we had it. They said they’d forgotten the ruby was there, and when Frisco’s wouldn’t give it back, they sued for its return. I followed the case both because it was interesting and because I didn’t know what to think. I could see both sides of the issue. We claimed it was a case of finders keepers, which actually has legal precedent. Shipwrecks, for instance. After a certain period of time, the ship is deemed to be abandoned, and anyone who finds it can file a claim and salvage it—and keep anything they find in it. In this case, the seller’s lawyer argued that the ruby had to be returned because of something called ‘unjust enrichment,’ which says the court shouldn’t allow someone to benefit