A Fatal Fabergé Page 3

  “Why don’t you make one plate for both of us to share, and take a little of everything,” he said. “Oh, and maybe a bowl of the bread pudding with caramel sauce.”

  Molly stood up and kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

  He laughed. “You love that I love sweets. And I love you, too.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Molly walked past the tall row of windows that overlooked the terrace, her mind on cake and pie and cookies, when suddenly she saw something fly past in her peripheral vision, hitting the flagstones on the terrace with a loud thud. She instantly froze. Then a woman screamed, and a man near the open French doors cried out, “Help! We need a doctor! Is anyone a doctor?”

  Matt jumped up and ran to the door, Molly right behind him. The man by the doors was staring outside. Matt followed his gaze and said, “Call nine-one-one.”

  The man took out his cell phone, and Matt and Molly went outside. The cold air felt like a slap to Molly’s face. Matt knelt down beside a man’s body. He was on his back, his legs bent at an impossible angle, neck twisted to one side. Molly took a step closer to see his face, and gasped when she realized she recognized him.

  “Matt, that’s Curtis Cobb,” she said.

  He looked up. “He’s dead. There’s nothing I can do for him.”

  At the same time, they both looked up at the house toward the roof. Molly shivered. “Do you think he jumped?”

  Matt stood. “I think you should go back inside,” he said. “I’ll wait here with the body for the police to arrive.”

  Molly went back into the dining room and found it had practically cleared out. The people who remained were talking on their phones or taking photos, which annoyed her. She spoke loudly, to make sure everyone could hear her. “If you’re taking photographs or videos, please stop. A man has died. Show some respect.”

  To her surprise, everyone complied. Maybe they didn’t realize what had happened, or what they were recording. She hoped that was the case. She stood there for a moment, feeling restless, and a little frightened. She didn’t want to leave Matt on the terrace alone with a dead body. She stepped back outside and saw him put his cell phone in his pocket.

  “Who did you call?”

  “Lombardi,” he said. “He’s on his way.”

  Molly was surprised. Lombardi was a homicide detective. “Someone already called nine-one-one,” she said. “Why did you feel the need to call him?”

  “Because I trust him,” he said.

  “Do you suspect foul play?”

  Matt shrugged. “It’s not up to me to decide.”

  “That’s not a real answer,” she said.

  They heard the clacking sound of heels on the flagstones and turned around. Natasha was hurrying over to them in her bright red dress, her green eyes wide and worried.

  “I heard a man is hurt. Has an ambulance been called?”

  “An ambulance isn’t going to help him,” Matt said. He stepped aside so she could see the body. “I’m very sorry, but he’s dead.”

  Natasha stared. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid so. I’m Dr. Matt Harrison, and this is my wife, Molly Appleby.”

  Natasha’s hand went to her throat. “This man is my brother-in-law, Curtis Cobb. His son, my nephew, Maxim, is here somewhere.” She looked around, as if Maxim might suddenly materialize. “I don’t want him to see his father like this.”

  Molly said, “I met Maxim earlier. I can go look for him, if you like.”

  Natasha nodded. “Thank you, Molly. I would appreciate it.”

  Molly went out, back to the main hall. People were streaming toward the front door. Word had spread fast that something terrible had happened, and they were hightailing it out of there. By the time she reached the ballroom, she found it was almost empty. Even the band had packed up and gone. She returned to the hall and called out, “Maxim Cobb! Are you here?”

  “Yes, Molly!” He came up behind her, his face flushed. “I just heard the news. Is it true? Someone jumped from the roof?”

  “Oh, Maxim.” She hated having to tell him. “I’m so sorry, there’s no easy way to say it, but it’s your father.” She saw that she’d shocked him. He stared at her, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. “I’m not sure what happened,” she said quickly. “Maybe he fell.” She didn’t want to say he’d jumped. She hoped it was an accident.

  “Where is he?”

  “On the terrace, outside the dining room.”

  He started to take off, but Molly grabbed his sleeve and held him back.

  “Don’t.”

  “I have to see him,” he said.

  “No. Trust me, you don’t. Your aunt doesn’t want you to.”

  Maxim rubbed his hands over his face. “This can’t be happening, it just can’t.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “When I introduced him to you. He went off to find Hattie, his girlfriend. I didn’t see him again.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t there for my mother when she died, but I’m here now. I want to see my father.”

  He marched off down the hall at a fast pace. Molly tried to keep up with him but her heels slowed her down. She thought about taking them off, but then she was in the dining room, and saw Maxim talking to Matt, who was standing like a guard at the French doors, blocking him. She didn’t see Natasha and wondered where she’d gone.

  She went over to them and heard Matt say, “The police are on their way. It really would be better if you stayed in the house. Your aunt doesn’t want you to see your father this way.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s waiting for the police at the front door.”

  Maxim wiped tears away from his face with the back of his hand. “I can’t leave my father out there all alone.”

  Matt said, “I’ll stay with him. Molly, can you find Maxim a seat?”

  “Yes, of course.” She took Maxim by the arm and gently led him to a table far away from the windows. Maxim didn’t resist. He sat down on a chair and put his head in his hands. She went to the bar, which had been abandoned, and poured him a tall glass of water. She handed it to him and he drank it down. He sat there quietly, staring into space, and Molly let him be. She knew he was having a hard time processing what had happened. She was, too.

  It seemed like a long time before Natasha returned with Lombardi, the coroner, and two members of the coroner’s team who were wheeling a gurney. Lombardi saw Molly and nodded to her, but he didn’t stop. They went out to the terrace, where Matt was waiting.

  “That man with the dark hair, the one who nodded to you,” Maxim said. “Who is he?”

  “Detective Anthony Lombardi,” she said. “You couldn’t ask for a better investigator.”

  Maxim looked at her. “I told you I’m a fan, Molly. Seriously, I’ve read all of your articles. The ones you’ve written about the crimes you’ve helped the police solve, you’ve never named the cop in Vermont you’ve worked with. Is that the guy?”

  “Yes, which is why I know you can trust him.”

  “But he’s a homicide detective.” His brow wrinkled. “Do you think my father was murdered?”

  “I have no idea,” she said. “I do know Detective Lombardi is very good at his job, and he’ll get to the bottom of things. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  Maxim didn’t look convinced, and he was starting to breathe fast. Molly hoped he wasn’t going to hyperventilate. “I know you’re trying to reassure me, but what if it wasn’t an accident.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “Will you investigate my father’s death? Will you do that for me?”

  Molly looked at him. “Why? Do you think it wasn’t an accident?”

  He sat back in the chair. “You know the bookstore was about to close, but what you don’t know is that my father had a gambling problem and owed a lot of money. Maybe to someone disreputable.”

  “Do you think this someone killed him because he couldn’t pay the money back?�
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  “I don’t know. I only found out a few weeks ago, and he didn’t go into great detail. I should have known something was wrong. I should have seen the signs. Long before my mother died . . .” His voice faded away.

  “Was she ill?”

  “No. She died on vacation with my father in Florida. She went out for a late-night swim in the ocean and drowned.”

  Molly was shocked. “How awful. I’m so sorry. When did this happen?”

  “September fifth,” he said. “My father wouldn’t let me see her body. It was a closed-casket funeral.”

  Molly did a quick calculation in her head, and realized his mother had died only ten weeks ago.

  “Didn’t you say your father has a girlfriend?”

  “Yes, Hattie Mills.” He paused. “I know what you’re thinking. How could he have a girlfriend so soon after my mother died. They’ve known each other since high school. They all did. Hattie was my mother’s best friend.” He glanced over at the hallway door. “Her other best friend just walked in.”

  Molly looked over and saw Felix heading their way. He wore gray slacks and a pale blue button-down shirt. As he’d told her, he wasn’t a guest for the gala ball.

  “Maxim, I just heard the news,” he said. “Do you know what happened?”

  “No, but the police are here. Hopefully, they’ll be able to tell me something soon.”

  Felix glanced at Molly. “Nice to see you again,” he said. “Wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

  “Me, too,” she said.

  He turned his attention back to Maxim. “Have you seen Hattie? I’m worried she doesn’t know what’s happened.”

  “I haven’t seen her,” Maxim said. “Maybe you should go look for her.”

  “Yes, right, I’ll do that.”

  Maxim’s eyes showed he was not interested. He didn’t care one way or the other if Hattie was found.

  Felix shuffled his feet and glanced at the French doors, and the crowd of people gathered outside on the terrace. Then he patted Maxim on the shoulder and walked away without another word.

  When he was gone, Molly asked, “Was Felix a good friend of your father?”

  “Not really. He was friends with my mother. They grew up together. Felix’s mother, Peggy Shaw, works here.”

  “I met Felix yesterday at his shop, and he told me she’s the cook. He didn’t say anything about your mother, only that he knew Natasha.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t mention her. We were all devastated by her death, of course, but he’s taken it very hard. They were born two weeks apart, and when they were little, my grandmother allowed them to play together. My mother always said Felix was the brother she’d never had.”

  “How did they meet your father?”

  “In high school, freshman year. My grandfather moved the family from New Jersey that year and opened Rarus Books.” Maxim paused to take a deep breath. “I wasn’t happy about my father dating Hattie, in case you’re wondering. Actually, I should say it’s more than dating. She moved in with Dad a week after my mother’s funeral, which is why I’m staying here with Aunt Natasha. I didn’t want to stay in my mother’s house with them. I’m not ready for it.”

  “I can see how it could be awkward,” Molly said. She wouldn’t have been happy either if her mother died and Sean moved another woman into the house they’d shared, especially a week after the funeral.

  Maxim’s cell phone was on the table. It chimed, and he quickly snatched it up. “Kurt texted. He wants to know if I’m having fun.” His eyes filled with tears. He glanced over at the French doors. “Detective Lombardi’s going to be a while, I suppose. I’d like to call Kurt to tell him what’s happened.”

  “Of course.” Molly stood up. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  Chapter 4

  Molly slept badly that night. She tossed and turned, thinking about Curtis Cobb, his dead wife, Rarus Books, and Maxim, the dutiful son who came home to help his father save his store. By six o’clock, she gave up, rolled over, and checked the baby-cam on the bedside table. Tyler was asleep in his crib. He’s like his father, she thought. A truck could drive right through the house and they’d sleep right through it.

  Her two cats, Merlin and Griffin, cracked their eyes open as she got out of bed, but they didn’t move. They watched her put on her robe and cinch the belt, and closed their eyes as she slipped her feet into her fluffy slippers. No one wanted to get up at six o’clock on a Sunday morning. Not even the cats.

  Molly padded downstairs, filled a teakettle with water, and set it on the stovetop. She looked out the window over the sink. It was still dark out, and in the dim light of dawn that spilled across the yard, she could see the skeletal branches of trees that had shed their leaves. Molly loved their home. It was a 1920s brick Tudor that belonged to Sean. He’d completely renovated it when he’d bought it, but he had never lived there. She felt fortunate that they were able to rent it from him. If Matt was offered a permanent position at the hospital, they planned to buy the house. It was beautiful and homey, and had everything they needed—three bedrooms, two full baths, a separate office, and an open-concept gourmet kitchen with a sunny dining room and great room. There was also the added bonus of the in-law suite over the garage, where her mother had lived until she’d married Sean, and which Starling now occupied.

  Molly unplugged her phone, which she’d left charging on the counter. Then she took a mug out of the cupboard and sat at the kitchen table, stretching out her long legs. Picking up her phone, she checked it to see if Lombardi had left a message. After she and Matt had given him their statements, he’d told them to go home. She’d wanted to stay, in case Maxim needed anything, but as Matt had pointed out, Lombardi had already sent him and Natasha to another room to be questioned, and there really wasn’t anything else they could do.

  The kettle whistled, and she got up and turned off the burner. Opening her tea chest, she chose a mint tea and dropped the bag in her mug. She poured boiling water over the bag, and while it steeped, texted Lombardi: Are you awake?

  Her phone rang almost immediately.

  “I’m not only awake,” he said, “I’m about a half mile from your house on my way to work. What are you doing up? I thought you liked to sleep in on Sundays.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee or tea?”

  “I’d love a coffee. I’ll be right there.”

  Molly went into the great room and stood by the front door, waiting for him to arrive. She didn’t want him ringing the doorbell and waking everyone up. The homes across the street were dark and quiet. She felt like everyone was sleeping in the world, except for her and Lombardi. When she saw headlights turn down the street, she opened the door. Lombardi’s sedan pulled into the driveway. He walked up the path, and she held the door open for him. She noticed another car farther down the road, driving slowly. So, they weren’t the only two people awake after all, she thought.

  Lombardi walked into the foyer, and as she began to close the door, she saw the other car stop in front of Mrs. Houghton’s house next door. It was a silver sedan, and she didn’t recognize it. Mrs. Houghton’s daughter, who visited her elderly mother often, drove a red minivan.

  Lombardi took off his coat and hung it in the closet. “I hate late-night calls,” he said. “I didn’t leave Misty Vale until one thirty.”

  Molly shut the door behind him. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Only a few hours, but I shouldn’t complain. It’s better than nothing.”

  They went into the kitchen, and she walked over to the deluxe coffee machine Matt had given her for her birthday. “Would you like a cappuccino or a regular coffee?”

  “A cappuccino, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. It’s taken me a while to get the hang of it, but I feel like a pro now. This machine not only grinds the beans, it also makes the milky foam. All I have to do is press the right buttons.”

  “I’ll lea
ve you to it.” He sat down at the table and yawned. He might not have gotten enough sleep, but the fatigue did nothing to diminish Lombardi’s good looks. With his dark hair, olive complexion, and dark brown eyes, he could easily pass as a male model.

  Molly made a cappuccino and set the cup in front of him. He took a sip and sighed. “This is really good. Thank you.” He took another sip. “So, why are you up? Is Tyler all right?”

  “Yes, your godson is sound asleep, like his father, and Starling, and the two cats.” She put her mug into the microwave. Her tea had gone cold. “I couldn’t stop thinking about Curtis. I feel so guilty.”

  “About what?”

  “That he might have killed himself because his shop was going under, and I refused to help him by writing an article.”

  “You told me he was rude to you, and insulted the magazine. You’ve got nothing to feel guilty about.”

  “But I could have told him I’d do it, if only for Maxim’s sake.” The microwave beeped, and she took her mug out. “It’s not like Curtis would have been the first dealer I’ve interviewed who wasn’t a nice person. I’ve worked with some doozies before, as you well know.”

  “Yeah, I know. But the thing is, Molly, in this case, you have nothing to feel guilty about. Curtis Cobb didn’t do a swan dive off the roof because you didn’t want to write an article about him. Someone pushed him out of a third-floor window.”

  Molly sat down. “How can the coroner be certain?”

  “He said if he’d fallen out the window by accident, he would have landed feet-first, trying to catch himself. But he didn’t land that way. He landed on his back, hitting his head. It looks like someone gave him a big old push right out the window.”

  “Great. Now I feel bad, because I feel good it wasn’t my fault.”

  “There’s no winning with you,” he said and laughed. “You should see the size of the window. It’s enormous, almost as big as a door.”

  “Sounds like whoever killed Curtis must have known it was there,” she said. “Although I just remembered when Mom and I visited the Gordon Museum, we took a stroll through one of the formal gardens behind the house, so I suppose anyone with a ticket could have seen the window.” She sipped her coffee. “Did Maxim tell you he’s staying at the manor house?”