They each got into their cars. Before Cooper could pull away, Harry got out of her Volvo station wagon, tapped on Cooper’s window.
“Left my reading glasses on the drafting table.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Cooper got out, unlocked the office door, walked in with Harry as Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, noses to the car window, observed with displeasure. Why were they left in the car?
Harry snatched up her reading glasses, put them on, walked over to the shelves.
“You rarely put on your reading glasses in public,” Cooper tormented her.
“You, Taz, and Lisa are not public. And guess what, Smarty, it will happen to you.”
“Come on, I need to get back to HQ.”
“One little minute.” Harry read the bio of Gary’s great-great-grandfather under the sword on the wall. It was a small square under the impressive man’s photo. “I never took the time to read this. You don’t think this could be related to the fact that his great-great-grandfather was a Confederate soldier?”
“No. He’d need to be sitting on a statue for that.”
“Very funny.” Harry took a moment to look down at the returned files then up to the small trove of treasures, the large tooth, the heavy globes, a few old antique hand tools, the rubber dinosaurs.
“Harry!”
“All right.”
The answer to Gary’s death was staring them right in the face. There was no way they could have known.
15
January 13, 2017
Friday
“Good sense of direction,” the imperious woman replied then smiled just slightly. “And I am here two times a week, if not three, and I studied the building plans before the addition was added.”
“Um. I’m still impressed.” Harry was.
“I should think you would have focused on sporting art when you were an Art History major.”
“Sporting art hid under a cloud, plus I was at Smith. Everyone wanted to discuss modern art. And there was always the Impressionist contingent. I never fit in.”
“Good for you. People who never fit in are more interesting.”
“You fit in. Marvella, you run Richmond.” Harry laughed.
Marvella stopped at the top of the stairway, a stairway baffling to Harry because she didn’t remember it. “Yes. And no. The color of my skin, a factor over which I have no control, same as gender, created a standing outside, for lack of a better word, view. I certainly wasn’t embraced when Tinsdale and I, newly married, moved here. But times change, we change. Being outside, having to think twice, so to speak, made me more resourceful, better able to look into people’s motivations.”
“I never thought of that.”
“You didn’t need to.” She reached for Harry’s hand as they descended the steps, Harry’s other hand on the guardrail. “I often wonder would I be the person I am if I had not endured institutionalized oppression? I doubt I would be. I think I’d miss more. Pierre and I used to talk about this all the time.” She named her recently deceased brother.
“He didn’t leave detailed directives concerning his art collection, did he?” Harry knew how good Pierre’s collection was, and it was a hundred-eighty degrees opposite his sister’s tastes.
Marvella sighed. “I’ve been working on it. There are places one would like to donate a fine painting, but the school or small gallery doesn’t have the means to support it, protect it.”
“Aren’t you tempted to donate his collection to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts? Especially after all the work you’ve done here.” Harry and Marvella reached the bottom of the stairs, Marvella dropped her hand.
“I am. I will, but I still must sort through it. I’d like some works to go to Howard, our joint alma mater. The Art History department is excellent, but everyone wants to be a lawyer, a politician, or a businessman now. I can’t stand it,” she said with feeling.
Harry tweaked her. “You’re married to one of the most powerful lawyers in the mid-South.”
Marvella twirled her hand. “Don’t I know it. When he talks to me like one of his business partners I let him have it.” She grinned. “I tell him he can go home from his business partners but he’d better pay first attention to me. Talk to me like your wife. He hears that.”
“Bet he does.” They walked toward the dining room on the second floor.
Once again Harry wasn’t sure how they had arrived at this point. She was certain that the sporting collection, one of the finest anywhere in the United States, was on the same floor around the corner. It wasn’t.
“Do you ever have to put Fair in his place?”
“No. It’s usually the other way around. I drift.”
“You know what Tallulah said. ‘I used to be Snow White but I drifted.’ ”
The two women laughed as the maître d’ inclined her head, showed Marvella her table. No waiting. No anything. When Marvella showed up, people jumped.
After ordering a light lunch, Marvella looked out the expansive windows. “I like winter. You see the bones.”
Harry knew exactly what she meant. “Me, too.”
“All right. Back to Smith. You focused on Medieval Art.”
“Not very many of us but the purity of it drew me. Most all of it is religious, or paintings of kings and queens. I love the colors. I love that each work should tell a story or celebrate a king. It’s right there in your face.”
“True. I never thought of that.” A smartly dressed man, perhaps mid-forties, walked up to the table. “Sean.” She extended her hand. “This is Harry Haristeen. She was invaluable in solving my brother’s murder.”
“A sorrowful task. Pierre was a man of many parts.” Then he beamed at Marvella. “As is his sister. I didn’t mean to disturb you but I have been thinking about your idea. Talked it over with Dad. We are very interested. Dad’s not getting around too much these days. Would you come over to the house?”
“I’d love to. I’ve put some of the available works on a thumb drive. Do you have a way to show him the paintings?”