Sleight of Hand

CHAPTER Six

Dana could hear rain rattling against the B&B’s windows while she devoured her lunch. She hoped that the downpour would let up by the time she drove to Pickering’s house but she was out of luck. If anything, the rain seemed more violent.

The main road was two lanes and it circled Isla de Muerta. The trees on the windward side were sparse, stunted, and bent away from the rocky shore. On the other side of the road, lightning strikes cast a flickering light over a dense evergreen forest. According to Mabel’s map, Pickering’s house was fifteen miles from the inn and two miles past the intersection of the main road and another road that bisected Isla de Muerta. Dana drove slowly and crossed the island’s other artery twenty minutes after she started. Two miles farther on, Dana turned onto a narrow dirt track that led inland through thick woods. A heavy canopy shielded Dana’s car from a good deal of the rain but it also made the way darker and created an impression that the trees were closing in on her. It took a lot to frighten Dana, but the closeness of the primordial woods made her very uncomfortable.

Without warning, Pickering’s house appeared. It was old, large, and ungainly and painted a dull brown to blend in with the forest that surrounded it. The central portion was two stories, and it looked as if additions had been slapped on without any rhyme or reason. Some were one story, others two. There was even a three-story tower on the side with the best view of the sea. None of the property looked kept up; the yard was wild and the house was badly in need of a paint job.

Dana parked and ran under an overhang. There was no bell but a heavy brass lion-head knocker was nailed to the middle of the front door. Dana pulled it back and slammed it forward, hoping that the clang of metal on metal would penetrate the thick oak door and the din created by the storm. She waited a minute, then used the knocker twice more. She was about to try again when she heard a voice yell, “I’m coming, I’m coming.” A minute later, the door creaked open and Dana found herself facing an elderly, balding man with liver-spotted skin. He was stooped with age and clad in a white shirt, a blue polka-dot bow tie, a brown tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows, and loose-fitting green slacks that did not match his jacket. The pants were held up by suspenders.

“No solicitors,” Otto Pickering said brusquely.

“I’m not selling anything, Professor.”

“Then why are you here?”

Dana held out her card. “I’ve come on behalf of a client.”

Pickering eyed the card suspiciously.

“I would have called,” Dana said, “but your number is unlisted, and I couldn’t find an e-mail address. This is a matter of some urgency, so I didn’t have the luxury of writing.”

“You still haven’t told me what you want, young lady.”

“I’m here because of the scepter that Sultan Mehmet II gave to Gennadius.”

Surprise registered on Pickering’s face for a moment. Then he regained his composure.

“Can we step inside, please?” Dana said. “I’m drowning out here.”

The professor hesitated, and Dana hoped that he wouldn’t slam the door in her face. Then Pickering turned his back on Dana and walked down a long hall. She rushed inside and followed him.

The interior of the house was paneled in dark wood, dimly lit, and drafty. The carpets were threadbare, and a dank odor pervaded everything. Dana wouldn’t have been surprised to find mold and mushrooms growing on the walls. Pickering led Dana into a large, high-ceilinged room with French windows that gave her a view of the dense forest when lightning flashed. Faded sofas, chipped and scarred coffee and end tables, and sagging armchairs stood on a large Persian carpet. Only a few of the pieces of furniture matched.

A fire roared in a high stone fireplace and provided welcome warmth. A moose head was mounted over the fireplace and Dana had the eerie feeling that it was staring at her. A black bear and a mountain lion eyed her threateningly from two other walls.

A massive desk illuminated by a gooseneck lamp stood in one corner of the large room. Papers were spread across the blotter and books were stacked next to a laptop, one of the few modern contraptions Dana had seen since entering the house. Pickering sat behind the desk and Dana sat in a straight-back chair across from him. Its seat was not cushioned and it was hard and uncomfortable.

“What is all this about a scepter?” Pickering asked cagily. Dana noticed that his liver-spotted fingers fluttered nervously and he avoided looking at her directly.

“You do know about the gold, jewel-encrusted scepter Sultan Mehmet II gave to Gennadius after the fall of Constantinople when Gennadius agreed to be the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church?”

“Young lady, I have degrees in history from Harvard and Oxford and my Ph.D. thesis was on the Ottoman Empire, so you may assume that I am aware of everything there is to know about the reign of the sultans.”

“Yes, well, Antoine Girard, my client’s grandfather, found the scepter in the early 1920s in the Khan-el-Khalili. The scepter was kept in a safe in a mansion in New York, but it was stolen in a burglary. Recently, my client learned that the scepter was to be auctioned off by a bankrupt Turkish businessman, but the scepter was withdrawn from the auction. My client believes that you appraised and authenticated the scepter. She needs to know who commissioned the appraisal.”

Pickering looked upset. He shook his head back and forth.

“Any such work I may have done would be confidential.”

“You’re not a lawyer, a doctor, or a priest, so you don’t have any legal right to keep client information secret.”

“And we are in my house and not in a courtroom, so you have no legal right to—”

Glass shattered and a bullet smashed into the wall above Pickering’s head. He looked confused. Dana threw herself across the desk and knocked the professor to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Pickering protested.

More bullets tore through the room.

“Someone is shooting at us,” Dana said as she drew the gun she wore in a holster secured to her ankle. “Get under the desk and stay there.”

Dana stared into the forest but the light from the fireplace reflected off the window glass. She crawled closer to the windows and crouched behind the sofa, straining to hear any sound outside the house. Then she rose up cautiously and stared over the top of the couch and through the shattered panes. She didn’t see any movement in the forest.

“Stay here,” she ordered. “I’m going after the shooter.”

Pickering didn’t protest, and Dana darted through one of the French windows onto a patio. Another shot ricocheted off the outside wall and Dana heard someone crashing through the woods. She waited a moment, drew a second gun from the holster secured to the back of her belt, and crept forward, keeping low and moving her eyes back and forth.

A car engine started and Dana dashed toward the sound. By the time she reached the road, two taillights were disappearing around a curve. Dana debated getting her car but rejected the idea. The shooter had too much of a head start. Besides, she’d been hired to get information from Otto Pickering that could lead to the scepter, and she was curious to see the professor’s reaction to this attempt to murder him.

Pickering was still cowering under the desk when Dana reentered the living room. She holstered the gun she kept in the small of her back but held on to the snubnose revolver from her ankle holster.

“You’re safe now, Professor. The person who tried to kill you drove off before I could get to him.”

“Kill me?” Pickering said as he crawled out from under the desk and slumped in his chair.

“I can’t think of anyone with a motive to kill me,” Dana said. “If I died, my client would send someone else in my place. You’re the one with information that can lead to the scepter, so I have to think that you were the target.”

Pickering put his head in his hands. “This can’t be happening. I’m just a consultant. All I did was give an opinion about the authenticity of an antique.”

“For who?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Listen, Professor, once you tell me who hired you, the cat is out of the bag and no one will have a reason to kill you.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Pickering said. He was sweating and he was pale. Dana hoped he wasn’t going to pass out.

“Professor, someone just tried to murder you. There could be a second attempt.”

“But you said there wouldn’t be if I told you what you want to know,” Pickering said. He sounded desperate.

“I think the odds of another attempt will be small if you tell me who asked you to look at the scepter.”

Pickering didn’t answer right away. He rubbed his temples. Then he sighed.

“Rene Marchand.”

“Who?”

“Rene is an antiques dealer. His office is in Seattle. He specializes in rare European antiquities. He’s more of a broker. He doesn’t have a store.”

“Did he own the scepter or was he representing a client?”

“He wouldn’t answer any questions about the piece, but I got the impression that he was acting for a client. He only wanted my opinion on its authenticity.”

“What was your opinion?”

“I couldn’t say for certain that the scepter was the object the sultan gave to Gennadius, but it could have been. There are few written descriptions of the scepter, and the jewels had been removed. It was unquestionably from the appropriate time period, and the amount of gold used led me to believe that it had to have been created for someone of immense wealth like Mehmet II.”

“Where did you examine the scepter?”

“In Rene’s office. He was quite explicit about that. He didn’t let it out of his sight. There were two bodyguards watching me the whole time. It was rather unsettling.”

“Can you think of anything Mr. Marchand said that would help me find his client?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Is there a police station on the island?”

“What? No, the nearest police station is on the mainland.”

“Then you’ll have to call them.”

Pickering’s head snapped up. “No, no police.”

“I’m sure the killer didn’t expect me to come after him. He may have left evidence in the woods that will tell the authorities who tried to kill you.”

“I don’t want the police involved. If the police investigate, it will just bring me to the attention of . . . of whoever did this.”

“Look, Professor, I can’t tell you what to do. It’s your decision. If you don’t want to go to the police I’ll respect your choice. But I think you’re making a mistake. At least think about it.”

“I just want this to go away.”

Dana got the address of Marchand’s office and tried again, unsuccessfully, to convince the professor to call the police.

“You have my card,” Dana said as she prepared to leave. “It’s got my cell number on it. Call me if you think of anything.”

Pickering nodded but Dana doubted she would ever hear from the professor. He looked genuinely frightened and anxious to put everything that had happened behind him.



Dana was alert for cars that might be following her when she drove back to the inn through the storm. By the time she was safely inside the B&B it was late afternoon. Dana found Mr. and Mrs. Stanton reading in the parlor. She asked them for Emilio Leone’s phone number and called when she was in her room.

“Captain, this is Dana Cutler. I’ve finished my business here. Is there any chance we can head back to the mainland tonight?”

“Not in this storm. It’s hard enough in daylight. I ain’t risking my boat in this weather in the dark.”

“When do you think we can go?”

“Maybe tomorrow afternoon, but I ain’t promising. Depends on the weather.”

“I’ll be ready when you are. Will you call me when you know?”

“I’ll do that,” Leone said. Then the phone went dead.

Dana sighed. It probably wouldn’t matter whether they left tonight or tomorrow. Odds were Marchand’s office would be closed by the time she got back to Seattle. She hoped it would be open on Sunday.

Dana dialed Margo Laurent’s cell.

“Ms. Laurent, this is Dana Cutler,” she said when her client answered. “I’m calling from Isla de Muerta.”

“Did you meet with Pickering?” Laurent asked. Dana could hear the anxiety in her client’s voice.

“I did, but something unexpected happened while we were talking. Someone tried to kill the professor.”

“What!”

“Someone shot at him. He’s okay, but I think you held out on me.”

“I didn’t. I had no idea you would be in danger. You have to believe me.”

“Whether I do or not, the fact remains that someone is willing to kill to keep the scepter. Do you have any idea who that is?”

“No. I told you my grandparents were murdered and about the robbery. But that was years ago. Did you learn anything from the professor?”

“I know who asked him to authenticate the scepter.”

“Who is it?”

“Have you ever heard of a Seattle antiques dealer named Rene Marchand?”

“No.”

“There’s a storm here, so I can’t get back to the mainland before Saturday night at the earliest. I’ll try to talk to Marchand, but I’m not willing to take a bullet to help you get back the scepter.”

“Please. I’ll double your fee.”

Dana thought about that. “All right, but I’m off the case if there’s another incident like the one at Pickering’s house.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll call you after I speak to Marchand. Something else, Ms. Laurent. The people we’re dealing with are very dangerous, and you’re a threat to them. Watch your back.”