Ripped From the Pages

“All right,” Robson said after a moment of consideration. “And once we have received the families’ lists of belongings, I would like them to be given a tour of the caves. It is only fair that they see things as we found them.”

 

 

Derek nodded. “I’ll call Monsieur Cloutier to make sure, but I’m confident we’ll have their lists in hand within another day or two and can schedule a tour this weekend.”

 

“The sooner, the better,” Robson said, warming up to the idea. “It is most important that we relieve the families’ apprehension. That is my biggest concern.”

 

“All of this will help address that,” Derek said with conviction.

 

I turned to Derek. “I thought of another issue. What if the families balk at the idea of having their personal items photographed for the exhibit?”

 

He pondered that one. “I considered that, too, but I don’t believe it’s for them to decide. We’re documenting a moment in history. We found this cache on winery property and are detailing it for posterity.” He turned to Robson. “Do you agree?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Then all that’s left to do is iron out a few more details,” I said. “Would you like me to organize things, or would you rather appoint someone else to do it?”

 

“You are my number one choice, Brooklyn dear,” Robson said with a grin.

 

“Lucky me,” I said, smiling back at him. “Do you want us to check in with you on each aspect, or shall we just run with it?”

 

“I trust you to do everything to perfection.”

 

Now I laughed out loud. “We’ll see how that works out.”

 

As we gathered our things and stood to leave, Derek said, “Can you give us a bit more information about this art appraiser?”

 

“His name is Noland Garrity,” Robson said, walking with us down the wide hall toward the front door. “I will be sure to let him know that the books are to be appraised by Brooklyn.”

 

“Oh,” I said, touched by his words. “Thank you, Robson. I’ll wait to see if any of them are left behind once the families have claimed their possessions.”

 

“So what’s this appraiser guy like?” Gabriel asked.

 

Robson gave a mild shrug. “A curmudgeonly sort, but he is very good and very discreet. He worked for many years at Sotheby’s auction house in New York and Christie’s in Beverly Hills. Now he is a freelance appraiser and author.”

 

“Sounds legitimate,” Derek said. “I presume it won’t be necessary to run his name through Interpol?”

 

Guru Bob chuckled. “No. He is quite reputable.”

 

I watched Derek’s nonreaction as he reached for the doorknob, and I knew without a doubt that he would run Garrity’s name through Interpol anyway. Because that was how he rolled.

 

*

 

I spent the drive home making notes as Derek and I discussed everything involved in pulling this crazy idea together.

 

“We can get a bunch of dramatic statements from people who’ve been inside the caves,” I said. “We’ve got you and Trudy, my mom and dad, and Robin and my brothers. Oh, and Stan, from the excavation company. He can talk about it from his own point of view and make it sound like an adventure.” I grew more excited as I wrote down the names.

 

“Are you comfortable delegating some of the tasks to others?”

 

“Oh yeah. I think I’ll ask my mom to be in charge of gathering everyone’s stories. We can write them out on cards and post them on the walls along with the photographs. Like they do in art museums.”

 

“Good idea,” Derek said as he braked for the traffic light before turning onto Shakespeare Lane. “Trudy can give a historical perspective, telling how her family escaped the Nazis and traveled here. And if any of the French folks are interested in contributing, they can each tell their own personal story.”

 

I gazed at him. “Can we pull this all together before next Wednesday when the reporters show up?”

 

“Why not?”

 

I stared at him. “Yes. Why not?” Glancing down at my list, I wondered aloud, “Will the reporters be satisfied with photographs instead of being given a tour of the caves?”

 

“They’ll have to be, since they won’t be allowed inside the caves under any circumstances.”

 

“Good,” I said. “Because letting them go inside would be a really bad idea.”

 

“If we entertain them well enough, they’ll go away satisfied.”

 

“Entertain them?” I stared at my list. “Do you think we need music at the town hall?”

 

“If you’d like,” he said, “but I was referring to someone giving a guided tour of the exhibit. Someone with a lot of enthusiasm.”

 

“A docent or two?”

 

“Trudy would enjoy doing that, I think.”

 

I grinned. “She would be perfect. And so would you.”

 

“Me?” He did a double take, looking at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Absolutely not.”

 

“But they’ll love you. It’s the British accent. We Yanks are suckers for it.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “No.” The light turned green, and he proceeded slowly through the intersection.

 

I wrote his name down. “You’ll be great.”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh, I just realized that Robin can take the pictures. She’s a fantastic photographer.”

 

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