Free A Fatal Appraisal by J. B. Stanley Page A

she's going to leave it to her daughter in her will.
Said she just kept a bunch of letters in it and it was kept closed most of the
time. That's why the inside has a deeper red than the outside. It was exposed
to less sunlight over time."
    After shooting several photos, Molly took a seat in a chair
next to Frank as he switched on a penlight and began working his fingers inside
each pigeonhole. Watching him, Molly could sense his deep appreciation of the
workmanship it required to craft the desk's nooks and drawers, careful
dovetails, and detailed inlay. Frank closed his eyes as if in a trance, letting
his hands search and pry as he tried to get a sense about an extra large hollow
space or a thinning of an area of wood.
    As Molly leaned closer, she detected a faint, musty odor
beneath the heavy smell of furniture wax. It was oddly familiar, but she
couldn't quite place it. The interior of the desk had a small, central cupboard
surrounded by pigeonholes and drawers. Frank was carefully examining one of the
pillar-like pieces of wood that created a fluted border between the cupboard
and the pigeonholes.
    "Here!" Frank breathed, pulling one of the
pillar-like pieces away from the body of the desk. It slid out, revealing a
small vertical space in which documents or other thin objects could be stored.
Mesmerized, Molly waited while Frank put his pale face against the opening and
he flashed his tiny beam of light into the cavity. He began to frown.
    "What is it?" Molly asked.
    "Someone forced this," Frank replied angrily.
"And recently, too. See these scratches." Frank handed her the piece
of wood that had formed the fake pillar front and then shone the light beam on
similar scratches within the cavity. "Those are made with a screwdriver.
And there's fresh wood dust in the opening. If there was something in here
..." He broke off as a powerful coughing fit racked his body. Swallowing
great gulps of air, he searched his pocket for tissues. After loudly blowing
his nose he frowned and whispered, "It's gone now."
    “What did you think happened?” Molly asked.
    Frank looked at the desk angrily. "Some moron in the
owner's family must have rifled through this piece in case there was anything
of value inside. Damn amateurs."
    Molly sat with him as he searched the rest of the
pigeonholes, but no more secret compartments were discovered. She felt sorry
for Frank, odd as he was, for missing out on the desk's treasures. She was
disappointed, too. After all, it would make a great article if she had been an
eyewitness to the finding of some rare document or precious gem.
    Handing the fake drawer front back to Frank, she noticed
black smudges on her palm. Frank's hands were also dusted with black smudges
and a long streak of pale black darkened the tip of his nose and upper lip. His
eyes had begun watering and just as Molly was about to tell him about the marks
on his face, he jumped up, rubbing vigorously at his eyes and said, "I've
got to get my nasal spray! Excuse me."
    Molly watched him scurry off down the wide aisle dividing
the exhibit areas. Then she picked up the discarded penlight and directed the
beam around the pigeonholes. Black smudges were everywhere, but without direct
light on them, they could barely be seen. Molly wondered why Randy and Chris
had not done a better job cleaning the desk’s interior. Putting down the pen,
she went off to the restroom to wash her hands.
    Just as she was drying them off, Jessica entered and headed
for the sink.
    "We're all eating Italian tonight," she said,
rubbing her hands vigorously under the tap. "Garrett's found us a place in
Carytown that is supposed to have delicious, authentic Northern Italian
cuisine."
    Molly examined her curvy figure in the mirror and after
tugging her blouse over her hips, frowned. "I could do without all those
heavy sauces," she answered.
    Jessica appeared next to her at the mirror and deftly
applied lipstick in a brownish-rose shade. She ran thin hands through