Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
J enny booked an appointment at the only hair salon in Amity to get an updo for the big gala on Saturday night. It took almost an hour to blow-dry her hair and twist half of it up into a coil at the crown of her head while letting the rest of it fall in soft, romantic waves down her back.
“You look like a movie star!” the hairdresser enthused as she released the final lock of summery-blond hair from the curling iron.
“It’s probably going to last five minutes in the humidity,” Jenny said, but she couldn’t stop smiling. She’d never had her hair professionally arranged before and now she understood why women did it.
The stylist assured her that a generous shellacking with hairspray would keep it all in place. Her updo still looked good two hours later when Jenny stepped into her mother’s little black dress and lifted the straps over her shoulders. She had to contort into three different angles to pull the zipper up in the back, but she got the job done.
Wyatt’s expression when she answered the door was priceless. He gaped as his eyes travelled from her fancy hair, down the timeless elegance of the dress, and to her brand-new shiny high heels.
“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he finally said.
Wyatt looked pretty spectacular too in a spiffy tuxedo with a bow tie. She took his arm as he helped her down the porch stairs.
Nervous energy made her chatty. “We should hurry because Kristen said the cereal box guy from Texas is here and I’d like to meet him. Hemingway is already there. He’s taking Bad Penny as his date, and they went early since she’s covering the gala for the station.”
“Did he find a tux?” Wyatt asked as they got into his truck.
“Hemingway? Of course not. He’s wearing a Russian Cossack shirt, a fancy one with embroidery around the neck and a sash tied around his waist. They wear them for weddings over there, but it only cost Hemingway twenty dollars at a costume store in Orlando.”
The Russian themes were going to be heavy tonight, so Hemingway could get away with the dashing outfit. Wyatt still sent a pointed glare at the saplings as they left the grove, most of which were still unwrapped.
She rushed to defend Hemingway. “It rained yesterday, so he couldn’t finish the job.”
“And yet he had time to go to Orlando to buy a Cossack shirt.”
Hemingway wasn’t perfect, but she’d never fire him. They’d been through too much together. Hopefully they would soon each earn a hefty sum from the finder’s fee, provided Raymond was bluffing and lacked enough new evidence to reopen the ownership of the egg.
She was still worrying about it as they arrived at the museum, which was decked out like glamorous events she’d seen on television. A red carpet blanketed the front steps and banners with the old Romanov family crest flanked either side of the doors. Bad Penny stood with a camera crew outside the museum, and she looked fantastic in a skin-tight emerald gown with an ornate gold choker covering her throat. Penny cast a dismissive smirk at Jenny’s simple black dress. Jenny wore no jewelry, but the best accessory was the man beside her, six-feet-two-inches of raw masculinity. She lifted her chin and sported a proud smile as she walked beside Wyatt, Florida’s next Commissioner of Agriculture, toward the museum.
Hemingway hurried down the steps to join them. The Cossack shirt was perfect for the grand spectacle of the night, but his face looked worried.
“I’ve been watching Raymond for hours,” Hemingway said. “He’s got a lawyer with him, and he and the baroness are cackling with delight. They definitely have something up their sleeve. Oh, and I met the cereal box guy. I think Wyatt is about to have some competition.”
Bad Penny called out for Hemingway’s help, and he flashed Wyatt an irreverent wink before he left them.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wyatt asked.
“Who knows? Let’s head inside.” She wasn’t used to walking in high heels and was grateful for Wyatt’s arm as they walked up the steps.
Raymond stood just inside the museum doors. His black tuxedo was offset with a fabulous bronze silk vest, but the rail-thin man beside him wore an ordinary business suit. He carried a brief case and scrutinized them through owlish eyes.
Raymond dipped a stiff nod as she approached. “Jenny, Wyatt . . . this is Harrison Griggs, my lawyer and advocate helping ensure my patrimony is not illegally sold in a premature auction.”
Who used words like patrimony anymore? Wyatt introduced himself to Mr. Griggs, noting that he was also a lawyer, here to protect Jenny’s legal interests. The battle lines were drawn, but at least all parties sounded civilized.
Inside, standing cocktail tables topped with white linen filled the lobby. Each table had flickering votive candles, white roses, and lilies of the valley because they were the favorite flowers of Czarina Alexandra. Soon this foyer would be crowded with socialites, politicians, and even a few celebrities, but for now it was empty except for staff making last-minute preparations.
Raymond followed them farther inside, still uttering warnings. “If you think you and the Marlboro Man are going to screw me out of the egg, you need to think again.”
The Marlboro Man? Jenny had no idea who he could be speaking of until she spotted Kristen from Christie’s at the far end of the lobby, standing beside a tall gentleman wearing a tuxedo and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.
Oh my . . . Yes, the Marlboro Man had come to life. Kristen beckoned her over. “Jenny, this is Mr. Clement Cooper from the cereal museum.”
This was the cereal box guy? She stifled a laugh as he winked at her and lifted his hat. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he said in a baritone voice so deep it practically made the room vibrate. “I’m grateful you found that egg and that we came to an agreement without a catawampus.”
She grinned. “I am, too.”
It turned out that Clement Cooper was actually Professor Clement Cooper, or “Coop” as he asked her to call him, and he taught agriculture at Texas A&M.
“Why did I think you ran a cereal box museum?” Wyatt asked, and Coop laughed while Kristen looked embarrassed.
“Bless her heart,” he said with a good-natured nod to Kristen. “When some people hear the word ‘cereal’ they automatically think of breakfast. My father’s museum celebrates cereal grains and the breadbasket of America. Most kids grow up worshipping Superman or James Bond, but the real heroes of this world are the people who get up to work seven days a week, no matter the weather or the ache in their bones. We’ve got exhibits on the history of farming, surviving the Dust Bowl, and a science wing to teach about modern topics. And of course, we’ve got the cereal box display,” he teased. “We put ’em up on the website because the kids love them.”
Kristen tugged on her arm. “Do you want to see the egg? It will be under wraps until the grand unveiling later tonight, but we can sneak a peek before everyone starts arriving.”
“Oh yes!” Jenny clung to Wyatt as they followed Kristen, who unlocked the doors to the main gallery where the other two eggs were housed in display cases with plenty of room for guests to admire them from all angles. The Firebird Egg had been given the most prominent position. Hidden from the world for almost a century, it now perched on a velvet pedestal, professionally lit from above, a tiny fragment of history ready to make its reentry into the world.
The last time Jenny saw this egg it was in a plastic bowl lined with a terrycloth towel. How long ago that seemed now.
“Do you know why Svetlana picked your dad to sell the egg to?” she asked Coop. “Or why she never returned with it?”
Coop nodded. “My dad got overly excited about that egg. The Russian lady asked him to stay quiet, but he couldn’t help himself and called the newspaper. I think she got spooked by the attention. If she was a Soviet trying to defect, I can’t say that I blame her for taking off.”
It was a logical explanation. A wistful sensation bloomed as Jenny gazed at the egg, glittering on its bed of velvet. It had once been cradled in the czarina’s hands. Stolen from a palace by revolutionary soldiers and carried by countless others over the decades. Svetlana herself had smuggled that egg on her person before it was hidden in the cypress tree.
Guests began gathering in the lobby behind the closed gallery door, but she remained entranced, staring at the egg as Wyatt chatted with Professor Cooper.
The door opened and Senator Wakefield entered, followed by his son and the baroness. The baroness wore a strapless ball gown made from the same coppery-bronze silk as Raymond’s vest. As ever, a matching pair.
The owlish lawyer was with them, which didn’t bode well. What was Mr. Griggs carrying in that briefcase?
Kristen reached toward the stack of programs from a nearby table. “Senator, I thought you might like to know the events of the evening. We’ll start with cocktails in the lobby, then there will be a ten-minute video my firm prepared about the Firebird Egg and its journey from the Winter Palace to an orange grove in Florida. Finally, we’ll unlock the doors to this room for the grand unveiling of the Firebird Egg.”
“Yeah, none of that is going to happen,” Raymond said. The owlish lawyer set his briefcase on a standing cocktail table and rifled through some files.
“Dad, I didn’t want to do this here but you gave me no choice,” Raymond continued. “I am revoking the auction house’s right to sell this egg and am declaring it Wakefield property.”
Mr. Griggs handed a fat legal document to Kristen. “You are hereby served official notice of a pending lawsuit for ownership of the item known as the Firebird Egg.”
Wyatt glared at him in annoyance. “Raymond, you have no standing to sue, and the judge has already dismissed your claim with prejudice. You can’t re-file.”
“It is a new complaint,” the owlish lawyer said. “It is based on deliberate fraud on the part of Millicent Hawkins, formerly Millicent O’Grady, who conspired with Gus Summerlin to deprive the Wakefield family of their rightful ownership of the aforementioned Firebird Egg.”
A low growl emanated from the senator’s throat and he glared at Raymond. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he said, his voice vibrating with anger.
Raymond held up his palms in placating fashion. “Dad, I didn’t want this to happen here, but you kept siding with them, and I needed to serve the auction house before they went any further down this illegal path.”
A voice chimed in from the other side of the room. “How did Millicent Hawkins conspire to steal the egg?”
Jenny whirled to see Bad Penny standing just inside the open door. A video guy behind her had his camera rolling. The senator must have neglected to lock the door when he entered, giving Penny the chance to barge in and hear everything.
“Turn that thing off,” the senator ordered, pointing at the videographer. “I do not consent to being filmed.”
Bad Penny’s grin was smug. “Sorry, Senator, this is a newsworthy event and the public has a right to know. How did Millicent Hawkins conspire to steal the egg?”
Senator Wakefield shoved Penny aside to grab the camera from the videographer’s shoulder and then hurled it against the wall. It smacked with a loud crash, scattering bits and pieces across the marble floor.
“That was a ten-thousand-dollar camera!” Penny shouted.
“Send me the bill,” the senator snapped. Elegantly dressed guests crowded the open doorway, some carrying flutes of champagne, all looking fascinated. The senator ignored them and pointed a finger in Raymond’s face. “I want you to withdraw this ridiculous lawsuit immediately. Millicent O’Grady is as pure as the driven snow. She was then, and she is now.”
“Dad, stop talking,” Raymond said in an urgent voice. “Millicent was bad news. You made a lucky escape, okay? I found a lot of stuff in Karl’s old paperwork. Let’s go to my office with my lawyer, and I promise you will support me when you see what I’ve got.”
Jenny had never seen Raymond so confident or so grim. Whatever he had must be serious, because even the senator looked uneasy.
“Everyone, return to the lobby,” he ordered the bystanders in the open doorway. “The museum is private property, and this is a closed-door meeting.”
Most of the guests instinctively took a few steps back, but Bad Penny didn’t budge until the senator grabbed her elbow and propelled her backward. He slammed the door and twisted the lock, then returned to the table, his eyes glittering with rage.
“You’ve got two minutes,” he told Raymond in a low voice.
Raymond nodded and accepted the challenge. “My grandfather had a safe-deposit box at the bank that had a one-hundred-year lease. I’ve got power of attorney to handle estate business, so I was able to get into it and go through his old papers.”
“I revoked your power of attorney after I caught you skimming from the servants’ Christmas bonuses!”
Raymond winced at the public disclosure of his embezzlement but recovered quickly. “You never let the bank know, so I was able to get into it. I found an affidavit from your father swearing that he witnessed Millicent O’Grady attempt to steal the Firebird Egg from a woman named Svetlana Markova. In the struggle, Svetlana fell down the staircase at the Wakefield estate and broke her neck. It was an accident, so it was manslaughter instead of murder, but she did it, Dad. Millicent killed Svetlana, then your father paid Gus Summerlin a thousand dollars to dispose of the body.”
Jenny’s stomach lurched because it had the ring of truth. Her grandfather always got irrationally angry whenever he caught her playing near those cypress trees. It wasn’t because the exposed roots made it dangerous, it was because he knew what was hidden inside that ancient tree.
A hint of sympathy softened Raymond’s features. “I’m sorry, Dad. I know you cared for her, but she killed that woman. Karl paid for the egg, and Millicent tried to steal it. I didn’t want to bring this all out, but you didn’t leave me any choice.”
Raymond tried to hand his father the affidavit, though the senator wouldn’t touch it. The faded document had old-fashioned typeface and the raised stamp of a notary.
Wyatt took it, frowning as he read. Jenny wouldn’t know how to judge the validity of a legal document, but Wyatt’s gaze travelled across each line of the old page. The senator watched as Wyatt read, fear in his expression as he awaited Wyatt’s verdict.
“Well?” the senator asked when Wyatt set the paper on a table. “Does it look authentic?”
“It’s authentic,” Wyatt said. “It was notarized and witnessed by two people. One is long dead, but old William Longacre is still alive. I think he retired to Orlando. I suppose we could get him down here to validate his signature. This doesn’t look good for Mrs. Hawkins.”
“She high-tailed it to France a few days ago,” Raymond said. “That sounds like a guilty conscience.”
The hint of a smile played around the Senator’s lips. “France?” he asked. At Raymond’s nod, the older man’s eyes grew wistful.
“I hope she’s happy,” he murmured. “She always wanted to see the lavender fields of France. Ah, Millicent. What a woman.”
His voice brimmed with fondness, but something didn’t make sense. Jenny turned to Raymond with the question. “If Millicent risked her life to grapple on a staircase for the egg, why would she let it be buried with the body?”
“Because that document is a complete and total lie,” Senator Wakefield said. “Millicent didn’t kill Svetlana. I did.”
Raymond shook his head. “Don’t try to protect her. You had been in India for over a year when Svetlana died.”
The senator gave a sad smile. “I went to India the week after she died, and my father pulled a lot of strings to give me a false alibi. He swore he could ‘fix’ everything, and he did. He changed the dates on my passport. He created fake paperwork for the World Famine Commission to back up his story. I had no idea he cooked up this affidavit framing Millicent because I was on the other side of the world when he did it.”
He swallowed hard, and the anger in his expression faded, grief coming to the fore. Jenny ached to reach out to him, but there was nothing she could do to stop this trainwreck from happening. He walked to the gallery entrance, unlocked the bolt, and opened the door.
Bad Penny was on the other side, holding a digital audio recorder high. Given her triumphant expression, she’d captured every word, and yet the senator didn’t seem to care. The lobby was filled with the glittering set of socialites. The chatter died as Senator Wakefield opened both double doors and gestured people forward. Most of them sensed something important was unfolding and stopped mingling to stare in fascination.
“It was an accident,” the senator announced in a voice loud enough for all to hear.
Wyatt stepped forward. “You have no obligation to keep talking,” he said. “In fact, I’d advise you to stop, and get a lawyer.”
By now there was a semi-circle forming around them. Coop stood with Kristen, and he doffed his cowboy hat. Bad Penny’s face glowed with anticipation as she held her recorder a little closer.
“I don’t need a lawyer since it’s time to tell the truth. My father figured out that Svetlana had betrayed him. Julius and Ethel Rosenberg had just been sentenced to death in the electric chair because they were caught passing information to the Soviets, and my father feared he would be next if Svetlana wasn’t stopped. She was working with the FBI to lead him into a trap, and the Fabergé egg was the bait. He lured Svetlana to the house, desperate to silence her by any means necessary. I think he intended to bribe her, but she couldn’t be bribed. I heard yelling and shouting behind his closed study door and went to investigate. Svetlana came running out, and my father ordered me to stop her.”
“Dad, you need to quit talking,” Raymond ordered, looking sick and panicked. “Stop talking now. ”
Senator Wakefield’s mouth twisted as he eyed his son. “The weight of shame can destroy a man’s soul. How can I blame you for a dishonorable life when I’ve carried secrets that are even worse?”
The senator let out a heavy sigh and his shoulders sagged. “I didn’t even know why I was ordered to stop Svetlana. I was nineteen years old and my father was terrified. She raced toward the front door and I tackled her from behind, sending us both to the granite floor in our front hall. Her neck was at a bad angle when I got up. She wasn’t breathing.”
Jenny stood frozen, unable to move. Everyone clustered near the open gallery doors looked just as dumbfounded.
“Millicent was in the house that day and saw us trying to revive Svetlana. My father ordered her to leave, and she did. We went back to working on Svetlana, but nothing we tried worked. Within an hour she was cold and we had to dispose of the body. We couldn’t bury her on our land because the hunting dogs would have found her.” The senator met Jenny’s gaze, and her heart squeezed.
“I called your grandfather. He came over with his brand-new pickup truck.”
“Oh no,” she whispered. Her grandfather had looked so proud of that truck in the old photos. Her clever, hardworking grandfather who raised her and always did the best he could . . . including warning her away from the cypress trees and the terrible secret he knew they hid.
She dimly heard the senator continue, describing how they initially tried to bury Svetlana in the grove but the water table made it impossible. They found a high hollow in an old cypress tree and dumped her inside, planning on moving her once they had a better plan.
“We chucked everything she had into that tree,” the senator continued, his face starting to twist with regret. “I remember that her arm was extended, almost as if she was reaching up to get out. She had a little gold watch on her wrist. She’d loaned it to Millicent the night of the prom because Millie’s parents were strict about getting home on time. When I saw Svetlana’s hand reaching out of that tree . . .”
His voice choked off. The crowd was silent, but Bad Penny had her recorder rolling. There would be no escape from this story.
“Gus tucked her arm back down and covered her with leaves and dirt. She had been wearing a denim jacket that day,” he continued. “The kind that have a pocket on the inside. That was probably where she had the egg, but we never looked for it. Gus and I didn’t even know about it, we just wanted to get everything over with as fast as we could.”
Flesh decayed quickly in the sweltering Florida heat, and they both dreaded the prospect of extracting the body and the risks of transporting her to bury her somewhere else. They ultimately decided to leave her there.
“My father was grateful for Millicent’s silence and set up a twenty-thousand-dollar trust to send her to college. Then he got me out of the country and falsified the dates of my service to the famine commission. If Svetlana’s body ever surfaced, I could use those papers to prove I was in India when she disappeared.”
His voice choked up again. “I always wanted to give Millicent the world. We should have run away to France when we were young and everything was still possible. After what happened in the grove I couldn’t even look her in the face again. She deserved better than a man like me. I went to India hoping it would cure my soul, but only shining sunlight into its darkest spaces can do that. I’ve always been afraid to do that. Not anymore.”
He looked at Wyatt. “You’re still a sworn officer of the law until Monday morning. You’d better get on the phone and call the sheriff.”
“Already done,” Bad Penny chimed, and to Jenny’s revulsion it looked like the cameraman was on the phone, reporting everything.
Wyatt moved in close to the senator. “I doubt they will arrest you,” he said. “I suggest you go home, get a lawyer, and negotiate this when tempers have calmed down.”
Raymond butted in. “Dad, I didn’t know. I swear! I never would have done this if I’d known . . .”
“Are you going to drop your ridiculous lawsuit claiming Millicent had anything to do with this?”
“Um, yeah . . . probably. But why did she flee the country if she was innocent?”
There was a painful longing in the senator’s voice as he replied. “She did it to protect me. As soon as Svetlana was identified, she worried the truth would come out and didn’t want to be forced to testify against me. She sent me the orchid as her last goodbye.” He gazed into the distance and a little smile floated around his mouth. “I hope Dr. Hawkins will take her to France where she can finally see every lavender field, every old castle and cathedral, every perfume factory and vineyard and Parisian café that I should have taken her to see long ago.”
He snapped out of his reverie and gestured for Kristen. “There’s no reason the gala can’t continue,” he said. “I don’t know what’s ahead for me, but I would like you to update your video about how the egg got into that tree. Svetlana Markova was a remarkable woman and deserves a place in history. And now I shall take Wyatt’s advice to go contact my lawyer.”
Jenny swallowed back the lump in her throat as she watched the senator leave through a rear entrance. The guests who’d clustered around the gallery door began chattering, trying to make sense of the strange information they’d heard, but Bad Penny would have it all figured out in short order. She was going to gleefully report it on the eleven o’clock news, and by tomorrow morning she would have her first national news story.
The senator was supposed to deliver the welcoming remarks for the gala, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen. Kristen did a bang-up job stepping in to fill his shoes, improvising a quick speech to welcome guests to “this historic night.” A string quartet commenced playing and waiters circulated with hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne.
The lights dimmed and the video about the history of the egg began playing on the screen, but Jenny didn’t have the heart to watch. She’d already seen the video, and everything about finding the egg in that cypress tree now seemed unbearably sad after coming to know the tragic end to Svetlana’s life.
She walked to the outside balcony with Wyatt, gazing at the fairy lights strung through the trees. Torches flickered and gardenia blossoms perfumed the night air, but everything seemed desperately sad. Wyatt slid behind her, folding his arms around her middle and drawing her back against him.
“I hate how this is ending,” she said. “People like Svetlana . . . they don’t deserve to end like that. She was so brave, and I’m sorry she never got a chance to escape into America like she’d hoped.”
“She had a few good years here,” he said. “Now that her story is out, she won’t ever be forgotten.”
She rotated in his arms to look up at him. “What will happen to the senator?”
Wyatt sighed. “He’ll be allowed to plead to manslaughter. The state could never have proved anything without his confession, and the evidence is consistent with his story. It’s a clearcut case of involuntary manslaughter, so they won’t try to up the charges.”
“Will there be jail time?”
“I doubt it,” Wyatt said. “He’ll probably get community service and a fine, and hopefully some peace of mind for making a clean breast of it.” Svetlana, Gus, and Max Wakefield had all been friends, and yet Svetlana ended up dead and the other two men lived with guilty consciences for the rest of their lives. The inscription Svetlana wrote in the book never seemed more poignant. Perhaps someday when we live in a more peaceful world, you and I shall meet again and raise a toast to our colorful lives.
They never got that chance. Svetlana’s fight to seek freedom in America made Jenny’s anxiety about leaving home pale in comparison. Wyatt was her future, not the grove. Moving to Tallahassee wasn’t the life she would have chosen for herself, but it could be a good one. Maybe even a great one.
Tallahassee can be a beautiful place.
The sentiment popped into Jenny’s mind from nowhere, but it had an affectionate tone and a Russian accent. It was as if Svetlana herself had just delivered a message.
Jenny rotated to face Wyatt and reached up to curl her arms around his neck. “Is the invitation to join you in Tallahassee still good?”
Wyatt’s eyes warmed in pleased surprise. “Still good. Morning, noon, and night. Come to Tallahassee with me, Mrs. Rossiter.”