Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
I had neither the time nor the energy to comfort Mr. Weathers, keeper of Aubergine’s art, but Lacy made an attempt, settling him into his desk chair and running upstairs to get him a glass of water that he wouldn’t allow her to actually bring into the storage space.
“That’s okay. I need to come up and drink my coffee anyway,” Mr. Weathers muttered as he stared at the empty containers around him, but his heart wasn’t in it.
He’d gone from happily content to absolutely miserable in the past hour, as he’d realized he’d failed to do his job of protecting the art under his care.
“How could this happen?” Mr. Weathers’ face fell as he turned to me with wide eyes. “Will I lose my post here?” He asked the question as if I was in charge. Which, in a way, maybe I was.
“You’ve done an excellent job,” I tried to reassure him. “These are just… extraordinary circumstances.” I leaned against the edge of a shelf as I thought out aloud. “We’ve lost one painting from The Rose, three from Aunt DeeDee’s store, and six from storage. Anna Perry’s work is in high demand.”
“That means ten pieces have disappeared since…”
“We don’t know when the ones in storage went missing, but at least four since Friday night. Whoever is taking them has been making quick work of it.”
Mr. Weathers shook his head in disbelief. “I take inventory twice a year. We were about to do our second one on December 30, but it’s been nearly six months since I would’ve inspected Ms. Perry’s paintings at this facility.”
“But you saw the three that went to my aunt’s store when they were loaned out, didn’t you? And two to the Rose?” I asked, trying to think about what this might mean.
Mr. Weathers nodded slowly, catching my drift as he went back to his computer and checked the dates for the loans to my aunt’s shop. He seemed relieved to have something to do with his hands.
“We allow any business establishment in Aubergine to showcase the work. It’s part of our cultural duty.
” Mr. Weathers ran a finger across the computer screen.
“DeeDee Green had them delivered back in early October. I’m sure I would’ve checked on each of the Perry pieces at that time unless…
” His voice trailed off as he considered.
Then, his face appeared stricken. “…unless I had been too distracted by the other loans. Oh dear, that must’ve been it. ”
I gave him a compassionate nod. I didn’t need Mr. Weathers feeling guilty for a theft that ultimately wasn’t his fault. “Has anyone else had access to the paintings in the archives?”
Mr. Weathers bit his lip and then lifted a finger.
“The volunteers. Let me check the sign-in sheet.” He grabbed a clipboard hanging on the wall next to the door and handed it to me.
“It’s not very formal, but don’t let that fool you.
We do train everyone on proper techniques for preservation before we clear them to work closely with the art. I train them myself.”
My eyes scanned the sheet, row by row of names I either recognized vaguely or not at all, but then I got halfway down the page and knew that I’d found what I was looking for.
There, signed and dated, was the name “Valerie Hurt”.
“This woman, this one right here,” I said, pointing at the same signature that I’d read on the lockbox early this morning. “Is she here often?”
“Valerie? Ah yes, one of our best volunteers.”
I closed my eyes and let the information sink in.
I’d never been a particular fan of the woman, but she did have a baby, which meant she had a big responsibility that she wouldn’t be able to meet if she had to do jail time.
I took a deep breath, trying not to jump to conclusions as I checked the date she’d last been here.
“She was last here on November 2.”
“Shortly before the birth of Ollie,” the man said, smiling.
I didn’t dare say what I was thinking, primarily because I hated to be the one to burst his image of this woman—or his false belief in the security of this storage facility.
“Do you have other sign-in sheets like this?”
Mr. Weathers shook his head. “I throw them away.”
This man was meticulous about his storage and the information about where his paintings were going. Why wouldn’t he be as particular about who was milling about the archives and when?
Seeming to catch on to my train of thought, Mr. Weathers answered before I asked the question.
“I’m a tidy person, as you can see. Sheet after sheet of volunteers would be unnecessary clutter.
I know my volunteers, train them myself, and trust them implicitly.
” He crossed his arms as if that was all he needed to say about such things.
“Valerie Hurt is not an art thief, as you seem to be suggesting. She’s volunteered with me for five years now, and I’ve never known her to be anything but kind and upstanding. ”
Upstanding, I could see. Kind, however, surprised me a bit. Valerie had always struck me as a bit high and mighty, but maybe I was inserting my childhood view of her onto a grown woman, which wasn’t really fair.
“Is it possible that Valerie’s husband, Will, might have had access to the storage at any point?” I asked, stretching for another possibility that might clear Valerie’s name.
Mr. Weathers’ face screwed up and he snapped his fingers. “Funny you should ask, actually. Mr. Hurt applied to be a volunteer in the archives, but I rejected—or, shall I say, redirected—his application, which Valerie seemed to completely understand.”
Both of those details felt relevant
“What do you mean by ‘redirected’?” Lacy asked. “And when was that?”
“Oh, just a few months ago. I told him I could use him elsewhere in our work.”
“And on what grounds did you reject his offer to help out in the archives?” I asked.
Mr. Weathers blinked at me several times as if he shouldn’t have to explain such things. “Well, dear, he’s not from around here.”
I almost laughed at the statement, one I hadn’t heard recently—and certainly one I didn’t expect to hear from Mr. Weathers. I was certain he’d experienced enough judgment over the years to keep from participating in it himself.
Mr. Weathers waved a hand. “I don’t mean my decision as any kind of disparagement of Mr. Hurt’s character.
He told me he’d lived in and around Boston growing up, but I’m not prejudiced against outsiders.
No, it was also a matter of nepotism. I don’t allow spouses or partners to work together—I had a couple in the past that couldn’t seem to keep their hands off of one another in the archives, and I’ve always thought that it might be too tempting to lift a piece together.
” Mr. Weathers lifted his chin as if his thinking were completely logical.
“So, instead, I eliminate any temptation. I told Will Hurt that he could help move pieces to locations around town if he didn’t mind the heavy lifting. He seemed more than willing.”
My eyes widened. Of course, Will had been willing, particularly if he’d somehow gotten involved with Todd Anderson and black market art dealers.
Between Will’s wife’s work in the archives and his work moving paintings, he would have a pulse on the location of almost every piece in the archives.
Useful information if he happened to need to make a bit of extra money.
My thoughts reminded me that Deputy Wright was supposed to be looking up any background information she could find on Todd or Valerie. I could only hope that the strings in our tapestry might finally be pulled together to create a complete image. We might even find our murderer.