living room. “The only thing for you to look at in the basement,” I told her, “is the lamp. I don’t know if it’s worth including in the auction. There’s a leather trunk down there, but I’ll take care of that. I’ve already begun some of the research.” It wasn’t true, but I needed a good reason to keep her away from it.
“Okay. I’ll look at the lamp later.”
“Should I get you a helper?” I asked.
“A research assistant would be helpful,” she said. “There’s so much to do.”
I nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.” I took out my cell phone and called Gretchen. “Good morning,” I said. “Everything okay?”
“You bet,” she answered, sounding chipper.
“Do me a favor, will you? Call Don in New York,” I said, referring to an executive recruiter I knew who placed a lot of curators and art historians in temporary and permanent positions, “and tell him I’m going to need a researcher for a week. Explain about the Grant appraisal, and warn him that the collection is eclectic, so we’ll need someone with a broad knowledge base. Tell him I’ll call him later if he has any questions. And ask him to get the person up here today.”
“Got it.”
I hung up and turned to Sasha. “Let me explain the protocol that I think makes sense,” I said, showing her the printout I’d prepared that morning, reviewing what I learned about the grandfather clock, and detailing the standards I’d established. She listened closely, and agreed that the approach was appropriate.
As Sasha and I sat and talked about the catalogue format we’d use in preparing the written appraisal, I heard a commotion outside. I was glad I wasn’t alone, anxiety replacing the comfortable feeling of being in charge that I’d had all morning.
“Let me see what’s going on,” I said.
I headed to the front and pulled aside the sheer curtain enough to see Andi Cabot, scary-skinny in a formfitting yellow spandex dress and French heels, righteous and rigid, arguing with Officer O’Hara. Her features were scrunched in anger.
“Let me in,” she berated. “It’s my grandfather’s house and you have no right to stop me.”
I couldn’t hear Officer O’Hara’s reply, so I cracked the door, gesturing to Sasha, who’d begun to walk forward, that she should stay back.
“I demand to see that Prescott woman.”
“Calm down, ma‘am,” O’Hara said. His words had the opposite effect, enraging her further.
“Don’t you tell me what to do. Where is she?”
I stepped forward. “I’m here. What do you want?”
Andi tried to push past him, to get to me, but O’Hara thrust out his arm and stopped her. “Don’t touch me,” she shrieked. To his credit, he didn’t budge.
To me, she said, “Get out, and get out now. You’re fired.”
The angrier Andi got, the calmer I felt. “You can’t fire me, I’m afraid,” I said softly. “I don’t work for you.”
“Me, my mother… it’s all the same. I damn well can fire you. Get out!”
I shook my head, mystified about her motivation, but confident of my position. “I don’t know what your issue is, Ms. Cabot. But you can’t fire me and I’m not getting out. I have a signed paper authorizing me to be here. Do you?”
“How dare you speak to me that way?” she raged, trying again to push past O’Hara.
“Officer O’Hara,” I said, still calm, “I’m going inside now. Would you like me to call Chief Alverez and tell him what’s happening?”
“Yes, thanks,” he said, moving in tandem with Andi, keeping her in check as she tried to forge ahead.
“
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sasha stood in the kitchen doorway, big eyed and pale. smiled to reassure her, and said, “A tempest in a teapot. Why don’t you head to the living room and get started?”
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Absolutely. Just ignore the huffing and puffing.”
“Okay,” she said, “if you think I should.”
“I do. Go!” I said, gesturing with both hands, whisking her away.
She walked slowly, as if she was giving me a chance to change my mind. When she was out of sight, I pulled out my cell phone, found Alverez’s card, and dialed his number. He answered curtly, “Alverez.”
“It’s Josie.”
“Hey,” he said, changing his tone, seeming to relax a bit.
“You know what I said yesterday, about being a mess?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I have good news. I’m in the midst of a crisis, and I’m handling it well.”
“I’m pleased for you. But what’s the crisis?”
“Being fired.”
“What?” he asked, startled.
“Well, not really, since Andi has no authority.”
“What’s going on, Josie?”
“Andi Cabot, Mr. Grant’s granddaughter, is here, enraged and mean. She told me I was fired. I told her she couldn’t fire me, that I didn’t work for her, and came back inside. Officer O’Hara is wrestling with her as we speak, trying to keep her from charging into the house and physically putting me out.”
“I’ll be right there. Stay inside.”
I heard the click as he disconnected and looked mockingly at the phone. “Guess he had to run,” I said aloud.
Andi continued to harangue Officer O’Hara. I dialed directory assistance and got the Sheraton’s number, and asked the operator for room 319. After several rings, Mrs. Cabot said, “Hello?”
“Mrs. Cabot?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Josie Prescott.”
“Oh, yes. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. Mrs. Cabot, I’m at your father’s house. My chief researcher, Sasha, and I have begun the appraisal. But, well, I need to tell you that your daughter is here.”
“At the house? Now?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. She’s pretty angry.”
“Where is she?”
“Out on the porch. You know that the police are guarding the house?”
“Yes, Chief Alverez told me. He called last night.”
“Yes, well, a police office is keeping her on the porch. Actually, I can hear her from here. She’s pretty upset.”
“I’m so sorry, Josie. I just told her that I’d hired you. I was confident that I’d convinced her that you’d get us the most money from the auction because of your expertise. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” She sounded mortified.
“Yes, I’m fine. Do you know why she’s so angry?” I hated to ask, but felt as if I needed to know what I was dealing with.
There was a long pause. “Mr. Epps, my father’s lawyer, told us, when we met with him, that Mr. Troudeaux was the person best equipped to assist us. That was when we first arrived. I think Andi heard his words and turned off her brain.”
I thought about what she’d said. “Why?” I asked. “What did Epps say?”
After a pause, Mrs. Cabot said, “You know that my father, apparently, asked Mr. Epps for suggestions about
