“He wanted me to buy everything outright.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t afford to just give him cash. He was okay with consigning the goods to me. I promised everything would be sold within a month.”
“A month. Isn’t that pretty quick?”
“Unbelievable,” I agreed. “I would have had to bring in outside experts and begin advertising right away.”
“What was his hurry?”
“I don’t know. He mentioned that his family was coming for a visit. Maybe he wanted it over and done with before they arrived.”
“Because they’d be upset?”
I shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
“But you thought his selling out was unusual?”
“I wouldn’t say it was unusual, exactly. It wasn’t ordinary, that’s for sure. But on some level, every sale is unique. I mean, there is no such thing as a ‘normal’ sale.”
“What might have motivated him to sell out?”
“I have no way of knowing.”
“Fair enough. Speculate for me.”
I glanced at Max. “Just so long as you acknowledge that Josie is talking theoretically,” he said. “She’s made it clear that she has no specific knowledge of Mr. Grant’s motivation. Agreed?”
“Understood,” Alverez acknowledged.
Max nodded at me, indicating that I could answer. I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts. “There are lots of reasons why people sell their possessions, and I’m sure there are more that I’m not thinking of.”
“Like?” Alverez prodded.
“Like routine estate planning. Or they want or need cash for some particular purpose, like college tuition or an around-the-world trip. Maybe they’re hoping to avoid a family feud somewhere down the line. Or they’ve tired of the items and want new or different things. Or they want a fresh start, like maybe after a divorce. Or, and this might apply to Mr. Grant, there’s some kind of grief reaction-you know, they want to get rid of objects that remind them of someone who’s died, in Mr. Grant’s case, his wife.” I shrugged. “Whatever was motivating him, he didn’t act troubled in any way.”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t seem desperate for cash or anything, or like he was regretting having to sell out. He was chatty and pleasant every time I saw him.”
Alverez nodded. “Did you ask any questions to try and figure it out?”
“No. I never do. I mean, I need to know enough about what’s going on to gauge whether I should act happy or more serious, you know? But I never pry.”
“Can you guess? I know you don’t know,” he added, glancing at Max. “But I’m wondering if you took away a general impression. What do you think? Which of those reasons applied to Mr. Grant?”
“I wish I could help you, but I can’t. I just don’t know. I never know. That’s not my job. I took him at his word, just like I do everyone. He wanted to sell out. I wanted to put together the deal. That’s it.”
Alverez tapped his pencil on the edge of the table and leaned back in his chair, thinking it through. “Okay, then. So, all told, how often were you there?”
“Three times. Once to meet him and discuss what he wanted, once to catalogue and videotape the contents, and once to make the offer. Today’s meeting was to finalize the deal. On the phone, he said he was ready to go.”
We heard the recorder click off, and Alverez turned the tape over and pushed the Record button.
“What did you two talk about while you were there?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you said he was chatty, did he show you pictures of his grandchildren, talk about what he planned to do with the money, what?”
“Nothing like that. He always asked me how I was feeling, and usually he asked about my business. We chatted about the weather and inflation and nothing in particular.” I paused to think for another moment. “Once I got started, he left me alone to do my cataloguing.”
“How come you went there alone? Wouldn’t it have been quicker to bring in help for the cataloguing?”
“Would it ever! Jeez. But I’m a businesswoman. And I didn’t have a signed deal yet. It can be anxiety- producing to have strangers going through your possessions. So I went alone.”
“In the times you talked with Mr. Grant, did he mention anyone else? You know, that he’d be having dinner with a friend, that he’d stopped by a coffee shop, or maybe bought a newspaper at the corner store, anything like that?”
I thought for a minute. “No. No one in particular. But we talked some about how capable he was. I mean, he brought it up. The first time I was there, he made a point of telling me that I shouldn’t think he was decrepit-that’s the word he used, decrepit-just because he was old. That he could still drive and he still balanced his checkbook to the penny. We laughed about that because I told him I couldn’t.” I smiled a little. “He offered to work for me and be my bookkeeper. He winked and said he had a good head for numbers. Talking to him, I believed it. The questions he asked about my business showed without a doubt that all of his marbles were intact.”
Alverez nodded and paused. He looked at me and I looked back. He looked liked an outdoors man, rugged and fit. He also looked reliable and honest, but I reminded myself that looks can be deceiving, and that sometimes people use their good looks, youthful appearance, or innocent demeanor for devious ends.
“How you doing?” he asked.
“I’m okay.”
“Ready for that coffee?”
I asked him the time and was surprised that it wasn’t yet three. I’d thought it was later. “How about a martini?” I countered.
“No can do, ma’am.”
“Figures,” I said. “Still, it’s been a martini kind of day.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “So, change of subject. Have you ever been fingerprinted?”
I reacted as if Alverez had ripped a Band-aid off without warning, and I closed my eyes to shield my dismay.
Yes, I answered him silently, I’ve been fingerprinted. It had happened on a Tuesday and I was thrilled. Frisco’s policy held that all new hires had to go through a comprehensive security check, and I’d passed. But I didn’t want to tell him that. I didn’t want to talk about my past at all. I didn’t want to reveal how much I’d loved my job, nor explain how hurt I’d been when I’d been forced to leave. I considered lying, rationalizing that a lie isn’t a lie if the information solicited is irrelevant. Yet I knew that in all probability, Alverez would expect that an art and antique auction house as prestigious as Frisco’s would fingerprint new staff. Plus, nothing said I had to talk about any other aspect of my years at Frisco’s except the fingerprinting. Certainly there was no need to reveal my involvement in the price-fixing thing. What was it Max had said? Not to volunteer information. Got it.
Suddenly, words my father spoke echoed in my head:
I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. Alverez’s face revealed nothing. His eyes stayed steady on mine.
Max cleared his throat and leaned toward me. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I smiled as best I could, took a deep breath, and said, “You bet.” To Alverez, I added, “Sorry. I just couldn’t believe my ears.”
“Is that a yes? Have you been fingerprinted in the past?” Alverez asked.
“What a question!” I replied, feigning indignation.
“No offense intended. There are lots of reasons people get fingerprinted. Security clearance, that sort of thing.”
Appearing slightly mollified, I shrugged. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I was fingerprinted once. For a job.”
“Then you’ll be familiar with the procedure,” he said.
