Protector - Laurel Dewey [145]
Jane was struck by the appraiser’s words. She paid close attention to his information, sensing somehow that the words held importance.
“The subterfuge was carefully woven into the basic design and, later, the painted surfaces,” the appraiser continued. “James never made the same desk twice. However, the similarities were as follows: what might look like the knob on a drawer . . .” the appraiser attempted to pull out a “drawer,” “was in actuality a beautifully painted replica of a knob. But if you knew where to look . . .” the appraiser fumbled under the desk and along the side of the desk, “you just might be able to open that drawer!” Turning to the owner of the desk, the appraiser asked with a sheepish grin, “I hope you know how to open that drawer!”
The woman confidently ran her finger down the front leg, pushed a hidden button and freed the front drawer. “My six-year-old nephew found that hidden button!” the woman said.
“How many secret compartments are there?” asked a female onlooker.
“To my knowledge,” the appraiser replied, “James never had a set number of hidden compartments. I saw a desk in a Virginia farmhouse with fourteen, while another from a collection down in Birmingham had eleven. At least, eleven they knew of!”
The owner of the desk spoke up. “We had the desk twenty years before we learned of this side panel that pops out when you press a button in one of the top mail compartments.” The woman slid her hand inside the first mail compartment, pushed a button and the side panel opened like a sloping cereal bin at the supermarket.
Jane leaned forward. It was as though something was tugging at her gut. Emily opened her eyes and sleepily looked at the television screen.
“Yes, I’m glad you brought that point to our attention!” the appraiser excitedly replied. “There was one common denominator in all of the desks. While they were not all located in the same place, James made sure that there was one secret compartment that was the most difficult to find. For him, that compartment represented the worst trickery that the art world had foisted upon society. In his eyes, when you uncovered that top secret compartment, you had successfully opened your eyes to the real villain that lay buried between yourself and the Divine Truth that would set you free! They were deep thoughts from an extraordinary man who was never able to get the recognition he deserved!”
“Any hints on finding that top secret compartment?” a man asked the appraiser.
“Well, James was fond of placing those highly valued compartments in one of three places. The side of the desk, along the front here and finally, back here at the rear of the desk. For those desks that had the ultra secret compartment located at the rear location, it was not unusual for the owner to situate the desk several inches from a wall in order to accommodate the opening of the compartment.” The camera pulled in tightly on the desk’s secret side compartment as the appraiser showed the depth of space needed to reconcile the opening.
Emily became fixated on the close-up of the secret compartment. The sound of the appraiser’s voice dissolved into the background and was loudly replaced by the sound of her parents yelling at each other.
“How could you keep this letter from me?” Emily’s mother yelled at her father. “Goddamnit, didn’t you think I would eventually find out? All those nights . . . All those goddamn nights of you calling me and telling me you had to work late . . .”
“I was working,” her father weakly interjected.
“I don’t think they call it ‘work’ after the second or third cocktail!”
“Patty, please! We’ve got to talk about this rationally.”
“Rationally? Oh, that’s rich! Suddenly you want to be rational? Why wasn’t that thought going through your head when the relationship became clear? Why didn’t you just walk away?”
Emily heard shafts