The Magic Hour

Chapter 26: Helping the Case Move Forward

    He’d also learned Fenton wasn’t the only manufacturer, though they stayed in business for a hundred years and once sold to Montgomery Ward and Sears Roebuck and gift shops all over the country. Fenton’s carnival glass was intended for everyday, practical use. Other companies cropped up, including Northwood, Dugan Diamond, and Imperial. There were over 2000 patterns used for tea, bowls, dishes, sugar and creamer sets. When its popularity waned, the glass was often given away free at carnivals, giving it a new name. Now it was valued again and some pieces garnered prices up to six thousand dollars from collectors. The only way to really know if it was authentic or a contemporary imitation was to attend a live auction.

    Right. Not likely, Nathan thought. That’d be a needle in a haystack, figuring out which auction to visit. Not to mention French was unlikely to show his face anywhere. He’d been wasting his time. The man would be working online, assuming he even still wanted the glass, using a fake name and completely untouchable.

    Nathan leaned back in the chair. He watched the sun on the lake, the snow melting in places on the shoreline. A flock of geese flew overhead, their voices unmistakable. What were they saying? he wondered. Whatever it was, they were enthusiastic about it.

    So the glass was a dead end. He rubbed his eyes, got up and went to the refrigerator. A soft drink would beat out Harry’s coffee. It was then he noticed the picture frame on the counter. It was one of Harry and Sierra at an outdoor picnic, a lot of people in the background. They were laughing into the camera. Sierra was holding up a string of trout. Harry was doing the same thing, only his catch was a lot smaller.

    Photographs. The Grays had a lot of family photos scattered around their living room. He’d only looked at a couple. He made the call, hoping he’d learn what he needed without having to drive up there.

    He identified himself when the mother answered the phone. She asked him to wait and Hannah’s voice came on the line.

    “Detective. Is there something you need?” She didn’t waste time, Nathan thought.

    “Hannah, we’re still tracking leads on what happened to your sister. There’s someone—a man we think might have been involved. Did she ever mention Paul French?”

    “No. I told you she didn’t see anyone. Not since her boyfriend died. She’d have told us if there was someone. That’s how we were.”

    “Well, this man would be more like a dealer. He bought two of her paintings at the exhibit last year.”

    “I don’t see how—oh! There was . . . wait a minute. Hold on.” She put down the phone.

    He heard several voices in the background. One of them sounded like Marnie. When Hannah came back on the line she was more animated.

    “Marnie and my mother remember him. I wasn’t here at the time. He came by—what—last fall? No—end of summer? Something like that. Looking for Nora. Said he knew she was a painter and he wanted to visit her gallery. Marnie told him there wasn’t any such thing, that Nora had her studio right in the house. He asked to see it but Nora wasn’t home, so they sent him away.”

    “What did he look like?” Nathan asked.

    Again Hannah left him waiting, this time for several minutes.

    “Not so tall,” she said when she picked up the phone again, “and his hair was dead black, like it was painted on, Marnie says. Thick eyes, my mother says. I’m not sure what she means. They were put off, mostly. He was very persistent about seeing Nora’s room.”

    “What did Nora say about him?” Nathan looked down at the desk as a small brown spider crossed over the keyboard. No red dot, so probably harmless, he thought absently. Spiders weren’t his favorite thing.