CHAPTER FOUR — THE WRONG BUYER
The visitor standing on Daniel’s porch wore a perfectly pressed linen jacket and expensive running shoes.
He introduced himself as Martin Kells, an associate of Conrad Vale, and produced an offer to remove the damaged statue for cash that afternoon.
Two men waited beside an unmarked van with a wheeled lifting trolley.
Daniel asked who had invited them.
Kells smiled as if the answer should have been obvious.
“We heard that a valuable object was accidentally damaged, and our gallery specializes in restoration.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Daniel said.
Kells glanced at Carol, who stood near the gate with her arms crossed.
“Then perhaps we can save you some embarrassment as well.”
Julian stepped forward and asked whether Kells had photographs of the remaining eleven sculptures.
“That’s confidential commercial material,” Kells replied.
“Then why did your brochure show them?”
Kells straightened his collar.
“The objects were authenticated by experts engaged by the seller.”
“Experts you won’t name,” Julian said.
Daniel moved closer to the van when one of the men unfolded the trolley without permission.
He told them to put it away.
Kells offered more money, then raised the amount again when Daniel continued to refuse.
Carol watched the negotiation with an expression Daniel could not read.
Finally, Kells pointed toward the broken figure beneath the porch sheet.
“Your neighbor has reduced the value, Mr. Reed, and you may find no other buyer willing to make an offer.”
Daniel considered his scratched driveway, the shattered stone, and his unexpectedly crowded morning.
“I wasn’t selling it yesterday,”
he said.
“I’m not selling it today.”
Kells’s smile vanished.
“I’ll tell Mr. Vale.”
“Tell him to make an appointment before coming onto my property,” Daniel replied.
The men put the trolley away, but Kells lingered after the van engine started.
He leaned toward Carol and spoke softly enough that Daniel caught only the end of the sentence.
“Some debts don’t disappear because the people owed them die.”
Carol’s face hardened.
Kells got into the van before anybody could question him.
Julian photographed the tire markings left on the gravel and then reconsidered.
“We don’t need to chase the van,” he said.
“We need to see what Vale is selling.”
Carol looked toward the covered statue.
“He’s selling twelve beautiful imitations,” she said.
“And if you pull them apart, you’ll see why.”
Daniel asked what she meant.
She led them back to the broken base and tapped the brass plate with one finger.
“Every original carries two numbers,” she explained.
“The first names its place in Ada’s sequence, and the second marks the person whose work it represents.”
Daniel studied the engraved 04-17 and the tiny open gate.
Carol said the second number represented the volunteer who posed for Ada, and the gate marked the opening of the walkway that never happened.
The figures had originally been arranged according to daily journeys through town, not seasons or months.
The pear seller was number four because the old fruit stall stood four stops from the railway station.
The baker was supposed to stand beside a bakery that had since become a pharmacy.
“Vale’s replicas follow Bellweather’s catalogue,” Carol said.
“He thinks the list is the secret.”
Julian looked fascinated.
“The numbers don’t follow the catalogue?”
“They follow people,” she replied.
“People Bellweather treated as decoration.”
Daniel asked whether that was worth tens of thousands of dollars.
Carol looked at the broken face of the fruit seller.
“It’s worth telling the truth while somebody can still remember it.”
Then her expression changed.
“There’s something else about the plate,” she said.
“Peter wouldn’t put it back until the last night.”
Julian crouched beside the statue again.
“What happened that night?”
Carol shut her eyes.
“That’s the part of the story I’ve spent thirty-four years trying to live without.”
