CHAPTER SEVEN — THE CRATE THAT SHOULDN’T EXIST

Daniel left the hall through the staff exit after Kells informed the catering supervisor that an unauthorized worker had been seen near the crates.
He reached Nessa’s van carrying his tray, which he had forgotten to put down.
Carol took one look at his face and told Nessa to drive around the block rather than pull away immediately.
Daniel described the original baker inside the small crate.
Carol leaned forward from the rear seat.
“Are you certain?”
“Ada left her thumbprint on the bread, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“This one had it.”
Julian appeared at the van window a minute later, looking furious.
“Vale has offered me a consultancy contract if I agree to sign a statement praising the authenticity of the set.”
“Did you take it?” Daniel asked.


“Of course not.”
Carol tilted her head.
“You paused before answering.”
“I read the terms because I wanted to know what he was offering.”
Julian opened his briefcase and showed them a printed schedule he had collected at the desk.
The official auction was Saturday, but a freight departure had been booked for early Sunday morning.
Twelve crates would travel to a bonded storage facility near the airport.
The schedule listed an additional crate marked PRIVATE WORKSHOP MATERIAL.
Nessa recognized the receiving company’s name from invoices she had seen at the frame shop.
It belonged to a fabricator known for making exact replicas of historic architectural features.
A convincing imitation could be carved from photographs if the company had an original to study.
Carol said Kells had tried to hire her for such work years earlier.


She had declined, but other stoneworkers might not have recognized the deception.
Daniel asked whether the gallery was selling replicas to buyers who believed they were originals or displaying replicas while selling something more valuable out of sight.
“Possibly both,” Julian said.
Nessa parked beneath the orange glow of a streetlamp and tapped a pencil against the steering wheel.
“We need to know what is actually inside those other crates.”
Carol shook her head.
“Breaking into a gallery won’t fix anything.”
Daniel looked at the old woman who had smashed his statue that morning.
“That’s a remarkably sudden interest in respecting property.”
“I earned it,” she replied.
Their disagreement ended when Julian’s phone rang with a call from an unfamiliar number.
A woman introduced herself as Helena Park, a transport coordinator employed by Vale for the exhibition.
She said she had seen Julian arguing with Vale and wanted to talk somewhere they would not be overheard.
Julian asked why she trusted him.
“Because I asked about the extra crate and Mr. Kells told me the contents were none of my business.”
They arranged to meet her at a twenty-four-hour diner on the east side of town.
Helena arrived in a faded denim jacket and placed her employee pass face down on the table.
She had worked in museum shipping for twenty years and disliked being treated as a disposable driver.
She described how six pieces had been delivered to the gallery over the previous month in battered wooden cases.
Every piece had been photographed, removed from its crate, and replaced with a cleaner version after a two-day visit to the fabrication workshop.
The remaining six replicas had arrived ready for display from the beginning.
Helena had questioned the changing crate weights because shipping damage was her professional responsibility.
Kells had ordered her to ignore the differences.
“Then where are the originals going?” Daniel asked.
Helena slid a restaurant napkin toward him with a simple sketch of the loading area.
“There’s a temporary storage building behind the gallery,” she said.
“Three heavy crates went there yesterday.”
Julian asked whether she would give a statement.
“I’ll explain what I saw to an appropriate investigator,” Helena answered.
“But I won’t let strangers use my name as a decoration in their argument.”
Daniel appreciated the distinction.
Carol asked if she had noticed a crate holding the pear seller.
Helena shook her head.
“Not yet, but Kells keeps asking whether the fourth original has been located.”
Carol pushed her coffee away.
“He’s short one,” she whispered.
“And that’s why he came straight to Daniel.”
Helena studied Carol’s face.
“Are you the woman who worked with Peter Mercer?”
Carol nodded.
Helena reached into her bag and produced a folded photograph of a young man unloading stone at the Eastmere yard.
“My father took that picture,” she said.
“He always told me those workers saved something important, but he wouldn’t say what.”
Carol held the photograph for a long moment before answering.
“Your father helped drive the truck,” she said.
“And I think I owe him an apology.”