The Big Steal Read Free Page B

public’s favorite. But Mazie got tired of people always talking about Mazie’s maze. Her real name was Mary Elise, you know, but everyone called her Mazie,” she said. “Hoyt had it designed as a gift to her. Actually, I think the water garden might have been Mazie’s favorite. It’s so remote most people don’t even know about it. Like the pagoda. Wynderly is a very large place, you know. Acres and acres.”
    I was about to make some joking comment that “large” was an understatement.
    â€œI’d advise you not to try to wander off by yourself, though,” Michelle said, her voice flat. “You’ll need to stick with me. If there’s anything you want, or need to see, you’ll have to ask me.”
    With Michelle in the lead, I had dutifully followed—beneath arched doorways, in and out of wings, down long dreary passageways, around massive bookcases, through the rooms of Wynderly, each one seemingly larger and grander than the one before. Her unnecessary aggrandizing of the house andits contents was beginning to grate on my nerves. Wynderly spoke for itself. Plus, I was anxious to get down to work.
    Still, I tried putting myself in her shoes. With the house closed to visitors, she had to be lonesome. What else had she to do than show me around? I’m sure she thought I needed the orientation.
    On the other hand, knowing that she was a possible suspect in this unexplainable burglary was bound to have her upset. Perhaps this was her way of trying to keep control of the situation.
    A few minutes later, just as Michelle was about to show me another room, I finally asked directions to the lady’s powder room.
Bathroom
just didn’t seem the appropriate word in these surroundings.
    Michelle was waiting for me. “Isn’t it a beautiful room,” she said. “The faucets are gold-plated, and the mirror came from India—a gift from the maharaja. Those are real rubies and sapphires.”
    The opulence of the powder room had taken me aback even more than had the mural and the blackamoors.
    Now remember, Sterling, you have to forget that you’re in Mr. Jefferson’s country, I had told myself. Stop trying to make Wynderly something it isn’t. It’s not Monticello.
    I nodded in agreement and smiled. “It really
is
remarkable.”
    â€œBut you’ve seen enough of the house,” she said, turning away from me. “Follow me. I’ll take you to the workroom.”

Chapter 3
    Dear Antiques Expert: When I admired a large blue and white plate at an antiques show, the dealer called it an “English Delft charger.” My aunt brought back a vase from Holland that was marked “Delft.” I thought all Delft came from Holland, and what exactly is a “charger”?
    Delft, also called Delftware, is an earthenware pottery with a tin-glazed exterior. It originated in the 1600s in Holland when Europeans were trying to discover how to make thin porcelain like the Chinese. But because the English also produced a glaze-finished pottery, the distinction is made between Dutch and English Delft. Dutch Delft, however, has always been better known. “Charger” is the name given to large, shallow plates that we today would call platters. Incidentally, truly old Delft pieces were marked with symbols. Pieces marked with the word “Delft” are of modern manufacture.
    A T LAST I could get to work. I had headed straight to the table where pieces of what had been a seventeenth-century Delft charger were spread out on a card table.
    â€œIf you’re going to look at the things the thieves left behind,you’re going to need these,” Michelle had said, handing me a pair of gauzy white cotton museum gloves.
    Though a nice piece, the large plate really didn’t call for curatorial gloves, especially not in its present condition. But trying to keep a positive attitude, I told myself Michelle’s offer