"Why didn't she park at the museum?" I asked. We had a small parking lot with just six spaces for employees. I rarely drove in the warmer months since I could walk or cycle but Karen lived outside town and had no choice.
"Detective Logan insisted on locking up the crime scene completely and that included the parking lot gates too."
"Did they stay long last night?" asked Ethan. He paused as the waitress approached us and handed us menus, leaving a fourth menu on Karen's currently vacant setting. She reeled off the day's specials and poured water in our glasses before leaving a basket of bread with a little dish of oil. When she stepped away, we both looked at Artie.
"Until around two in the morning. I sent Eleanor home just after you all left and then I waited. They had people photographing the crime scene and dusting for prints and all that kind of stuff you see on television; and then the medical examiner drove in from Hallowell to examine the body until finally, they took Lance away. Detective Logan said I could go home around midnight but it didn't seem right and I'm glad I didn't. There was an awful development," Artie added.
"What kind?" asked Ethan.
"The dagger that was used to kill Lance disappeared."
My mouth dropped open. "How?"
"Beats me. You should have heard Detective Logan ream out one of the uniforms he had covering the body. Apparently, the guy got sick from seeing all that blood and left his post. That's when the dagger must have been stolen."
"Do you think the murderer took it?" I asked.
Artie shrugged. "It's a terrible mess," he said.
"I'm so sorry it happened." I gave his hand a squeeze. "Has Lance's family been informed? They must be terribly upset."
"Declan Sommersby told me he'd tell Lance's parents. They live out west somewhere. Declan is Lance's uncle and a member of the board," Artie explained for Ethan's benefit.
I plucked a slice of bread from the basket and concentrated on pulling it apart, dipping a piece in oil and chewing it while I thought about Lance and Declan. Now I compared the two, I saw similarities in their facial features; something in their eyes, perhaps.
"His sister is Lance's mother. I don't think they were close. Lance and he, that is. I don’t know about the mother."
"I never heard Lance call him uncle. When he first started work here, I had no idea he even had any connections to Calendar. I assumed he just answered the ad for the job," I said.
"He did mention it in his interview and I'll admit Declan gave him a glowing recommendation. I started to wonder a while ago how much of his résumé was puff and air." Artie shrugged and I wondered how much that connection might have influenced him in giving Lance the job. From what I could remember, there hadn't been a lot of applicants, and even fewer, well-qualified ones. A small-town museum wasn't high on a lot of people's career agendas. Many in our industry wanted the jobs that came with the kind of kudos we couldn't compete with: The Smithsonian, The Guggenheim or The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Once upon a time, I was one of them, but as a single mom with two kids, I decided balancing work with a personal life suited me better than column inches, demanding hours, and a higher salary. I was sure I could have achieved it if I wanted it, and I fully support the ambitions of any woman who does, but I wanted to happily raise my kids rather than living my life as a constant balancing act.
"We'll send flowers or something to his parents," continued Artie. "I'm not sure when the police will release his body or where and when the funeral will be. His parents will probably want to take him home."
"I can't imagine what they're going through," I said, jumping as a light knock sounded on the window. Karen waved to us and hurried inside.
"I could not park anywhere," she said, her face all pink and flustered. "Am I very late? What did I miss?"
"Nothing," said Artie. "I was just telling Tess and Ethan what happened after you all went home."
"A terrible business," muttered Karen, shaking her head. "I could hardly sleep thinking about who would do such a terrible thing."
"That's what I can't work out either," I said. "I know Lance wasn't the most pleasant person--" I stopped as Karen snorted "--but I can't imagine anyone at the party killing him."
"Maybe someone snuck in," said Ethan.
"We'd have noticed. We went over that guest list a dozen times," said Karen. "I didn't spot anyone who wasn't supposed to be there and I'm sure I greeted everyone."
"What if they didn't want to be noticed?" I asked. "Could someone have snuck in and hidden? When Detective Logan questioned me, he made a point that anyone could have walked around the museum."
"The only entrance was from the front," said Artie. "One way in, one way out. Someone would have seen something."
"Could Lance have let someone in?" asked Ethan.
"He could have let someone in via the employee entrance from the parking lot," I said, after some thought. "We know the parking lot gates were unlocked because the police had Artie close them last night. No one would think anything strange of Lance going to the offices during the party. Or he could have let someone in earlier and they could have hidden in his office."
"Then why was he killed in the new exhibition?" asked Karen. "That doesn't make any sense."
"You're right, it doesn't. If he let his killer in, and they were determined to cause him harm, they could have done so in his office if he did have someone stashed there," I said. "It would be a lot less risky."
"I'm not sure of the layout, but could Lance have let someone in who chased him into the exhibition?" asked Ethan.
Artie shook his head. "There isn't a direct route from the office wing," he said.
Another thought dawned on me. "I don't think someone came prepared to kill him. I think it was a crime of opportunity."
"You've been reading too many mystery novels again," said Karen.
"That's true," I agreed, since I checked out four mysteries from the library last week. "What I meant was, Detective Logan showed me a photo of the weapon used to kill Lance. It came from one of our display cabinets."
"Yes, that's right," said Artie excitedly as Karen gasped. "Detective Logan showed me the photo too. I thought it was one of ours but I couldn't place it. It was a small dagger."
"From a set of three," I added. "I found the case unlocked last night and I closed it but didn't think any more of it."
"My goodness," breathed Artie. "Was the dagger already gone?"
I blushed. "I was in too much of a hurry to notice so I can't say, but it sounds to me like Lance's killer grabbed it."
"But how was the case even unlocked?" wondered Artie.
"I walk through the museum every day at closing time and check. There weren't any cases unlocked," said Karen. "And I make another check in the morning before we open too."
"No one is blaming you, Karen," I told her. "It's possible Lance opened the case himself. He could easily have collected the keys from mine or Artie's offices."
"But why would he do such a thing?" wondered Artie.
"Maybe he was impressing a guest. Has anyone asked about that collection recently?" asked Ethan. He looked around the table but we all shook our heads.
"That was a good idea," I told him. "If someone had, they might have convinced Lance to give them a closer look. It might have been someone he wanted to donate money."
"He knows taking exhibits without signing the loan ledger is against policy," said Karen. "I've told him before that he can't open cases whenever he pleases but..." She trailed off and stared at the tablecloth.
"He's done that before?" asked Artie, his voice unusually sharp.
"Well, yes, just twice so far as I know," said Karen weakly.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Am I in trouble? Lance said if I told anyone, he would say I was lying and..."
"No, no," I said quickly, looking to Artie for confirmation. He looked as worried as I felt. "Why would you think we would believe Lance? We've known you for years, Karen."
"Because he's m
y superior and he called me a stupid receptionist."
"Tell us what happened," prompted Artie.
"Well, it was about six weeks ago and I was making my last pass through the museum. You'd already gone home, Tess, and Artie wasn't well that day and stayed home, so I was going to lock up like I often do. I was coming through one of the first floor rooms when I saw Lance standing at a case. It was open and he reached for something and took it out. I think it was one of the small collections of coins. I asked him what he was doing and he jumped a mile!"
"Did he tell you what he was doing?" I asked.
Karen shook her head quickly. "He told me it was none of my business and I shouldn't creep around anyway. Then he told me I wouldn't understand so it was pointless explaining. He told me to get lost and he locked the case and stormed off. I saw him leaving in his convertible a few minutes later. I was really upset at his attitude so I locked up and went home. The next day, I checked the case on my rounds and nothing seemed out of place so I brushed it off as Lance just being nasty like usual."
"And the second time?"
"Two weeks ago. He was in the bedroom, just closing the case, and when he saw me in the doorway, his face went red. I told him he shouldn't be opening the cases without either you or Artie and he told me to keep my fat nose out of his business or he'd make sure I lost my job. He was horrible. I should have told one of you. I'm sorry I didn't."
"Don't worry about that now," said Artie. "You were never in any danger of losing your job. Lance didn't have that kind of clout."
Karen sighed. "I didn't know that. He implied he did a bunch of times."
"You're not the only one he threatened to fire, remember?" I told her. We paused in our deliberations while we ordered lunch and by the time the food arrived, we changed topics to Ethan's drawings.
"You must think we're awful and morose," I said to him as Artie and Karen cooed over the pages. "We've done nothing but talk about murder and this lunch was supposed to be to discuss your designs."
"It would be stranger if the topic didn't come up. I didn't know your colleague like you all did so it's not the same for me. You're all coping well with the shock." Ethan twirled his pasta onto his fork and glanced at my friends. "Plus, as awful as it sounds, it doesn't seem like he will be missed much."
"No, he was pretty awful, but no one deserves that."
"Look, this is you, Tess," said Karen, turning to the drawing of me at the podium. "Ethan, you've missed your calling as an artist. When the new building makeover is complete, these should be framed and displayed."
"That’s a terrific idea, young lady," said Artie.
"I'm not young," scoffed Karen.
Artie chuckled. "Everyone is young to me."
"They're just a few sketches," protested Ethan. "Some ideas to get the process started. The architectural drawings will be much better and I'll probably build a scale model too."
"Oh, yes! You must do that. A model building will be so interesting and a great display too!" chattered Karen.
"I agree," I said.
Artie nodded. "Me too. In fact, I insist."
We continued talking about Ethan's designs and vision over lunch, all of us grateful for an easier topic. When the waitress arrived with the dessert menu, we all refused even though it was tempting. Artie insisted on picking up the check, saying it was the least he could do after the awful evening we'd had and this made a far better retirement party. However, he didn't refuse mine and Karen's insistence that we do something nice for him before he officially retired.
"I must rush," said Artie as we stepped outside into the sunshine. He held up his cell phone. "I need to make some calls and I'm sure the board will want an update. There have been emails to that effect but I'm damned if I can work out how to reply to any emails on this thing. They won't be happy to hear the dagger is officially missing either."
"What dagger?" asked Karen.
"I'll fill you in and Artie, I'll show you again tomorrow," I told him, smiling. I was sure Artie was not the Luddite he claimed to be; it was just a handy excuse to ignore emails when they weren't convenient to him. He was “old school” in preferring to pick up the phone and actually make a call, part of what I liked to call the "Artie charm."
"One of these days, the information will stick. Take the rest of the day off, you two," he instructed. "Ethan, are you walking my way?"
"I am," confirmed Ethan. "I'll catch up with you."
"I'm sure you will," said Artie, starting off with a wave.
Ethan shuffled his feet and moved the drawing pad from under one arm to the other. "If you're free later, I can show you some more sketches?" he offered.
"I think I'm going to have an early night and make up for yesterday," I told him. "Another time?"
"Sure. This is my number," he said leaving me a business card before he took off after Artie, jogging to catch up.
As we watched the two men leave, Karen punched me on the arm.
"What?" I asked, rubbing the part she hit softly.
"Ethan totally asked you out and you made him bomb."
"No, he did not!"
"Uh-huh. He did! Did you hear him invite me along? Nope!"
"He wanted to show me his drawings." I looked after him, strolling alongside my boss, not giving me a backwards glance. Didn't he?
Karen snorted. "At least he gave you his number if you change his mind, which you should, you know. He's cute."
"Oh, please," I scoffed. I stuffed the card into my jeans pocket.
"Text me when you realize what you've just turned down," said Karen. She hugged me quickly and hurried off in the opposite direction towards her car, leaving me alone on the sidewalk. As I watched her walk away, I thought about what she said. Karen caught Lance twice inside display cases he had no business being in and twice he threatened her. What if he threatened her again last night? Did that give Karen motive for murder? I felt guilty as soon as I thought that and that thought gave way to another. Only last night I saw Lance taking a book from the library. Detective Logan didn't mention finding a book on Lance's body. Did Lance steal something? Had he been stealing under our noses all this time?
Chapter Six
For fifteen minutes, I alternated between pacing and sitting on the bench outside Calendar's police station. It wasn't Karen's confession that made me want to talk to Detective Logan -- I couldn't imagine my long-time friend swatting a fly never mind stabbing Lance to death, no matter how tempted she might be -- but the issue about the book. It was strange the detective never mentioned finding an antique book. Of course, there was the possibility that he had and simply didn't mention it to me.
I stood up and huffed, uncertain whether I would be wasting my time as well as the detective's by going outside. Behind me someone cleared their throat, then a voice said, "Are you coming in or what?"
Wheeling around, I gasped. Detective Logan stood there, his hands thrust into his pockets, and a frown creasing his forehead.
"You've been standing here a while. I saw you from the front desk," he said, pointing to the doors leading into the station. "Did you want to speak to me about something?"
"Um, yes. That is, I think so. I'm Tess Hern--"
"I remember," he cut in. "Come inside to my office. We can talk there."
"It might be nothing."
"Or it might be something. It's obviously worrying you so you might as well spill whatever it is."
I followed the detective inside and he showed me into a small office. He moved a stack of files from the chair and indicated I should sit. He dumped the files on his desk before he took the chair behind it. "What can I do for you?" he asked, relaxing but not removing his jacket.
"I remembered when I saw Lance on the mezzanine, he took a book from one of the shelves and put it in his jacket. I was so annoyed and embarrassed that people overheard our argument, that when he left, I didn't think to ask him where he was going with the book."
"A book? Like a paperback?"
I
smiled. "No. Have you ever been in the museum?"
"Recently?" Detective Logan raised his eyebrows.
"I meant before last night."
"Not in a long while but I've toured it a few times over the years."
"Perhaps you visited before the mezzanine was closed to visitors?" I asked and he frowned as though thinking before he gave a non-committal shrug of his shoulders. "The library was bequeathed to the town as part of the contents of the house and many of the books are very old. Some are rare first editions and quite valuable."
"How valuable?"
"Many run into hundreds of dollars but we have some even more valuable than that. The first editions are worth thousands along with some signed editions and rare misprints. Those were removed from the library shelves to display cases a few years ago. Some of the books have a more personal status that's hard to put a value on."
"What does that mean?"
"Some of the children of the house wrote their names in the books. There's an old Bible with generations of names in a family tree and other little notes too. They probably aren't worth very much but they have historical and social interest."
"If they're so valuable, why not keep them on display?"
"Because there're just too many books to put into storage or keep in display cases so we settle for regular inventories instead. Plus, the mezzanine is closed to visitors and there's always a volunteer in the library to monitor that."
"Okay," said the detective, his patience apparently wearing thin.
"Did Lance have a book on his person when you examined him?" I asked.
Detective Logan fixed me with a long look. Finally, just when I wanted to squirm under his gaze, he said, "No, he didn't."
"Could he have dropped it somewhere near his body when he was... uh..." I trailed off, squirming more now.
"I went over the whole room myself and I didn't find a single book. Is it valuable?"
"I don't know. I don't know which book he took."
"You make it sound like he was doing something unusual. Was he?"
"That's partly why I'm troubled by it. There was no reason I can think of for Lance to remove any books from the library. We only do so if there's a particular book required as part of an exhibition or if we're loaning it to another institution. Even then, only Artie or I would collect it. That wasn't part of Lance's duties."
Mayhem in May Page 5