"Anything else?"
I paused and Detective Logan widened his eyes slightly. "Oh, no! Definitely not, Detective! Lance and I were only colleagues," I said quickly as I caught his meaning.
"And you didn't get along?"
"No. I didn't like Lance and he didn't like me but that doesn't mean I'm glad he's dead. What happened to him was horrible and I hope you catch the guy who did it."
We paused outside Lance's office. "What makes you think it's a guy?" asked Detective Logan.
"It's a figure of speech. Plus, I suppose Lance was six feet tall and although he wasn't heavyset, he was broad. I can't see a woman overpowering him." I turned the handle and pushed open the door.
"You don't lock the offices?" he asked.
"No. There really isn't anything to steal in here. All our computer equipment is old and not exactly portable and we don't have any fancy gadgets."
Detective Logan moved around, examining the bookshelves and desk. As I watched, he pulled out the drawers and opened the cabinet behind the desk. "I don't see any book," he told me. "You?"
"Not anywhere obvious," I said as I followed his eyes to the bookshelves. "I don't see anything out of place either or anything missing but I'm not going to swear on that." I walked around the desk and as I glanced out the window, I noticed Lance's car, still sitting in the lot. The view always irked him. "Could he have put the book in his car?" I wondered.
"He had a set of keys in his pocket when I examined him."
"His car is the convertible down there." I pointed down from the window. "If he were stealing something, it would make more sense to stash it in his car than in the office where anyone might spot it."
Detective Logan pulled a cell phone from his pocket and made a call, asking someone to run over with the keys from the evidence box.
"Let's head to the library and see if we can work out if there really is a book missing," he said.
"I'm positive he took one," I told him but he was right; we needed to know for sure.
"Lead the way."
I took Detective Logan back downstairs through the lobby, then into the library where we held the party. Usually Karen walked around switching on lights but today everywhere was shrouded in darkness. I flicked on the overhead lights and avoided looking at the closed doors of the exhibition room where Lance died. Crime scene tape spanned the location and I tried to ignore it as I unhooked the rope barrier and ascended the stairs, the detective right behind me. We walked the length of the mezzanine and paused at the last bookcase. "It was from this section," I told him, "although I'm not sure which shelf but I think it was one of the lower ones since he was bent on one knee and reaching for it when I saw him."
"Any chance you were mistaken and he just happened to be carrying a book? He could have dropped it and stooped down to pick it up."
"Maybe but I don't think so. Plus, there's no reason for him to be on this level at all since the only things it contains are books. It's roped off and there are plenty of other routes between the lower and upper floors. Plus, I'm sure I've never seen Lance with a book," I added, feeling snarky.
"It'll be quicker if we divide the list between us."
"I agree. Why don't you start from the top and I'll start from the bottom? And if this comes to nothing, then I'm sorry I wasted your time."
Even though Detective Logan was taller than me, he still needed the ladder to reach the highest shelves and I rolled it over to him. "I've always liked these things," he said as he tested its sturdiness and seemed to find it sufficient. "Something rich people had in their mansions."
"Just like the rich people who owned the museum when it was a mansion," I said, sweeping my hand across the room. I liked that he appreciated it; the rolling ladder was a favorite of mine too.
Detective Logan chuckled and nodded as he proceeded up the ladder. I started on the very bottom shelf, working my way across it, checking off every book on the list as I found them. All the books on that shelf were accounted for. I started on the next shelf and found the same.
"Anything?" asked the detective, looking down at me.
"Not so far." I gulped, hoping I really wasn't wasting his time. I was positive I'd seen Lance with a book, but was it from this section? I couldn't be entirely certain where Lance was kneeling. I resumed my search on the third shelf, deciding that I would comb the entire library if necessary. It wouldn't be an arduous task, just time-consuming. I could always use it towards the museum's yearly audit so even if nothing were missing, the thorough check wouldn't be in vain.
At the end of the third shelf I searched, I had one title unchecked. I hesitated as I knelt, looking at the detective who was engrossed in his own search. What if I told him a book was missing only for it to be relocated on another shelf? That would be embarrassing. No, it was best to say nothing and keep on searching, just in case. So, that was what I did. I moved up a shelf, stretching as I checked off every title, then I stood and searched the fifth shelf just as Detective Logan moved to the shelf above mine. I reached the end before he did and waited while he made several check marks.
"Everything accounted for," he told me when he stepped off the ladder and slid it back to the next bookcase. "Same with you?"
"Actually, no. I have one title missing. It's this one from the third shelf. A first edition of an American classic dating from the nineteenth century."
"Did you check the other shelves?"
"Yes, on this bookcase and assuming you didn't find any extra books--" I paused and waited for Detective Logan to shake his head, which he did "--then it's missing."
"What's the possibility it was moved to another bookcase?" he asked. He nodded to the long stretch of bookcases.
"Low. The books are tightly packed so there really isn't room to stuff in any extra book. Of course, it's possible one was removed and an incorrect title returned in its place but it's still a very low probability. Very few employees require access to the mezzanine and the public aren't allowed. We have a volunteer to monitor that whenever the museum is open." Another thought pinged into my head. "I'll need to check the loan ledger, of course, in case a book was borrowed and I wasn't aware of it but I'm sure that's not the case."
Detective Logan gazed at the bookcases for a long moment before he turned to me. "Is the missing book valuable?"
"Could be. There was a valuation of all the titles when the museum was turned over to the town but not since then. At that time, there were some priceless titles that we removed for safekeeping due to the insurer’s insistence. The value often depends on the popularity of the author at any given time, or the rarity of a particular title. We don't keep track of current values because we don't have the manpower for constant monitoring, given the fluctuating market, and also because our books aren't for sale. I suppose George might have a list for the insurer because he runs the museum's accounts. There was a covenant in the family's bequest that guaranteed the museum remained intact with its contents, which is why we never considered selling any of the books."
"I don't know a lot about books but I've seen some expensive ones on eBay. Old covers, that sort of thing, retailing for a few hundred bucks."
I shook my head. "You're way off base with costs there. Some books can retail for thousands of dollars, especially if they're rare like a low-print, first edition, or a special illustrated edition; even one with misprints or something the author or publisher rejected. They can be very desirable to the right people."
Detective Logan nodded thoughtfully then returned his gaze to the bookcases. "We need to check every shelf," he decided. "Then we can determine the value of the missing book or books."
I didn't have to ask the detective what he was thinking. I could guess for myself. Was it the kind of money worth murdering for?
Chapter Eight
"Eight missing books," said Detective Logan as he rechecked the list for the second time.
"Let me confirm it again," I insisted, reaching for his list and running my finger across th
e titles. It was a pointless task. We both checked it twice already but I had to be sure. This time, I added a big X next to each title. Eight missing books! All of them taken on my watch!
Detective Logan and I sat on the mezzanine floor, our backs against the bookcases we so meticulously searched. He had his legs stretched out; mine were crossed.
"The museum has been open a long time," he started.
I shook my head, cutting in before he suggested anything else. "We do a yearly audit. I did the book check last year and everything was here. Every single last book!" My jaw wobbled with annoyance and dismay.
"Do you conduct the audit alone?"
"Yes. It's great that you helped today but it's really not a two-man job."
"Explain the process."
I sighed and waved a forlorn hand at the bookcases. "I do exactly what we did today. I print a list and I check every single shelf and mark each title as I find it."
"Does anyone double-check? Or sign off your checks?"
"No, I'm trusted to handle the task."
"And who did the audits before last year?"
"That would be me. I've done them for, let's see, the last four years."
"Do you audit everything in the museum?"
"Me, personally? No. We divide the tasks amongst us."
"Who is we?"
"Artie, Karen and myself. We're the core team so we undertake the inventory."
"None of the volunteers help?"
"No, they already do so much for free or a few small perks out of their love for the museum. Auditing is so mundane, we wouldn't ask them to do it, plus, I'm sure the insurance policy requires that employees handle it."
"If something went missing, there's a chance no one else would find out for years. It would be easy to put a check against an item that wasn't there," said Detective Logan.
I sat up straighter and fixed him with what I hoped was a stern look. "I know what you're implying, Detective, and I trust Artie and Karen just as much as they trust me!"
He pinned me with a steady look. "I wasn't implying anything," he said. "But would I be right?"
I swallowed hard, annoyed as I crossed my arms again. I didn't like what he was insinuating but I knew how it looked. He wondered if one of us could have stolen the books over the last few years without anyone noticing. Since he knew the books might have some value, I almost handed him a motive. What if he thought Lance caught me taking a book and thought I killed him to cover my thefts? "Yes," I conceded, "It's possible. I think I should advise Artie to ensure all future audits are double-checked going forwards."
"That sounds like a good plan." He paused and just as I was beginning to wonder if he intended to arrest me, meaning I would have to call a lawyer and, even worse, ask my ex-husband to take care of the girls while I fought for my freedom, he said, "How did you wind up in Calendar anyway?"
"Huh?" I frowned at the abrupt change of topic.
"Artie said you started here as an intern and worked your way up but you were a bigshot in the museum world before that."
"Bigshot? No!" I laughed. "It's true I interned here first before the board offered me a job. As for how I arrived, I moved here years ago. I did have some experience working in museums but as a young working mom, I had to juggle the hours required to start a career while trying to afford childcare. My ex-husband thought we should leave the city and move somewhere we could raise a family more easily. We vacationed here once and liked it and he had an aunt and uncle here so we made the move. When the girls got a little bigger, I applied for an intern role here. There wasn't actually any intern role being offered but I pestered Artie into giving me a job and worked my way up."
"And your ex-husband?"
"He lasted all of six months before he realized he missed the city life and moved back."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was a long time ago and I'm not bitter about it. I never expected to leave the city but as it turns out, I love this town and I guess I like being a big fish in a small pond here. Plus, I can enjoy a family life."
"Don't you ever want to go back? Be a small fish in a big pond?"
"Sometimes I get that little twinge of homesickness or I might read something in a journal about someone I knew from college who made it big in the museum world; but then I remind myself of everything I have here. I pretty much have autonomy in major decisions for the museum, I can attend the occasional conference, and I've been instrumental in putting this museum on the map. We've won awards! I have a nice home, I can walk to work, and my girls are happy and safe," I trailed off. I had the same conversation a few times with my ex when he mentioned my moving to the city so he could see the girls more often. He failed to consider what it would involve to uproot our lives so he could visit them on a monthly basis rather than a quarterly. He wasn't a bad man but totally clueless when it came to raising kids and juggling a career with family life. He couldn't quite see why I wanted to stay here. He preferred the glittering lights of late-night bars, fancy restaurants and glamorous society, the perfect antidote to his long office hours and cutthroat promotions. Once upon a time, I wanted all that too. It made me laugh now to think of myself as one half of a power couple.
"Lance's car!" I squeaked as a thought popped into my head.
"What?"
"Lance's car is still in the parking lot. I asked earlier if he put the book in there. He could easily have rushed to his car after I saw him and then come back inside. No one would even know he left. Someone was supposed to get you the keys!"
"Dammit it, someone was," huffed Detective Logan. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit speed dial, grunting a request to whomever he spoke. "They'll be here in a few minutes," he said. "I'll wait in the lobby."
"I'll come too."
"There's no need. I can search the car."
"But you don't know what you're looking for," I said.
He got to his feet and raised his eyebrows and I scrambled to follow him. "I mean, I am familiar with our books. If Lance had one or more in his car, they might be ours or copies that you might think are ours. I should probably check to confirm." It was a weak argument but I really wanted to get a look inside Lance's car. I was dying to know what he was up to.
"Okay, but don't put so much as a little finger inside the car. Anything I find, I'll show you and you can confirm if it belongs to the museum or not," said Detective Logan. "Got it?"
"Got it."
By the time we made it to the lobby a few minutes later, a uniformed officer was waiting outside. "What took you so long?" asked Detective Logan as I let him in. "I asked for the keys more than a couple hours ago."
"There was a road rage incident a few miles out of town and I was the only available officer. I didn't expect to take so long," explained the cop as he handed over the keys. "Sorry, Detective."
Detective Logan waved him away with a cursory thanks and started to exit the main doors after him.
"There's a quicker way than walking around the museum's perimeter," I told him. "Follow me." I took him through the Employees Only door, past the staircase leading to the offices that we had ascended earlier, to the back door that served as an entryway from the parking lot. I pushed the safety bar down and the lock released. We stepped out into the light breeze. Only Lance's car remained in the parking lot, but even if other cars were there, it would still stand out. The convertible was definitely a “look at me” model and, not for the first time, I had to wonder how Lance could afford it on his museum salary.
Detective Logan beeped it open as we approached. He pulled on gloves and opened the driver's door and paused, slinging a look at me over his shoulder. I held my hands up. I knew the rules: don't approach. Don't contaminate a vehicle of interest. And definitely, don't plant anything.
Given his suspicions regarding me, and even though he hadn't actually said those words, I definitely didn't want to appear like I could have planted anything.
"Did you find anything?" I asked as the detective che
cked the door pockets and felt under the seat.
"Nope," he said, before sliding inside and leaning over. I shuffled my position and watched as he opened the glove compartment, feeling inside. Then he repeated the checks of the passenger door pockets and under the seat. The trunk popped open and he got out, shut the doors, and walked around. I stepped forward when he stuck his head inside and patted the sides and base. I didn't need to ask if he found anything. It was clear he hadn't.
"I keep wondering if Lance had an accomplice," I told him as I watched. "I believe Lance was dishonest but I don't know if he was smart enough to pull off a scam like this."
Detective Logan glanced over his shoulder. "Do you have someone in mind?"
I shook my head. No, but I wish I did. "Lance didn't seem to have any friends and he never mentioned a girlfriend. I'm not sure he knew anyone other than his uncle, Declan, so I can't suggest anyone," I explained.
When his cell phone rang, the detective straightened and answered it. "Be right there," he said gruffly. He banged the trunk shut and pressed the button on the key. The locks clicked shut. "I have to go but I'll arrange for the vehicle to be removed if it's inconvenient to keep here; otherwise the deceased's family will make arrangements."
"I don't think it's a problem to leave it here a few more days. We all have an assigned parking spot and with the nice weather, most of us are walking to work," I told him. "Did you get a lead?"
"Something like that," he said as we walked back to the museum. Detective Logan probably parked his vehicle on the street outside so it made sense for him to follow me.
"Anything you can tell me about?" I pressed.
"Nope," he said. "Thanks for your help with the books. I'll let you know what I find."
"I have to make some inquiries too. I need to notify Artie and the board of the missing books. They might want to lodge an official complaint prior to reporting an insurance claim."
"Of course. Have them contact me." We stepped into the lobby and crossed over to the main doors. Ethan waited outside and smiled, raising a hand when he saw me walk over. His expression turned to a frown when he spotted the detective. "One last thing, Tess. Where would someone expect to sell these missing books?" asked Detective Logan.
Mayhem in May Page 7