Dead Past

by Beverly Connor

  She is probably suggesting that I should like her, too, thought Diane.

  “The flowers are all beautiful,” said Diane.

  Darcy was sitting up in bed. Her mother held her hand. Her father stood just behind Mrs. Darcy at the head of his daughter’s bed.

  Darcy’s face was black and blue still, with a hint of green and yellow. Her eyes were swollen, but not as much as they had been, Diane imagined. Her dark hair was neatly combed and fell like a curtain around her shoulders. Diane imagined her mother had combed it for her.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Diane.

  “Pretty good,” said Darcy. “A lot better than a few days ago.”

  Diane pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. “Everyone at the museum is thinking of you.”

  Darcy closed her eyes. Diane could see she was trying not to cry. Her father caressed her hair.

  “There are some things I need to tell you,” said Darcy, after a moment.

  “I’m listening,” said Diane.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” she said.

  “Just start at the beginning,” said her father. “We’re right here.”

  “I met Blake on campus,” said Darcy.

  Not that far back, thought Diane. But she listened.

  “I was giving a presentation at the library about exhibit planning. He was just . . . just so nice. I’ve never met anyone like him before. He was so interested in what I did, in the museum.”

  Her father cleared his throat in a derisive manner. Darcy threatened to tear up again.

  “Go on, honey,” said her mother.

  “I thought he was really interested in a museum career, I really did. I took him to all the departments and introduced him to all the collection managers. He asked all kinds of questions. I just thought I was so lucky to have met someone like him who was interested in the same things I was.”

  Diane could see from the way her father’s lips were pressed together in a grim frown that he was having to make an effort to keep from commenting.

  “I didn’t know about the dinosaur egg, I really didn’t.”

  “When did you find out?” asked Diane. Dinosaur egg? Diane wondered if that was the first item he stole.

  “About a month ago. The collection manager for the dinosaur fossils said she was missing a fossil raptor egg. I had taken some up to the preparation room where we were working on a fossil exhibit. I returned them all and hadn’t been back down, but I knew Blake had, so I asked him if he’d seen them.”

  Darcy stopped talking and Diane thought she was going to cry.

  “You need to go on and get this done,” said her father.

  Darcy’s lips trembled. “I loved him so much, I really did. I’ve never loved anyone like that before.”

  “What did he say when you asked him about the egg?” prompted Diane.

  “He confessed. He said I’d caught him, but he hadn’t meant any harm. He said it was just one egg that a collector friend wanted and the museum had so many. I told him he had to get it back. He said he couldn’t. The collector had already paid him for it and that he was connected with some bad people. They would beat him up if he tried to get it back.”

  Darcy’s father shook his head. Her mother rubbed the back of the hand she held on to. “It’s all right,” she said.

  “Go on,” said Diane. “Did you believe him?”

  Darcy’s eyes grew wide. “Yes. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

  “Darcy . . .” Her father couldn’t hold it in any longer. “He was lying to you the whole time. Why can’t you see that?”

  “You didn’t meet him, Dad. You didn’t know him like I did.”

  “Darcy . . . ,” he said again and shook his head.

  Diane could see his frustration. Darcy still didn’t know what Blake was. Her father had probably been trying to tell her.

  “Continue your story,” said Diane. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Darcy shook her head. “Just a week before the party he said the collector wanted some of the gemstones from Geology. He threatened him if he wouldn’t get them. Blake said he tried, but Dr. Seger had put some really strict protocols in place while he was gone. He couldn’t get near the vault. Shelly, the geology collection manager, is a stickler for carrying out Dr. Seger’s orders.”

  Diane noticed that she sounded a little resentful of Shelly, possibly because in her frame of mind right now, she saw Shelly as putting Blake in danger.

  “What did he do?” asked Diane. Though she knew what was coming.

  “He asked me to get them. He said he had to get the Van Ross diamond and several other gems or he’d be in real trouble. He was really scared. He said I could put some of the other gems in their place and no one would find out for a while. He said that would give him time to make things right.”

  Jesse Kincaid gave a derisive huff.

  “Daddy, it’s true.”

  “Then what happened?” asked Diane.

  “I did what he said. I was so afraid for him. I was supposed to bring them to the party and he would get them from me there.”

  “What happened?” asked Diane.

  “I got what he wanted, including the Van Ross diamond. I put them in a Ziploc bag . . . but I just couldn’t take them from the museum. When I was leaving I put them in a planter—the one with the really tall palm. They should still be there. I was going to tell him that I would go with him to the police or to his father to get help. They have a lot of money and if he was in trouble, I know they would help him out.”

  “Darcy, the guy was using you. Why can’t you see that?” said her father.

  She looked up at her father. “Daddy, I know you think that, but you didn’t know him.”

  “Darcy,” said Diane. “Listen to your father. He knows Blake Stanton far better than you.”

  Her eyes widened. “What do you mean? Dad’s never met him.”

  “He knows his type,” said Diane. She saw her father nodding his head.

  “You don’t understand . . . ,” began Darcy.

  “Darcy, besides being director of the museum, do you know what else I do?”

  “Yes, we all do. You’re director of the crime lab.”

  Her parents exchanged shocked glances.

  “Yes, and in that capacity we investigated Blake Stanton’s murder.”

  “The man who was threatening him killed him. He did it, and it’s my fault. If I had just given him the gemstones.” She started to cry.

  “Darcy.” This time Diane used her stern voice, the one that scared the herpetologist and the mayor. “I want you to listen to me. There was no such man. He didn’t exist.”

  “He must. Blake wouldn’t lie to me.” Her voice sounded in genuine anguish.

  “He didn’t just steal the dinosaur egg and the gems,” said Diane. “A Conus gloriamaris, eight Cypraea aurantium, and a giant whelk from Aquatics are missing. A Boloria improba acrocnema is missing from Entomology. You know how rare they are. In all, over thirty thousand dollars’ worth of museum items were stolen.”

  Darcy’s eyes grew wider and her mouth dropped open. “No. That can’t be.”

  Her parents were clearly stunned. Probably wondering now if it was a good idea for them to encourage their daughter to confess and take her medicine.

  “That’s not all. He was doing the same thing to the university. Rare books are missing, as well as money from the petty cash drawers of several departments. Darcy, your father is right: Blake Stanton was using you to gain access to valuable items. I know this hurts, but you can’t defend him. For your own sake, when the police question you, don’t defend him.”

  Darcy started sobbing. Diane felt guilty for being so harsh. Both her parents looked very concerned.

  “Darcy didn’t know about the other things,” said her mother.

  “You can see this guy was using her,” her father said. “The police will be able to see that.”

  Diane nodded. “Darcy, Blake’s behavior was typical of a s
ociopath. One of their special gifts is to get trusting people to believe them. He was a seriously disturbed young man and not worth the emotions you have invested in him.”

  “You didn’t know him; he was so nice to me,” said Darcy.

  Her father looked at the ceiling in frustration.

  “Darcy, honey,” said her mother.

  “Darcy,” said Diane, “after the explosion, all of us who lived near the house had to evacuate. While I was trying to leave, Blake came up from the explosion, pulled a gun on me, and tried to hijack my car. I was able to escape on foot, but he fired shots at me from a pistol he was carrying.”

  Her mother sucked in her breath.

  “Oh, God,” said her father. “I knew he was no good, Darcy.”

  “Is that true?” said Darcy.

  “Yes, it is. He was not a nice boy.”

  Darcy started to cry. Diane hoped she had gotten to her.

  “What are you going to do?” asked her father. “I believe my daughter didn’t know about the other thefts.”

  “So do I. What do you want, Darcy?” asked Diane.

  “I don’t know. I love working in the museum, I do. I’m sorry about the diamonds. They are in the planter, they really are.”

  “I know. They have been found. Darcy, I know you loved working at the museum, but you still broke not only my trust, but the trust of the people you work with.”

  “I know,” she said.

  Her mother patted her hand again. She looked so sad for her daughter.

  “However,” continued Diane, “if you are willing to become a docent, where you don’t have access to the museum vaults or exhibits, you can work your way up again and salvage your career in museums.”

  “You mean you won’t fire me?” said Darcy. She looked stunned.

  “No, I’m not firing you. You can work as a docent. If you choose to quit, you won’t get a letter of recommendation.”

  “Does everyone have to know?” asked Darcy. She looked around at all the flowers.

  “No, you can tell them you want to work with kids, if you want.”

  Darcy looked at both her parents. They smiled at her.

  “Thank you,” she said to Diane. “I appreciate a second chance, I really do. Why are you giving me one?”

  “There has been enough tragedy in the last couple of weeks. It needs to stop.”

  Diane bid Darcy good-bye and left her room. Her parents followed her out.

  Her father hitched up his pants by the belt and put his hands on his hips. Her mother laced her arm through his.

  “You’ve been more than fair with Darcy,” said her father. “Her mother and I thank you for that. She really is a good girl—I don’t understand how she could fall for that guy.” He shook his head.

  “Guys like Blake Stanton are good at conning people,” said Diane.

  “He certainly did a number on my little girl,” he said.

  “I hope Darcy continues to recover,” said Diane.

  “The doctors said she’s doing well. We’re real grateful for that. We’d like to take her home to convalesce when she’s released. Will that affect her job?” he asked.

  “No. She doesn’t have to come back until she’s well.”

  Diane left the hospital and drove to the museum. It was a relief to have the talk with Darcy over with. She had been dreading it ever since she found out that Darcy was Blake’s girlfriend. It had been a welcome surprise that she wanted to confess and showed true remorse. That made Diane’s job easier—and made it easier to give her a break. Now, if the other stolen items could just be recovered.

  The museum was opening for the day when she arrived. There were two big tour buses sitting in the parking lot. Diane liked seeing that, especially in this weather. Inside there was a long line at the ticket counter. Chaperoning a line of schoolchildren were several teachers and parents whom she recognized as having visited many times. And there were others who were vaguely familiar. She was glad to see so many repeat visitors.

  She crossed the lobby and headed for Aquatics. She wanted to tell Juliet that she had spoken with her grandmother.

  Chapter 39

  “Dr. Fallon.”

  The voice was one of the chaperones standing in line with a group of children. Damn. She didn’t want to be delayed right now. She smiled and walked over to him.

  “Dr. Thormond.”

  Diane held out her hand to the man standing with twenty or so third graders. Martin Thormond was a history professor she’d met on campus at one of her presentations for the museum. She knew he was angling to be one of the curators she recruited from the university, but his area of expertise wasn’t represented in the museum. The closest museum area to his expertise would be archaeology, and she already had an archaeology curator in Jonas Briggs.

  It was odd. When she first presented the idea of university professors serving as curators in exchange for providing them office and research space, it was met with a great deal of skepticism and downright snobbery in some cases. Now, apparently, curator at the RiverTrail museum had become a plum assignment.

  “It’s good to see you again,” said Diane. “I see you’ve been tagged for chaperone duty. One of these yours?”

  “Michael over there.”

  He pointed to a blond-headed kid making faces at two little girls, apparently seeing how wide he could stretch his mouth with his fingers.

  “Yep, that’s my pride and joy,” he said.

  He laughed and, at the same time trying to keep the rest of his wards in a straight line, caught a dark-headed boy about to make a break for it.

  “I tell you, I now have much more respect for a mother duck.”

  Diane laughed and muttered some comment about their energy. The level of noise was getting louder as more children arrived. Diane wondered where the docents were.

  Some girls in another line were saying tongue twisters to each other.

  “Say this,” one said. “She sells seashells at the seashore.”

  It was answered by another little girl with perfect pronunciation.

  “Now say it real fast.”

  That was harder and ended in a fit of laughter.

  “Try this real fast. Black bugs blood, black bugs blood.”

  That twister erupted in a tangle of words and laughter. The teachers joined in—“Around the rugged rock the ragged rascal ran.”

  It sounds as if they have a tongue twister for every department in the museum, thought Diane.

  Someone started the old favorite, “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.”

  An alliteration of p’s again, thought Diane. Why did that tug at her brain?

  “. . . totally unexpected and just so much more work.”

  Dr. Thormond was talking the whole time, and Diane didn’t have any idea what he was saying. She nodded, hoping a nod made sense.

  “None of us had a clue Dr. Keith was leaving,” he continued.

  Dr. Keith . . . history.

  “Are you talking about Shawn Keith?” asked Diane.

  “Yes. He’s left us in just the worst time. I’m having to take his classes,” said Dr. Thormond.

  “He lives in the basement of my apartment building,” said Diane. “I didn’t know he was moving.”

  “He caught everyone by surprise. I can’t believe he was job hunting all this time and none of us knew,” he said.

  While Dr. Thormond expressed annoyance at Dr. Shawn Keith’s abrupt departure, Diane was thinking about when she first saw Blake Stanton aiming his gun at Professor Keith’s car. All along she’d thought it was just an opportunistic encounter. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Blake had run to someone he knew and they got into some kind of argument and Blake pulled a gun on Keith. Someone at the university end had to help grease the way for Blake to steal things there. What if it was Keith?

  The docents in charge of the groups of children came and they started on their tour. Diane waved at Thormond as he left with his baby ducks, and she detoured up to her crim
e lab.

  Her crew was there. David was at the computer—Diane didn’t know if he was working on a case, one of his databases, or algorithms for working with databases. Neva was at a microscope and Jin was sitting by himself looking glum.

  “Those cigarette butts. I could’ve had my DNA lab,” he moaned.

  “Jin,” said Diane sharply, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get to work. Not everything is high-tech.”

  Jin jumped at the sound of her voice. “What do you mean, Boss?” he said.

  “You photographed the cigarette butts before you picked them up, didn’t you?” she asked.

  “Of course, I did,” he said, a trifle indignant.

  “Look at the photographs and find out what kind of cigarettes they are.” Diane stood over him, folding her arms over her chest.

  “How will that help us? You can’t nail down a single person with a brand. Hundreds . . . thousands, maybe millions of people will smoke the same brand.”

  “Jin, with those thinking skills, I’m not sure you deserve a DNA lab.”

  “Boss!” he cried.

  “Right now we don’t even have a list of suspects—forget about a perfect match. Get us a pool of possibles to work with.”

  “OK, I find out what kind of butts they are and then I get a list of everyone in Rosewood who smokes that brand?”

  “Jin, I’ve never seen you feeling this sorry for yourself,” said Diane.

  “I let someone sneak up on me,” he lamented.

  “You weren’t meant to hear, that’s why they were sneaking. Find a suspect population and then narrow it down. For example, we’re thinking the motive for McNair’s murder might be revenge for the deaths of the students. Who felt the deaths the most?”

  “The parents,” he said.

  “Who else?”

  Jin thought a minute. “The people who had to deal with it. Us.”

  “And I’m sure there are more. Where would members of those pools of suspects have been found lately . . . for long periods of time . . . smoking cigarettes?”

  Jin thought again. “The crime scene. Tent city,” he said.