Murder in the Museum_Edmund DeCleryk Mysteries

by Karen Shughart

  Chapter 7

  By 7 p.m. that night the snow had stopped, but the wind still howled through the village, rattling the unfallen leaves on the oak trees and twisting the branches of ancient maples into ghoulish silhouettes of human limbs.

  After a long, tense day, Ed and Annie, with Gretchen curled up in a little ball beside her, sat on oversized cocoa-colored leather chairs in their living room. Their legs stretched out on a huge matching ottoman, they chatted as they sipped glasses of Cabernet Franc purchased from a nearby Finger Lakes winery and nibbled on vegetable chips and a warm caramelized Vidalia onion dip that Annie had quickly assembled after leaving the museum that afternoon. They could hear the sea as it pitched its angry roar upwards toward the house and the waves as they slapped against the beach below them.

  Built for a ship’s captain in the mid-1800s, with a rooftop widow’s walk that was accessed by a spiral staircase leading up from the attic, the rambling cedar shingled home’s wide wrap-around porch faced the lake, with a detached two-bay garage, built in the 1960s to resemble a carriage house, located street side. Inside, the home featured 10-foot ceilings, a claw-foot tub in the main bathroom, original stained Douglas Fir floors, chestnut trim and doors, a large dining room, study, butler’s pantry, capacious eat-in kitchen, several bedrooms, and in the living room, built in bookcases flanking the fireplace, which now burned with a crackling fire.

  Ed asked Annie if she’d found anything missing at the museum.

  “I don’t think so but won’t know for sure until I’m able to check the inventory list in my computer at the museum. I had emailed myself a copy so that I’d have one here, but since Emily kept it current, the last time I did it was in April. It’s not really up to date,” Annie responded.

  “Once the techs are finished I’ll be able to call a couple of docents to help me put things back where they belong and will be able to print out the most recent list, but Luke said I’ll need to wait a while before doing that. I’m hoping nothing of value has been taken.”

  She smiled and changed the subject. “Inveterate match maker that I am, I wish we knew someone we could fix Luke up with. I want everybody to be as happy as we are, and he seems bright and is very attractive.”

  Ed laughed. “I expect every available young woman in the village has recognized that. He was at our meeting at the bistro this morning, and you should have seen Terri. She was so sweet she was practically turning into a lump of sugar before our eyes.”

  Annie grinned. “No surprise there. Terri has been seeking a suitable mate for years, and this village doesn’t have an abundance of men who would meet her standards. Did he express any interest in her?”

  “Not at all. But he’d been up most of the night and had just started investigating a horrible murder. I don’t think expanding his social life was on his agenda.”

  Annie nodded and continued, “Anyway, while I was looking to see if anything was missing at the museum, we talked a little. He wasn’t very talkative, probably because he was so focused on the task at hand, but I managed to pry out of him that he’s 33, from Connecticut, doesn’t have family here, and is a former Navy SEAL.”

  Getting up from his chair to put a few more logs in the fire, Ed turned to Annie and said, “Ben gave me his background at our meeting this morning, and it appears we might have some things in common. Why don’t you invite him over for dinner once things settle down? Since he doesn’t have any family in the area he might appreciate a home-cooked meal.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. I’ll talk with him about some dates he might be available,” Annie promised.

  Ed changed the subject. “Anyway, I’m glad nothing seems to be missing at the museum. I know you’ve got a lot of valuable historical pieces there.”

  “Fortunately, nothing was broken, although putting everything back in its place is going to be a real challenge.” She sighed. “I just can’t shake the image of Emily being killed. It’s horrible and so sad.”

  After pausing for a few seconds, she continued, “While I don’t think anything was taken, Ed, I did find something on the floor behind Emily’s desk I’d never seen before.”

  “Something you think might be pertinent to the case?”

  “I’m not sure. The back of one of my earrings fell off, so I squatted down to see if I could find it. I couldn’t see very well so I was running my hands along the edge of the area rug when I felt something partially hidden under it.”

  “What was it?”

  “A 14-carat gold ship’s anchor pendant with a trident down the center of the front. It was monogrammed with our initials. We monogram all our fine jewelry, but this was a little different than some of the others and a bit larger. It wasn’t in a box or plastic sleeve, so the logical explanation is that Emily had purchased it but hadn’t packaged it yet. I remember that’s one of the tasks she had planned to do this week. There was no chain with it which makes sense, since we sell those separately. I’m assuming it could have fallen off her desk during her altercation with the murderer.”

  “Yet you sound doubtful that it’s something she purchased for the gift shop. Did you show it to Luke?”

  “I did. For some reason, my instincts are telling me it could be related to Emily’s murder. When I handed it to him, he seemed very surprised. But then he said that the techs probably missed it during their first go around the building but probably would have found it when they went through it again. He decided that just in case it is evidence, he’d get it to Carrie to be analyzed. He had already taken his gloves off, but he said he’d let Carrie know that both our prints could be on it. Even if it’s too small for prints to show up, he said there could be hair or smudges from blood.”

  “Luke did the right thing by taking it to Carrie, but she didn’t say anything to me about it. Maybe you’re first assumption that Emily had purchased but had not had time to package it is correct, despite your uneasiness. Everyone’s a bit on edge right now.”

  “Did you find out anything when you interviewed the board members?” asked Annie.

  “Everyone’s in shock, especially Charles. They all respected Emily, but from what I could gather she was very private about her personal life, so no one, other than Suzanne, who was a good friend, knew that much about her.

  “Anyway,” Ed continued, “Suzanne told me there’s an estranged husband––an art dealer and gallery owner––living in Rochester. His name is Jonathan, and the gallery is located on Park Street. Emily told her the split was amicable, and that the divorce is not yet final.

  “She also told me Emily’s parents are dead and she was unaware of any siblings, so the husband may be the only surviving relative. The Rochester Democrat and Chronicle plus a couple TV stations picked up on the story from the police logs and wanted to run with it tonight, but Carrie got them to agree to not name the victim, pending notification to the family. I plan to go see him tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s interesting. I assumed she was already divorced. By the way, did you know Emily’s maiden name was Parisi?”

  “Parisi? Why is that name familiar to me?” Ed squinted, trying to remember, as he brought the glass of wine up to his lips and took a sip. Then his eyes opened wide in recognition as he glanced down at his glass. “Is Emily related to the Parisi family who owns the winery on Cayuga Lake where this wine was made?”

  Annie nodded. “The very same. The vintners were her parents, and she’s an heiress. Her parents are, as Suzanne told you, dead, but they didn’t die of natural causes. It’s a very sad story.

  “Several years ago, before Emily moved here, there was a tragic accident on Rt. 90. Emily’s parents were driving back from their summer home in Vermont and were hit by a drunk driver. Emily’s mom was killed instantly, and her dad was severely injured. He never recovered emotionally or physically and died some months later. It made all the papers.”

  “Now that you mention it, I do remember reading about that. How devastating that must have been for Emily.”

>   “There’s more to this story, Ed. Some months before the accident, the family was approached by Marchal Lacroix Vineyards, a French winemaker that wanted to acquire a winery in the States. Parisi Vineyards, as you may know, has been featured in Wine Spectator, Food and Wine, and The New York Times weekend magazine, and they’d won multiple awards for their Dry Riesling and Cabernet Franc. The Parisis sold out to Lacroix, made millions and retired. And then, of course, shortly after that they were killed.”

  “How do you know about this?” Ed asked.

  “Emily asked to meet privately with me about six months ago. She told me about her family history and that she wanted to create an endowment fund for the museum, but she wanted to do it anonymously. It was a significant amount of money. The interest alone would have paid for part of my salary and the upkeep on the building in perpetuity. She obviously had to take me into her confidence.”

  “How much money was she talking about?”

  Annie sighed. “Half a million dollars. We were working out the details through her attorneys, but I was sworn to secrecy. I couldn’t even tell other members of the board. Or you.”

  Ed stared at Annie in disbelief. “The museum is going to receive a $500,000 endowment, and you managed to keep it a secret from me? How could you not tell me? We tell each other everything.”

  “Believe me, Ed, it was really hard. But a promise is a promise. I was almost beside myself when Emily told me what she wanted to do, but I just couldn’t betray a confidence. Now of course it may never happen, but in the long run we are no worse off than we were before, and a lovely woman is dead. It’s so sad.”

  “So, there’s a possibility that the husband could inherit a huge sum of money,” Ed mused. “It would be nice to know what his financial situation is. If he has money problems, it maybe we now have our first person of interest.”

  Chapter 8

  The snow began falling again at around 3:00 the next morning, and by the time the DeCleryks were up and moving at 7:00 a.m. there were several more inches on the ground. Ed told Annie that despite the storm he planned to go into Rochester later that morning to talk with Jonathan Bradford.

  “Aren’t you going to call before you go? It’s a long drive into Rochester. What if he’s not there?” asked Annie.

  “I called yesterday and spoke with his receptionist, pretending to be a collector. I told her I was interested in looking at some sculpture to purchase and wanted to know if the owner would be at the studio today. She said he was out of town for a meeting, but he’d be back this morning. I’ll call around 9:00 just to make sure the gallery isn’t closed because of the snow. If it is, then I’ll see if I can track him down another way.”

  “Why don’t you consider packing an overnight bag? This weather is crazy, and if it keeps on snowing you may have trouble getting home tonight.”

  “Annie, you know as well as I do that our SUV will get me into Rochester and back here without any problems.”

  “I do, but I’d still feel better if you would take along a change of clothes, just in case. You never know where your interview with Jonathan Bradford will lead you, and you might be in the city longer than you expect. Once it gets dark, even with diligent snow removal efforts on the highways, the back roads to Lighthouse Cove could be very icy.”

  Ed sighed. “Point well taken. I’ll pack a bag because I don’t want you to worry, but expect me home by dinnertime. I’ll call if that changes. What are you planning to do today?”

  “I thought I’d go into the basement of the museum to look through some of the boxes that are stored there that I haven’t had time to go through since taking this job. Just after Donna resigned to go back to England and right before I started, she told me about them and said they might contain archived materials, and I use the term ‘archived’ loosely. She never had time to go through them either, and for all I know they could be filled with paper goods left over from cookouts and picnics or crafts’ materials from summer camp. Since I can’t do much of anything else right now, I figured I could at least start that project.”

  “It seems a bit premature for you to go there today, Annie. The building is still a crime scene, and as Luke told you, the techs will probably search the building one last time just to make sure they didn’t miss anything. That’s why Luke didn’t want you to start putting things away just yet. I’m also concerned about you being by yourself. There’s always the possibility the intruder could return at some point to search for whatever it was he was after, and I want you to be safe.”

  “Ed, whoever did this isn’t going to come back to the site in broad daylight,” argued Annie impatiently. “I can’t imagine the techs will find any additional fingerprints and hair samples that haven’t already been collected,”

  Ed responded, “Why don’t you check with Carrie first to make sure she’s okay with your being there today, and if she is, ask her if she’d let Luke come with you. I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe, and Luke can let you know if he and the techs are finished.”

  “Ed, I mentioned to Luke that I might want to go into the basement today, and he didn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

  “Did he actually tell you he had no problem with your being there? That’s hard for me to believe.”

  “Well, not exactly. He kind of grunted, and in fairness he did seem a bit preoccupied and probably really wasn’t listening all that carefully to what I said. Still, I can’t imagine it would be a problem. I can wear gloves if necessary, so I don’t contaminate anything with my fingerprints.”

  “Annie, those boxes could be heavy, and the basement is probably cold and dirty, but there’s no way you’ll be cleared to look at them in your office just yet. If Carrie agrees that you can go into the building today maybe Luke could help you bring them back here where you can work at your leisure without my worrying about you.”

  Annie sighed. “Fine. I’ll call Carrie, but just because you’re asking. Hopefully she’ll agree and let Luke come with me. Be safe, and call me when you can.”

  Chapter 9

  The drive into downtown Rochester across Irondequoit Bay was easier than Ed expected. The snow was still falling, but department of transportation workers driving oversized snow removal trucks were out in numbers, keeping the roads mostly clear.

  Ed found a parking spot in front of Gallery 21, and at just a few minutes after 10 a.m., walked up four steps to the entrance of the red brick Federal-style building that stood hip-to-hip with others on the tree-lined street. A large black door with a brass lion’s head knocker was bordered on either side by a glass and black iron coach lamp, and shiny black shutters flanked the two mullioned windows located to the right of the front door and the four identical windows on the second story.

  Inside the gallery, glossy black walls with white trim and polished pickled oak hardwood floors created a dramatic framework for the artwork, which consisted of several pieces of metal sculpture displayed on clear acrylic pedestals, plus black and white photos and colorful abstracts, illuminated from above by subdued recessed lighting.

  A stunning, slender, tall young woman with arresting emerald green cat’s eyes and wavy flame-colored hair cascading down to her waist rose from a clear acrylic chair that sat behind an eight-foot rectangular stainless-steel table. She was dressed head to toe in black: mini-dress, tights, knee-high boots and large dangling enameled hoop earrings.

  “Hi, may I help you?” she asked. “My name is Sophie.”

  Ed, who was dressed in business attire, replied, “Sophie, my name is Ed DeCleryk. I called yesterday about wanting to meet with Jonathan Bradford today. Is he available?”

  “I remember your call, Mr. DeCleryk,” she replied, with a warm, wide smile. “He’s on his way. He was in Buffalo when the storm hit and decided to spend the night. I’m glad he did because I was very concerned about his safety,” she said with warmth and caring in her voice.

  “He phoned a little while ago and told me some of the main highways weren’t able to be
cleared until this morning, so he got a later start back than he expected.

  “If you’d care to wait, he should be here within the next several minutes. Can I offer you some coffee or tea? I also have some wonderful croissants and muffins from the bakery next door. They’re still warm.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll just wander around and look at the sculpture until he gets here.”

  “There are three more rooms behind this one. Let me know if you have any questions or if any of the pieces interest you, and I’ll be sure to let Jon know you’re here when he arrives.”

  About ten minutes later, a slim-hipped, broad-shouldered man just over six-feet tall, wearing gray flannel slacks, a black mock-turtleneck sweater, black worsted wool sports coat and shiny black tasseled leather loafers, ambled through the entrance from the front exhibit space.

  Smiling with his hand extended, he said, “Good morning, Mr. DeCleryk. I just got here, and Sophie told me you wanted to see me. I’m Jon Bradford. How may I help you?”

  The handsome gallery owner appeared to be his mid-to-late 40s, had short, shiny black hair combed back away from his forehead, aquamarine-colored eyes fringed with long, dark lashes and a well-tended dark stubble covering his sculpted, finely-boned face. Despite his sophisticated appearance, his smile was warm and genuine, and his eyes were gentle.

  “Good morning, Mr. Bradford. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

  “Sophie said you were interested in purchasing some sculpture. Why do we need to speak privately?”

  “Please indulge me,” Ed said. “I’d prefer discussing business somewhere other than this lobby.”

  Jon glanced at Sophie with a quizzical look and politely said, “Of course. My office is in the back. Please come this way.”

  On their way through the gallery spaces Ed put a hand on Jon’s shoulder and stopped walking. “I’m so sorry for the subterfuge, but I’m not a collector,” he said quietly. “I’m the retired police chief from Lighthouse Cove and want to talk with you about a case I’ve been hired by the current chief to work on as a criminal consultant. It’s personal, and I didn’t want to tell Sophie about the reason for my call.” Ed pulled out his identification and handed it to Jon.