As she spoke, she looked across at the hallway connecting to the opposite overlook. Dr. Annette Lymon had just rounded the corner facing Diane and went into the staff lounge. She usually worked for an oil company in the summers, so Diane was surprised to see her. But it was nearing the start of fall term at Bartram, so perhaps she had just gotten back. In any case, Diane was surprised to see her in the museum.
“Try not to worry,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight-it may be late. Call me when you get home.”
“I will.”
Diane slipped her cell back in her pocket, walked around the overlook and headed down the hallway to the lounge. By the time she reached the doorway, she’d rearranged her face into a welcoming smile that she hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt. She didn’t want to alert Lymon that she was under investigation, but she did want to stop the rumor that Mike had abused his former girlfriend.
Annette Lymon was standing in front of the candy vending machines, rattling one of the knobs. She raked her hands through her auburn hair to get it out of her face. She was a lean woman with toned muscles and a tan from spending time outdoors. She appeared to Diane to be in her forties, but Diane found the older she got, the harder it was to estimate age-at least in a living person. Dr. Lymon wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and brown trousers. To Diane she looked vaguely as if she might have been going horseback riding.
“Dr. Lymon,” said Diane. “I’m glad I saw you.”
Annette Lymon looked at her and frowned, then smiled thinly, smoothing out the lines around her lips. “Yes, I needed to speak with you too. But, please, what did you want?”
The woman looked haggard, her face drawn. She smelled of cigarette smoke. Diane hoped she had been doing her smoking outside. Probably so, because if the collection manager had ever caught her smoking in the museum, she’d definitely have told Diane about it.
“Neva, one of my crime scene specialists, came to me with a disturbing story you told her about Mike.” Diane paused and watched Dr. Lymon’s lips turn up in what looked like gratification.
“I was concerned about her welfare.”
“And I wanted to thank you for your concern and put your mind at ease.”
“Oh?”
Diane measured her words carefully. “I have personal knowledge of the circumstances of his last girlfriend. Mike was not abusing her. I know for certain who was. Mike tried to help her; so did I.”
Annette Lymon’s lips turned down again. She gave the knob on the machine another jerk and a candy bar dropped into the tray.
“I thought it was important for you to know that,” finished Diane.
Lymon grabbed up her candy. “Did you? Well, I’m glad. I hated to think that of him.”
“You needn’t. Mike is a fine young man.”
“I had to terminate his assistantship.”
“Is that so?” said Diane. It was an effort making sure anger didn’t show on her face. Even so, her own words sounded harsh to her ears. Dr. Lymon didn’t seem to notice, for she went on talking without missing a beat.
“He just doesn’t work as hard as he should, and there are others who really need the assistantship who will do the work.”
“I’m surprised to hear that. I’ve heard nothing but good things about Mike from the geology collection manager.”
“She’s female, isn’t she? Females tend to like Mike.” Dr. Lymon eyed Diane up and down.
Please, you can be more subtle than that, thought Diane as she smiled grimly at her. “Everyone likes Mike. Males and females. I’ve gotten reports of his work not only from the collection manager, but from the exhibit planners and other staff as well. I pretty much know who in the museum works and who doesn’t. His work on the Journey to the Center of the Earth exhibit has been exemplary.”
“But that’s just play, isn’t it? It’s not real geology, and that’s his problem.”
“It’s instructional work and research, the kind of work we do here. However, we don’t need to argue the merits of research versus fieldwork. You wanted to see me about something?”
Dr. Lymon glared at Diane a moment before she spoke. “Yes. I’ve been appointed head of the Geology Department.”
“Congratulations.” Diane’s smile was getting harder to maintain.
“I’m going to be making some changes. This. . ” She made a broad gesture with her arm. “This relationship the department has with the museum isn’t working out for us as well as it has for you, I’m afraid, so I’m cutting it out of next year’s budget.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“The extra lab space is nice, of course, but splitting my time between two labs just makes more work. And the office space is terribly small. I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but it’s the best thing for the Geology Department.”
“I understand completely. It’s not an inconvenience for us.”
“I didn’t want to leave on bad terms.”
Throughout the conversation, Diane tried to gauge whether Annette Lymon was the type of person to knife someone. It struck her as odd that not once during the conversation did she mention Mike’s being in the hospital. Maybe she didn’t know, but the news was all over the museum.
It was a good place to end the conversation; there were suddenly several voices in the hallway, and it looked like they were about to have company.
“We almost had him the other day.”
Diane recognized the voice of Spence Mitchell, the herpetologist. He rounded the corner with Jonas Briggs, the archaeologist, and Sylvia Mercer, the zoologist, and came face-to-face with Diane. He stopped abruptly and smiled weakly, rubbing a nervous hand over his bald head. Diane knew he dreaded seeing her.
“I was just telling Dr. Mercer and Dr. Briggs that we almost had our snake.”
Against Diane’s better judgment, she had allowed the herpetologist to put in a live exhibit when the museum opened last year. Unfortunately, one of the live exhibits, a black snake, Elaphe obsoleta, had escaped and taken up residence in the museum walls and cabinets, showing himself at inopportune times.
“Almost?” said Diane.
He shrugged as if to say, Almost is as close as we’ve gotten so far.
“What I don’t understand,” said Diane, “is why he doesn’t go outside.”
“Well, uh, I’m not sure.” He smiled brightly. “But I’ll bet we don’t have any rodents in the museum.”
“Small compensation.” As Diane spoke to the herpetologist she noticed Dr. Sylvia Mercer eyeing Dr. Lymon, who had just grabbed a Coke from another machine and was now hurrying out of the lounge.
The herpetologist nodded at Diane and backed away toward the candy machine, followed by Jonas, who was laughing. Sylvia Mercer stopped in front of Diane.
“I need to speak with you. I should have sooner. Can we talk somewhere?”
Chapter 16
Diane led Sylvia Mercer to her osteology lab office. Sylvia flexed her hands, rubbed them together and sat down in the stuffed burgundy chair.
“I haven’t seen this office.” Her gaze traveled around the sparsely decorated room, finally resting on the watercolor of a gray wolf. “Canis lupes,” she said in almost a whisper, as if she were practicing her memory of taxonomy. “That’s a very nice watercolor.”
“Thank you,” said Diane. “It was painted by a friend.”
Sylvia was a zoologist from Bartram University and one of the part-time curators. She was a slender woman, athletic and energetic, though this evening all her energy seemed to be of the nervous kind. She was wearing her lab work clothes-jeans and a T-shirt-and had her midlength brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Since she’d helped Diane solve the murder of Frank’s friends by helping excavate and identify a mass grave of animal bones, she and Diane had become friends of sorts.
“You wanted to talk to me about something?” Diane said.
She hoped she hadn’t sounded curt, but she was tired and her damned cut was hurting again.
&n
bsp; If Sylvia noticed her abruptness she didn’t let on. She seemed to be searching the room for something to talk about. There was nothing else for her eyes to rest on but the gray wolf, and Diane thought she was going to mention it again, perhaps tell her something about wolves in order to avoid whatever topic had brought her here. Instead, Sylvia finally brought her gaze back to Diane.
“I’m very ashamed of what I’m about to tell you.”
“Sylvia, you’ve never been shy or reticent. You’re acting like my herpetologist. Did you lose a snake?”
Sylvia smiled briefly, then reverted to a frown again. “I wish it were that simple. It’s something I should have come to you about when it happened.” She took a deep breath, as if about to dive into cold water. “One evening about a month ago I was out of microscope slides. I knew Mike always keeps plenty, so I walked up to the geology lab. I arrived there just in time to see Annette grab a handful of Mike’s most private parts.”
Diane arched an eyebrow.
“Poor guy, he was as stunned as I was,” said Sylvia. “Fortunately, they didn’t see me-or maybe it wasn’t fortunate. She would have stopped if she had known I was there. He tried backing away, but she apparently had a good hold on him through his Dockers and he was backed up against the cabinets. He, uh, asked her to let go, but. . ” Sylvia’s gaze darted around the room again. “This is just shit; I hate this.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Mike was quite restrained. He could have knocked her on her ass. Anyway, he asked her what the hell she was doing. She told him to not look so shocked, that this was the kind of thing guys dream about, and to come home with her and she would show him the best time he’d ever had.” Sylvia looked away for a moment and shook her head. “Mike told her he was seeing someone. She told him she didn’t want a relationship-these are her words-she just wanted a ‘good, hard fuck.’ That clearly was the last straw for Mike. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand away and told her that what she was doing wasn’t appropriate. Man, she got angry, I mean really angry. I couldn’t make out everything she said, but it sounded like she said he owed her.” Sylvia let out a deep breath. “I was appalled, but I didn’t report her, and I’m ashamed of that.”
Diane leaned forward with her elbows on her desk. “Why didn’t you?”
“She’s got tenure and is better connected than I am. Frankly, I was scared. I rationalized that Mike was a guy and it wasn’t a big deal for guys-and I felt sorry for her.”
That surprised Diane. “Sorry for her? Why?”
“Did you know her husband? Ransford Lymon, bigwig in chemistry?”
“I’ve never met him.”
“He ran off with his twenty-four-year-old graduate student about three months ago. Up until then, Annette thought he was a devoted husband. It turned out he’d been planning his escape for months. Got a position at a university in California, had everything in place before he left with his nymphet and their bank account. Annette was beside herself. She canceled her work with the oil company this summer. For a month she barely left her house. I’ve never heard of her doing anything like this business with Mike before, and believe me, Bartram is a hotbed of gossip. I think she just wanted to stop feeling old and used up, and there was Mike and that crooked, dimpled smile of his.”
Sylvia stopped talking a moment. Diane thought she was about to get up and leave, the way her hands were perched on the arms of the chair, but instead she slumped forward, looking defeated.
“I know this is hard,” said Diane.
“Hard and embarrassing.” She shook her head. “I had convinced myself that Annette just felt safe with Mike because she knew him so well, and that it was harmless. Then I heard she pulled his assistantship. God, the sleepless nights I had over that.”
“Why didn’t you come forward then?”
“Same reason. Annette is a member of the tenure approval committee for the university. I had the support of my department, but I needed hers.”
“And now?”
“And now I have my letter of tenure. It arrived today-and there’s Mike in the hospital. He’s had so much bad luck in the past few months-getting shot, stabbed, sexually harassed, losing his assistantship. And with all that, he is always cheerful. I’d made up my mind to come forward even if I didn’t get tenure. I’m so sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”
Diane was sorry too. But she didn’t say it. “I appreciate your telling me now.”
“Maybe something can be done about his assistantship. I know it’s already been awarded to someone else, but. .”
“I think things will work out.” Diane started to ask her if she thought that Annette Lymon could have stabbed them, but stopped. She’d put David on the task, and he had his own ways of investigating. Asking questions now would only interfere.
Diane stood, and Sylvia rose with her. It was then that Sylvia noticed Diane’s bandaged arm. “Are you hurt?”
Diane rubbed her upper arm. “Whoever stabbed Mike got me too. Apparently the knife was so sharp that neither of us noticed it at first.”
“Oh, my God. I hadn’t heard. What kind of maniac is out there? It makes me afraid to walk to my car.”
“I think it was just some nut at the funeral. But you should ask one of the security guards to walk you to your car. They don’t mind.”
Diane walked to the door with Sylvia and again locked her osteology lab, retracing her steps back across the overlook and past the staff lounge. At the elevator she met Jin and David getting off.
“You want me to take you home?” asked David. “I’ll drive your SUV and Jin can follow in mine.”
Diane thought for a moment. She could drive, but her arm hurt and she was tired, and it would be an opportunity to tell David about her conversation with Sylvia. “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”
She looked at her watch it was just after eight. It was too late to go by the hospital to visit Mike. Too bad; she was looking forward to telling him of her decision to accept his proposal. It would have to wait until morning. On the way to her house she told David about Sylvia’s confession.
“That lets Neva off the hook,” said David. “Now that you have heard the story from another source.”
“She’ll be relieved.” Diane sighed. “Maybe this is the first time Dr. Lymon has done such a thing. Maybe it was triggered by her husband leaving.”
“That’s possible,” said David. “You still want this investigation to be on the QT?”
“Yes. For now let’s keep it that way.”
Diane was getting drowsy sitting in the passenger seat of a moving vehicle. If she laid her head back, she’d probably fall asleep. Her thoughts kept going to her bed at home and the crisp, clean sheets she’d put on that morning.
“Are the detectives making any headway in the funeral stabbings?” Diane realized as she said it that she still talked about it as if she weren’t one of the victims. David chuckled. She supposed it did sound funny.
“No. But I imagine it’ll take a while to talk to everyone who attended the graveside service.” David pulled up to the curb in front of Diane’s apartment, and Jin pulled in behind them. David looked up at the old building. “Why don’t you move and get away from your creepy neighbors?” he said.
Diane followed his gaze. “But that means I couldn’t entertain you with stories about them.” She opened the door and started to get out.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” said David. He stopped abruptly and looked at Diane. “Did your neighbors go to the funeral?”
Diane returned David’s look of dawning apprehension. Her elderly neighbors’ hobby was attending funerals-even funerals of strangers.
“I don’t know. They must have. It was the type of funeral that would be of interest to them. You know, they like to give a running critique of funerals to anyone who will listen.”
“Maybe I’ll visit them tomorrow,” said David. “Unless you’d rather speak with them?”
“They don’t really like me. They may ope
n up more to you. But I don’t know if they came to the graveside service afterward.”
“I’ll find out.”
David walked Diane up the staircase to her door. Just as she was about to put in the key, it opened. Diane was startled. David stepped in front of her.
“Hey, guys. Uncle Frank asked me to come and spend the night. I brought pizza, in case you’re hungry. It’s warming in the oven,” said a very familiar young voice.
“Star,” said Diane. Star, Frank’s adopted daughter, stood in the middle of the room grinning happily.
“I’ll leave you guys to your pizza,” said David, putting his hand over his heart and shaking his head.
“Thanks, and thank Jin for me,” Diane called after him. She stepped inside the apartment, then locked and bolted the door behind her.
“You sit down and rest,” said Star. “I’ll get the pizza.”
Diane didn’t have the heart to tell her she wasn’t hungry and that all she really wanted to do was go to bed. Frank had adopted Star when her parents, who were his best friends, and younger brother were murdered. The police had thought Star had killed her family, and Diane had helped clear her. Though now his daughter, she still called him Uncle Frank like she always had when her parents were alive. Diane’s latest contribution to Star’s upbringing was the somewhat rash offer to take her to Paris and buy her a new wardrobe if she would go to college for at least one year and make a 2.7 grade point average. Star, who just a few months ago was adamantly against going to college, would be starting at Bartram in the fall.
“It was nice of you to come over,” said Diane.
“It’ll be fun. Like a slumber party. We’ll stay up and you can tell me all about how you got hurt. How’s Mike? He’s the real cute guy, isn’t he?” Her dark eyes sparkled.
“We have a lot of real cute guys at the museum. But yes, I think you met him on one of your visits. He’s a geologist.”
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