Lochlan Museum: The Case of the Collectible Killer

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  It took longer to get to church than she anticipated, maybe because she spent more time admiring nature, than she did hurrying. By the time she snuck in the door, services were well underway. She chose a seat at the back, and joined in the singing.

  During the sermon, the pastor referenced the latter part of verse twenty-nine in Romans, chapter two, “And a person with a changed heart seeks praise from God, not from people.” It felt as though God orchestrated that sermon and included that verse in order to remind her.

  As soon as services ended, she ducked out the back.

  She was on foot, and had to get to work! Her haste had nothing to do with protecting her injured pride. She took the verse to heart, and pondered it as she hurried across the street and down the sidewalk toward downtown.

  The sidewalk was damp, and the scent of rain was strong. It must’ve been a brief shower, because it was all blue skies again. If that changed before she could get home… maybe the corner drugstore sold umbrellas.

  Claire reached the crosswalk at the next two-way stop, and stopped. Not because she was in a car, but because on the right-hand side of the street, on the other side of the next intersection, she saw a rock and wrought iron wall. Beyond it, loomed the back of Lochlan Museum.

  Like the walls that surrounded it, the museum was built of stone. Tall narrow towers, their roofs sharply pitched, rose into the sky above the multi-story building. The windows which decorated its walls differed in shape and size, adding to its character. It was easy to imagine it was once a castle in days gone by, but the cross at the top of the highest tower hinted at its original identity.

  Claire crossed first one street, then the other, then followed the sidewalk toward the front of the museum.

  The branches of the ornamental trees that grew on the other side of the wall, bobbed under the weight of the birds who chirped there ecstatically. The raindrops caught by the leaves were scattered with each movement, anointing the wrought iron and stone wall, the sidewalk, and Claire. She laughed a little as she shielded her face with her hands, and hurried around the corner to the front.

  Even more awe-inspiring was this view of the building. Every detail was etched in Claire’s mind after the hours she spent pouring over online photos, but they couldn’t capture the play of light on its stone walls and windows, as a faint wisp of a cloud passed between the sun and earth. They couldn’t capture the scents and sounds, or impart the excitement she felt as she turned in at the wrought iron gate and hurried up the stone path to the massive double doors.

  As Claire reached for the brass handle, the door suddenly swung open.

  “You must be Claire,” said the friendly-looking middle-aged woman on the other side. Her short, soft curls were dark, and tinged with silver.

  “That’s me,” Claire smiled, reaching out to shake hands. “I’m Claire Davis.”

  “And am I ever glad to see you, Claire Davis,” the woman smiled, giving her hand a firm shake. She ushered Claire inside and locked the door behind them, then turned swiftly and led Claire past the ticket counter and gift shop, and down a long hall. “I’m Tammy Smith, we’ve talked on the phone. I’m the HR department, you could say. Also bookkeeper, office assistant, and sometimes I woman the ticket counter, sweep up, arrange exhibits, tear-down exhibits… Job responsibilities tend to do some shifting around here, depending on who’s in and who’s out. I’m happier to hand your job over to you than I can begin to tell, not that it’s not interesting enough, and has its benefits…”

  Claire listened as she looked all around her in awe.

  The inside of the building lived up to the outside. Sunlight filtered in through the tall, narrow, stained glass windows lining one side of the corridor. On the other, arched doorways opened onto other rooms, additional corridors, and a set of stairs. Tapestries hung on the walls between the arches. She stared at the light fixtures hanging from the vaulted ceiling, amazed at how lifelike the candles and their gently flickering flames appeared. Carved molding lined the windows, doorways, and separated the stone walls from the dark wood floor.

  Claire’s heart thrilled with excitement once again as she took in this small fraction of the building that was Lochlan Museum. Last week it felt as though today would never get here. Now here it was, and it amazed her anew, that this beautiful place was where she’d spend her days.

  “…just in time,” Tammy said cheerfully, and Claire reigned in her thoughts, and focused on the conversation at hand. Tammy led Claire through an employees only door, and down a set of stairs. “We had several deliveries last week. Like I said, I am so glad to see you!”

  Tammy laughed, and Claire laughed along. She had no idea what was funny, but something must be.

  The door at the foot of the stairs opened onto a large room. A big rolling door occupied a portion of one wall. Beside it, stood a door of ordinary dimension. Between the two, a small video monitor kept tabs on the parking lot on the other side. High windows allowed natural light to join that of the fluorescent bulbs that brightly illuminated the area. The labeled shelves that lined two of the walls and the tables that occupied half of the floor space, were piled with a conglomeration of items. A variety of furniture, varying greatly in style, genre, and quality, filled the other side of the room.

  It was enough to put to flight anyone averse to flea markets and garage sales. Claire however, was not one of those people. Her brown eyes shone as they raced over the assorted items, separating trash and ordinary household articles, from treasure.

  “This is wonderful!” she said, eager to begin. “Where do I start?”

  “Anywhere you want,” Tammy replied. “I’m glad to see you’re not ready to run for the door from this hoarder’s mess. That’s what it looks like to me, anyway. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Mr. Lochlan so he can orient you, and get back to Mrs. Lochlan. She’s a little under the weather, and didn’t make the trip. I know he’s anxious to be on the road.”

  “Is she okay?” Claire asked, her eyebrows knitting.

  “She’s expecting,” Tammy said, leading Claire through the room to another door, and down a hall. “They’ve been waiting a long time for this baby, and her pregnancy hasn’t been easy. I’m sure they’d appreciate all the prayers they can get.”

  “Of course,” Claire said. She wondered how Tammy knew she was a Christian, or if she did. Then she remembered her cross pendant.

  “I did see that,” Tammy replied, as Claire touched it. “I also saw a young girl who looked just like you, blast out the back of the church like she was shot out of a gun, as soon as it ended.”

  Claire laughed at that, and Tammy smiled.

  “My car wouldn’t start this morning. I knew I’d have to walk, and I didn’t want to be late.”

  “Do you live far?” Tammy asked in concern.

  “No, not at all,” Claire hurried to assure her. “The museum is closer to my house than the church is. It’s a short walk. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Well… alright, then,” Tammy replied. “You let me know if you ever want a ride, though. To work, or church.”

  “That’s really sweet of you. I will,” Claire smiled.

  They reached the door at the end of the hall. Tammy knocked once, then opened it and ushered Claire inside.

  The room was lit by the three tall, narrow, arched windows on the opposite wall. A conference table and chairs sat to one side, and three comfortable seats sat facing the large desk in front of the windows. Behind the desk sat Mr. Lochlan. Claire recognized him from his website photo. He smiled as he stood to shake hands, but there was underlying concern in his brown eyes. She was sure she knew why.

  “Miss Davis, welcome aboard,” he said cordially.

  “Thanks, I’m really glad to be here,” she replied. He motioned for her to follow him, and she and Tammy did. He led them back down the hallway, to the sorting room.

  “As Tammy may have told you, I’m kind of in a rush. I don’t want to cut your orientation short, so I’ve asked one o
f our other employees to give you the royal tour of the museum itself.”

  “That’s great, thank you,” Claire replied.

  “As we discussed over the phone, each item in our warehouse must be assigned to one of four groups. Display, sell, donate, or toss. After the glowing recommendation your previous employer gave, I have no doubt you can manage most of what comes up. If there’s any doubt, text me a photo and Mrs. Lochlan and I will have a look.”

  “It’s not easy to come by someone with your experience,” Tammy chimed in.

  “No, it isn’t, not someone who’s willing to relocate,” Mr. Lochlan agreed. “There are those in Juniper Creek who enjoy garage sales, but that isn’t the same as working as a buyer for an antique store.”

  “I love searching for hidden treasures,” Claire replied. “I loved my job, but I think this will be even more fun.”

  “Good,” Mr. Lochlan smiled. He came to a stop next to one of the sorting room tables, so Tammy and Claire did too. He motioned to a group of shelves along one wall, labeled donate. “Museum employees are free to choose from anything on the donate shelves. It’s first come, first serve.”

  “That’s the job perk I was talking about,” Tammy added.

  “You’re right, it is,” Mr. Lochlan agreed. “Based on your experience, I’m confident no items of historical value will end up in the antique pile, or any antiques in the donate pile. We’ve had some trouble with that in the past. I believe it was lack of knowledge, rather than dishonesty, which led to it. Now that you’re here, I think it’s safe to bring in someone to assist. You’ll make the final call on each item, unless you’re uncertain about something. In which case, contact me, as I said.”

  “I’ll do that,” Claire replied.

  “Great,” Mr. Lochlan smiled. He took a keyring out of his pocket. “This key opens that door, which leads to the employee parking lot and delivery area. The second key opens the door at the base of the stairs, and the one at the top. Tammy will see that you have a security enabled ID before you leave. Swipe it as you come and go, and it will allow you to enter and exit without setting off the alarm. All the doors to the sorting room lock automatically, so keep your ID with you at all times. Consider yourself in charge of sorting, Miss Davis. You have the criteria by which to judge whether an item is of historical value. You’ll notice the sliver of a shelf set aside for museum-worthy items. We don’t find a lot of those. But, we do find antiques and collectibles. Their sale allows us to purchase and perform exchanges with other participating museums. This department brings in more revenue than ticket sales, so never underestimate the value of your contribution to Lochlan Museum’s success. The relevant names and numbers for donation pick-up and the antique store are in this notebook, along with the answers to other questions you may have. Use the iPad next to the notebook to take photos before pick-up. If you have any concerns, be sure and let me or Tammy know.”

  “Yes sir,” Claire said, and he smiled again, probably because they weren’t all that far apart in age. But, he was the boss! So sir, it was.

  “Tammy, when Joe gets here, see that he gives Miss Davis a tour of the museum.”

  “Will do,” Tammy replied.

  “Excellent. Then I will leave the museum in your capable hands,” he said, including both of them in his smile.

  “You do that. Now get out of here, I know you’re itching to get back to your wife,” Tammy said, shooing him away.

  “It’s that obvious, huh?” he grinned. “I am, and I’m out of here. It was nice meeting you, Miss Davis.”

  “You too,” Claire replied, and he was gone. She turned to the tables which were piled high, and her fingers itched to get started. “How much time do I have before Joe gets here?”

  “You’re cut out for this, for sure,” Tammy declared with a smile. “Maybe thirty minutes. Go ahead, get started. I’ll bring him back when he does.”

  “Great, thank you!” Claire replied.

  Tammy exited the sorting area, and Claire looked through her purse. There were indeed treasures here, but… there was also trash. She found the fitted gloves she placed there for this very purpose, and put them on.

  She began systematically decreasing the number of items on the first table, and increasing those on the shelves. And, adding generously to the wheeled trash can.

  On the one hand, it was a little strange that people would go to the trouble of driving to the museum to donate trash, rather than tossing it in their own dumpster. But, chances were good that those people dropped off out of desperation, once their donate piles reached critical mass. They didn’t want to take the time to sort through it all, they just wanted to get rid of it. That created more work for Claire, but it also increased the chances of finding something of value, forgotten inside those piles.

  That did not include the ancient coffee filter and grounds, she thought, giving it a dubious look as she carefully removed it from the table and dropped it in the trash can. Or the orange peel. What was this, someone got their trash and donate piles confused? Ick! She was thankful her new home had a washer and dryer. She might be employing them to cleanse her gloves on a daily basis. The ordinary, run of the mill flea market and garage sale didn’t offer such… diverse merchandise.

  Oh my word. Was that…

  In the midst of all the trash, Claire saw something sparkle. She moved aside the eggshells and apple core, and picked up a ring.

  The glittering stone was set in fourteen karat gold, meaning chances were good that it was a diamond, rather than a cubic zirconia. Someone lost their engagement ring, by the looks of it. Or else they had a super-bad break-up.

  Claire took a picture of the ring with her phone, then cautiously scaled the exhibit shelf and lay it on top, and out of sight of all but the freakishly tall. She had no idea what the Lochlans would want to do with it, so… until she had a chance to ask, that was where it would stay.

  It was a great example of why she was willing to go through an entire bag of trash, she thought, consigning the last item to the dumpster. She replaced the lid, wheeled it in front of the rolling door, and wheeled over an empty can. She also cleaned the now-emptied section of table with Clorox wipes!

  There was a lot less trash now. There wasn’t much treasure, but there were plenty of donate-worthy objects. Claire sorted through them efficiently, and added them to the appropriate shelves. On one, she spied an adorable ceramic clock. It was rectangular in shape, though the top arched to follow the curve of the face. The front, back, and sides, were printed and glazed in a pink rose and leaf pattern, and the edges were trimmed in gold. It looked antique, but she knew it wasn’t, even without the made in China stamp on the bottom. There was something about it that was satisfying, and it would fit perfectly on her nightstand. She set it beside her purse, and returned to her sorting.

  Several minutes later, she paused to look at the results of her labor, then took a moment to feel proud of herself for having done well the job with which she was entrusted.

  It was great progress, and Tammy would probably flip her lid over how much she already accomplished. She might suggest that they didn’t need to hire additional help, as fast as Claire breezed through the table she finished. But, Claire would—

  “My word, will you look at this!” she heard Tammy say. She turned, and saw her and a guy younger than herself—maybe seventeen or so—walking across the room toward her. Tammy looked amazed. “As speedy as you are, maybe we don’t need additional help after all.”

  Claire laughed a little as she took off her gloves, then tucked her hair behind her ear.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. This particular table consisted of mostly trash on this end, and things to donate on the other. There wasn’t much sorting involved. Everything was pretty much cut-and-dried.”

  “I’m taking a picture of it to send to Mr. and Mrs. Lochlan, anyway,” Tammy declared, whipping out her phone. Claire rapidly moved out of the line of fire, and Tammy snapped a picture of the table, and loaded shelves.
“You’ll want to call Juniper Creek Thrift this week, the way these shelves are loading up.”

  “Juniper Creek Thrift is the second-hand store the museum donates to?” Claire asked, her ears perking up at the name. The young guy, presumably Joe, nodded.

  “Yeah, and they’ll be glad to have something to put back on their shelves,” he said seriously. “They lost just about everything.”

  “I heard it was bad,” Claire replied.

  “It was absolutely terrible,” Tammy declared. “I’ll be surprised if they don’t have to bring in a dumpster like they’d use at one of those construction sites, to load it all into.”

  “Does anyone have a theory as to what the perpetrator’s motivation was?” Claire wondered.

  “None that make any sense,” Tammy replied.

  “They didn’t break into the register,” Joe said. If that wasn’t his name, someone better point it out soon, or Claire would call him that anyway.

  “And no one knows if they took anything,” Claire stated. “That’s what I heard. Do either of you know if they keep a record of the merchandise that comes in and goes out?”

  “Not that I know of,” Tammy replied.

  “How about the museum? How do we keep track? Do we?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Lochlan always send a thank you to everyone who donates, as long as we know who they are,” Tammy said. “We don’t keep track of what they donate, since most of the time we have no idea until it’s all sorted out.”

  “Things get kind of mixed together,” added the guy who would be henceforth dubbed Joe, whether it was his name or not.

  “Yes, I can see how they would,” Claire commented, as she flipped rapidly through the notebook. “How about outgoing? We keep track of that, surely.”

  “If it’s exhibit worthy or antique, yes indeed,” Tammy replied. “If not, then no, other than the photos on the iPad.”

  “It’s too much work for no return,” Claire mused, returning the notebook to the shelf.