Lochlan Museum: The Case of the Collectible Killer

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  “There’s a claim ticket?” she asked, staring in surprise.

  “Yes. And look, there’s a coffee shop reward card. One more stamp, and it’s valid.”

  “That’s strange. Who wouldn’t want to use that? And this novel… there’s a book mark in it, and—no way. It’s a library book!”

  “When is it due, and which library?” Alec asked, glancing over her shoulder. She found a receipt tucked inside the pages, and held it so they could both see.

  “It’s due back at the Ashland Public Library this Tuesday,” she replied.

  “Claire, this wasn’t supposed to be donated. Someone either got really confused—or this is someone’s personal effects.”

  They gave each other a startled look.

  “Chills just ran down my spine,” she admitted.

  “Yeah. Mine too. A lot more than when I first laid eyes on that Egyptian coffin, which is probably empty, and no, I’m not going over there to find out.”

  “Fine… we’ll see how brave the new guy is.”

  “You’re not goading me into anything. If the new guy goes for it, it’s because you’re in charge, it’s daytime, and there’s no storm.”

  “I’ll go with you,” she bargained, and he couldn’t help laughing. He also managed a stern look.

  “You’re getting badly off-topic. Besides, this guy is an archaeology major. He’s probably used to dead things. If he isn’t disturbed by it, that’s why. It has nothing to do with courage. Back to the subject, the Ashland Public Library has a loan period of four weeks. Therefore, this book was checked out three weeks ago.”

  “The banker’s boxes were donated the week before last,” Claire remembered.

  “And so, shortly after checking this out of the library, it was put in this box along with the other items, and left outside the sorting room door. Look, there’s a date on the dry-cleaning claim ticket. The clothing was dropped off about the same time the book was checked out.”

  “Okay, so if these things… or at least part of them… are personal effects, why wasn’t the library book returned?” she wondered.

  “Whoever loaded this box either didn’t know it belonged to the library, or… didn’t care. About that, the claim ticket, or the change,” Alec replied.

  “Was the person who loaded the box grieving? Or angry?” Claire wondered.

  “Let’s see what else we find. Maybe there’s a name here somewhere. Whether there is or not, I’m more inclined to head to the Ashland Public Library on Friday, rather than visit the residents of Primrose Lane.”

  “I’m inclined to table the plans to search the CD and DVD collection, too,” Claire added. She glanced around. “And not just because I have no idea where that box is, anymore.”

  “Agreed,” Alec replied. “Look, there’s an electric pencil sharpener.”

  “Are you serious?” Claire exclaimed, as he lifted it out.

  “This has to be what the collectible killer is after,” he said with certainty. “Not necessarily this, specifically, but is there any category he’s targeted that we haven’t found in this box?”

  “No, I think you’re right,” she said with excitement. “Get everything out, then we’ll search all of it.”

  “Alright… here’s a flash drive. It’s promotional, it’s got Intersect’s logo on it. It’s also in a sealed plastic wrapper, but we’ll want to have a look at it anyway. There could be something stored there.”

  “We’ll take it with us, and do that,” Claire agreed.

  “Here’s a pullover…” Alec said, holding it up. “No identifying marks, that I can see. It’s a guy’s, though.”

  “Either that, or it belongs to a woman a whole lot bigger than I am. There’s no logo, and no name,” she noted, and he set it aside.

  “That’s all. In this one, anyway,” he said. He pulled the second banker’s box forward. “Another mug, this one with the X-Files logo. A birthday card…”

  “Ooh, maybe we’ll get a name,” she said eagerly. He opened it, and the excitement in their eyes faded somewhat. “Or, maybe we’ll get a whole bunch of names.”

  “Is the card to the person whose belongings are in these boxes, or did that person sign it? Or was that person supposed to sign it, but never did?” Alec wondered.

  “I have no idea… but whatever the case, he or she did work with these people,” Claire pointed out. “What about the envelope? Is there one?”

  “Yes…” he said, and removed it from the box. “It’s blank.”

  “Then either our person of interest signed it, or was supposed to,” she deduced. “You wouldn’t want a name on the envelope of a card you were passing around at work. What if the recipient saw it? The name would be written there after everyone signed it.”

  “Good point. Too bad there are no last names.”

  “Right… but who packed all this up? Who would do this, and not make sure the card got to Phil, whoever Phil is?”

  “Someone who didn’t sign it,” Alec suggested. “Or maybe everything got tossed in these boxes without discretion.”

  “Maybe. And if that’s the case, then the person who tossed it in the boxes was either angry, or completely indifferent to the person whose belongings these are. Or were. Whichever the case may be.”

  “If I had to place a bet, I’d say the person was angry,” he said. He set the handle and part of a glass coffee carafe next to the box.

  “An indifferent person would be more likely to keep the change, even if they had it in for Mr. Coffee,” Claire acknowledged, as he set the rest of the coffeemaker and carafe beside the broken pieces. “They’d be more likely to have respect for the library, anyway. You’d think.”

  “An angry person, however, might passive aggressively donate the library book, the dry-cleaning ticket, and… all these bobble-heads. Are they collectible?”

  “Yes,” she promptly replied, taking the hard-plastic figure he handed her. “It would also be relatively easy to hide something inside one of these.”

  “Which one?” he commented, lifting out several large handfuls and setting them beside her. “And that’s not all…”

  “No way! Troll Dolls?” she laughed, as he handed her a pirate. “I don’t know how much these are worth… but they don’t have to be big-ticket, to be collectible. This counts.”

  “Then on Friday, we’ll take a trip to Ashland. We’ll stop by the library, the dry cleaner, and… if we get a name, what do you say we drop by Variant Research Laboratories? If it’s located in Ashland, that may be where he worked.”

  “I say yes, and if we get a name, I also say we look it up and see if we can get an address,” she replied, her eyes riveted on something else inside the box. Alec followed her gaze.

  “An angry person, definitely angry,” Alec declared. “No way would someone be indifferent enough to donate another person’s keys.”

  “Agreed,” Claire said, feeling a thrill of excitement as she set those aside. “What do we have left?”

  “A box of Kleenex… a flashlight, with the Intersect logo… a USB cable… an iPhone charger… a calculator… scissors… and a cheap magnifying glass and letter opener, both with the Variant Research logo.”

  “And that’s it,” she stated, looking inside the now-empty box. She picked it up, and examined all four sides. She turned it over, and pointed.

  “Variant Research,” Alec read. He turned over the first box, and found the same thing. “Now we know for certain that’s where this came from. I never heard the name until today, but it must be located in Ashland. Or nearby.”

  “And to think, just an hour ago, we intended to go door-to-door to the residents of Primrose Avenue, to ask what they didn’t manage to sell at their garage sale,” Claire said, shaking her head a little.

  “Yes, and listen to a box full of old CDs, and watch ancient DVDs,” he reminded her. “Is any of this antique?”

  She eyed the Troll Dolls and Bobble Heads.

  “No. Why? What are you thinking?”

/>   “I’m thinking you’ve got a new guy starting here Saturday. You mentioned Martin may hire more people, too. I’m thinking this place is jam-packed as it is. How impossible would it be for the contents of these boxes to end up lost amongst the masses?” he pointed out. She considered that.

  “I’d say the museum is the safest place for this to be, if the sorting room wasn’t bursting at the seams. Or if I had an office. Or if I was the only one who ever came in here, but I’m not. We’ve got drop-offs, pick-ups, Mark starts work Saturday, plus Tammy has a key and so does the janitorial staff, and maintenance.”

  “So what are you going to do?” he asked.

  “I’m taking it with us. It’ll be safe in the secret sitting room, and it’ll be a lot more comfortable searching all of it there, too. So… help me load this up, and let’s go.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Alec replied.

  An examination of the carafe handle turned up nothing, so they relegated it, and the broken glass, to one of the dumpsters. The rest of the boxes’ contents, they returned to them.

  “The rain may be past us,” she noticed, stopping to listen for a moment. “I don’t hear it, anyway.”

  “Then let’s get, while the getting’s good,” Alec said. He stacked the boxes and picked them up, and Claire swiped her ID and opened the door to the parking lot.

  They were met by cool air and the scent of rain-washed earth, and wet concrete. Water rushed and gurgled as it ran along the curb and into the gutter, and the stars shone in the heavens once more.

  Alec stowed the boxes in the backseat of the truck, then he and Claire took their places inside the vehicle and he drove back to her house. Shortly thereafter, they were settled on the small sitting room sofa, the boxes on the floor beside them.

  Herschel considered napping on Claire, then Alec, but they were far too fidgety for that. He sniffed the contents of the boxes they seemed so riveted by, and wondered what the fuss was all about. He wrinkled his nose at the licorice, then took himself to the rocking chair where he could observe, or nap, without interference.

  “We’ve got to take the heads off these dolls, but gently,” Claire cautioned. “And we don’t want to mix up the bodies, either.”

  “The second part, I’ve got no problem with. But how do you propose to decapitate these bobble-heads gently?” he wondered, tugging and twisting as non-violently as he could. Claire did the same, her forehead furrowing in concentration.

  “I… have no idea,” she said. With a loud pop, her doll’s head came loose, and she smacked Alec with it.

  “This is gentle?” he queried, holding back a smile as he rubbed his arm.

  “Fine, just rip them off,” she resigned herself. “And sorry about slugging you, but it’s the doll’s fault for being so attached to its head.”

  “Here’s hoping the rest of them aren’t. Did you find anything?”

  Claire first looked, then felt inside the hollow bobble head, then shook her own head as she popped it back on the body.

  “Nope. Nothing.”

  She lay that one aside and picked up a second, as the doll Alec held came apart with a pop. Claire’s doll also came apart, and she smacked him again.

  “Sorry! I don’t know my own strength,” she winced, but there was laughter in his eyes, not annoyance.

  “It’s fine,” he said, rubbing his arm melodramatically. “Herschel, you want to trade places?”

  No. Herschel did not. His yellow eyes were not encouraging.

  “Looks like you’re stuck with me,” she smiled. “Either that… or it’s the floor.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, and the head popped off the doll in his hands. “I do have a suggestion. I’ll decapitate dolls. You search the less dangerous items.”

  “Okay, fine, you’re better at this than I am, anyway,” she conceded.

  Claire set the doll she held on the coffee table, and reached inside the box for a non-doll-related item.

  “I wonder what we’re searching for?” Alec said, with another loud pop. “It’s small enough to fit inside a pen. Either that, or the searcher didn’t take time to remove them from the penholders.”

  “What could be hidden inside a cup that holds pens, though? It could hold something, but hide? No. Maybe it’s the pens he’s really after.”

  “So it must be small,” he replied, watching as she began taking them apart.

  “It must be. He doesn’t know where it’s hidden, does he know exactly what it is? And the exact size?” she wondered.

  “And who is this guy?” Alec considered. “How does he know what’s in these boxes that were angrily filled with our person of interest’s belongings, then unceremoniously donated?”

  “By visiting his work, maybe? Someone may have told him,” Claire suggested. “Maybe there was a rough inventory made of the items that were boxed.”

  “Why donate to the museum, and not Juniper Creek Thrift, as this guy suspected? I’ve never seen it advertised that the museum takes donations.”

  “There’s a small sign on the door of Juniper Creek Thrift, stating that donations made after-hours can be left outside the backdoor of the museum.”

  “Are you serious?” Alec asked in surprise.

  “Very.”

  “You’re extremely observant,” he commented.

  “I’m also in investigation-mode, and I haven’t lived here my whole life. Or near here,” she pointed out magnanimously.

  “Still… I’m impressed,” he replied.

  “Thanks. Since the sign is there, and Juniper Creek Thrift doesn’t open until nine, and Mr. Lochlan found the chair and banker’s boxes at seven-thirty in the morning, then…”

  She frowned a little as she paused to consider that. Alec knew exactly what she was thinking.

  “It would make more sense if it was dropped off at a donation place in Ashland. Since it wasn’t…”

  “Since it wasn’t… then it’s possible that the person who packed up these belongings, wanted it to be harder for the owner to find. Which would mean our person of interest isn’t deceased,” Claire deduced.

  “It’s also possible that the person who left this outside the door, lives here in Juniper Creek. Not in Ashland,” Alec suggested. “A lot of our fellow residents live here, and commute. Ashland is where most of the jobs are.”

  “Okay, good point,” Claire conceded, and held up the pullover. “I’m betting whoever all this belongs to—or belonged to—is a ‘he.’”

  “In spite of the dolls?” Alec asked, with another pop.

  “They’re collectible. Almost all of them are sports figures. As for the trolls… there’s a pirate, a Viking, a cowboy, this guy looks like he belongs in the mafia…”

  “Point taken,” he replied. “It’s not what I’d collect, but fine, it isn’t impossible. So we’ll go with ‘he’ for the sake of simplicity, until proven otherwise.”

  “Who doesn’t like simplicity. What would make this search much simpler, would be knowing what it is we’re searching for,” Claire commented again, frowning a little, as she set aside the pencil sharpener. No way was she opening that up anywhere other than over a trashcan!

  “Yes, it would,” Alec agreed. “Consider the clock radio. If it’s a sophisticated computer chip that’s been secreted inside one of these items, then… it could be in that clock, and we’d never know the difference between it, and the parts that make up the clock itself.”

  “Then we’ll leave all of this here for as long as it takes to determine what it is the searcher, and therefore we, are searching for,” Claire replied. “By the time we’re done investigating on Friday, we may.”

  Chapter 10

  The rays of the sun touched the clouds in the east, staining them soft shades of pink and purple. It lit the dew on the grass, turning it to diamonds, and took the chill from the early morning air. Birds sang gustily from their perches in the trees, on the basketball hoop, and some even clung to the chicken wire that protected the sewing room wind
ows.

  Claire pulled her light sweater closer around her as she walked down the back steps, on her way to the faucet. She glanced at the large, mosaic tiled basin that worked very nicely as a birdbath. It would work even better if it had a pedestal to sit on… but, all in due time.

  She turned on the water, then washed out the basin with the hose, and filled it again. She gave the birds a satisfied look, then turned off the faucet and looked back at the basin. Already, one of the birds was splashing in the water.

  “Good morning,” she heard Alec call, as he rounded the side of the house.

  “Good morning,” she smiled back. “Did you leave any room for coffee?”

  “That depends,” he replied. She opened the backdoor and held it, so he followed her inside.

  “I made a whole pot. So either you help me drink it… or I spend the morning vibrating all over the sorting room.”

  “That could prove hazardous to the more delicate donations,” he considered.

  “Have a seat,” she directed, pointing toward the kitchen table. “Just not on Herschel.”

  “Sorry about that, buddy,” Alec said penitently, as he picked up the cat lounging on the nearest chair. “If you weren’t the color of a shadow, it wouldn’t be so hard to miss you.”

  It wouldn’t be so hard if Alec didn’t try sitting in the chair Herschel was already sitting in, either.

  But… Alec knew how to scratch behind a cat’s ears just right. So Herschel did not complain.

  Any further.

  “Poor Herschel,” Claire crooned. She set a cup of coffee in front of Alec, and another at the place beside his, then gave her feline friend a pat before taking her own seat.

  “What are your plans for the day?” Alec asked, as they both added cream and sugar to their steaming mugs.

  “Ride to work with you, then get as much sorting done as I possibly can. The antique store absolutely must make a pick-up today, and Juniper Creek Thrift, too. If anyone drops off before that happens… I may actually cry.”

  “Martin’s right, you do need assistance,” Alec said sympathetically. “I can help during lunch, if you want. Or better yet, take a break and we’ll have lunch at the park.”