Lochlan Museum: The Case of the Collectible Killer

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  “You were,” Mrs. Frederick said.

  “So what happened?” Claire frowned.

  “Your father died. Your mother was fragile to begin with. She thought the world of him, and depended on him too much, I’m afraid. She grieved as one who had no hope. When she stopped responding to your grandparents’ efforts to reach out to her, your grandmother felt she locked the door in an effort to escape the past.”

  “Mom is good at locking doors and never looking back,” Claire sighed. “How terrible, though! She locked out all the good.”

  “She did. I imagine she locked herself in with the grief she was trying to avoid.”

  “What do you mean?” Claire wondered.

  “Well… if she let herself forget what she was running from, she’d stop running,” Mrs. Frederick reasoned. “She just might look back, and remember there were people worth going back for. I imagine the poor thing’s miserable.”

  “She probably is. She also leaves a trail of misery behind her every time she abandons ship, and goes searching for a new life.”

  “Well… your mother’s to be pitied. And prayed for. Just you be sure you don’t follow in her footsteps,” Mrs. Frederick said seriously.

  “I could never do that,” Claire replied with certainty.

  “Chances are, if you did, you wouldn’t recognize it,” Mrs. Frederick said, as one who lived long, and saw much. “Keep a close watch. If you catch yourself discounting the positive and holding on to the negative to try and spare yourself grief, then you’re doing the same thing, only with different people and circumstances.”

  “Okay…” Claire didn’t quite understand that, but she didn’t inquire further. She had plenty of other questions she wanted the answers to. “Why didn’t my grandmother try contacting me? She left me the house… but why not call me? Or write? Why wait until it was too late, then leave a lawyer to do it?”

  “After you turned eighteen, she struggled many times over that decision. I suppose the reason she didn’t contact you, is fear. She couldn’t bear the thought that you might be indifferent, or even cold toward her. If you were, she didn’t want to know it. She wanted to hold onto the memories she had of you, instead.”

  “I didn’t know I had a grandmother at all,” Claire said, brushing away the moisture from her eyes. “Or a grandfather… I wish so badly that I did, before it was too late.”

  “Well… I can see how you’d feel that way,” Mrs. Frederick said sympathetically. “But it isn’t too late, after all. Your grandparents trusted in Jesus. I take it you do, too.”

  “Yes, I do. And Alec’s grandmother said my father was a Christian.”

  “He was,” Mrs. Frederick assured her. “So you see, it isn’t too late at all. It’s only delayed.”

  A sense of relief washed over Claire, and she relaxed.

  “You’re right. It’s only delayed, after all. And… I do have the house, and so many albums, which I’m so thankful for. Alec doesn’t recognize everyone in the photos, but he does know a lot, since his grandparents lived next door and he visited often.”

  “Yes, Alec’s a nice young man. He’s always been very close to his grandparents,” Mrs. Frederick said approvingly. “He was a good neighbor to your grandmother, too. She often told me how quick he was to help, any time he saw an opportunity.”

  “I’m glad,” Claire smiled. “It doesn’t surprise me, though.”

  Mrs. Frederick smiled as she studied Claire, then she turned purposefully to the end table beside her. She seemed to have made up her mind about something. Claire watched her curiously as she picked up a bible.

  “This was your grandmothers. I was instructed to give it to you, if you ever came here, and if I felt you’d appreciate having it.”

  “Oh my goodness,” Claire said, tears blurring her eyes as she reached out for it.

  “Wait, now,” Mrs. Frederick stopped her. She opened the cover and sorted through several envelopes. She left one inside the bible, closed it, and handed it to Claire. She set the rest aside.

  “What are those?” Claire wondered, hugging the bible to her chest.

  “Your grandmother wrote several letters. Since she had no idea the kind of person you’d grow up to be, she wrote a letter to cover every possibility.”

  “Really?” Claire couldn’t help laughing. She brushed away tears, and removed the thick envelope from its place inside the bible. “Which letter did I get?”

  “The one she hoped you would,” Mrs. Frederick smiled.

  Chapter 14

  Herschel sat on the sunny windowsill, chattering quietly to the birds on the other side of the screen. They hopped and flitted excitedly, competing for the bread crumbs tossed there just moments ago.

  Herschel would like very much to join them, but Claire was no more likely to let him out than her grandmother was. Or Alec. He didn’t let Herschel come and go as he pleased, either.

  Herschel felt slightly disgruntled at the thought.

  Claire stopped on her way to the coffeemaker and pet him. Herschel forgot everything else, purring in ecstasy as she rubbed his shoulders and scratched behind his ears.

  Claire glanced out the window. She smiled at the industrious birds, and admired the blue of the morning sky and the fluffy white clouds that moved steadily from one side of the heavens, to the other. A soft breeze wafted in through the open kitchen window, bringing with it cool air, scented by the brief rain that fell during the night. She zipped her light jacket, and collected two mugs from the cabinet.

  Through the storm door’s open window, she heard the sudden flutter of birds, and footsteps. She set the mugs by the coffeemaker, and flung the door open. Alec smiled and knocked at the air.

  “You have a knack for beating me to it,” he commented, as she ushered him in.

  “I’m quick on my feet, what can I say,” she replied, motioning for him to have a seat at the table.

  “That’s the truth. I will be too, if you put jam in my coffee,” he replied, looking apprehensively at the mugs on the counter, which she was in the process of filling.

  “No jam for you,” she assured him. “Just plain coffee. And sugar. And cream.”

  “Thanks,” he smiled, accepting the cup she held out. “How was your visit with Mrs. Frederick?”

  “It was so great,” Claire replied, her eyes shining a little as she joined him at the table. “My grandmother left me a letter, and her bible. I stayed up really late reading them both.”

  “That’s awesome,” he smiled.

  “It is. The letter is really long. She talks about so many things. It’s almost as good as getting to talk to her.”

  “I’m glad for you, Claire. That’s really great,” he said, and she smiled.

  “It’s the best. So… how’s the car?” she asked, and his eyes lit with enthusiasm. She raised an eyebrow. “And let me warn you, if you show signs of being in love with it again, I’m getting you counseling of some kind. Court mandated, if necessary.”

  The enamored look in Alec’s eyes turned to laughter.

  “Okay, I stand forewarned,” he smiled. “And for the record, I’m not in love with your car. But… try and imagine how you’d feel if you discovered that sarcophagus in the sorting room actually belonged to a famous Egyptian pharaoh.”

  “If that happened, I’d hold my car ransom until you opened it for me,” she promptly replied, and he laughed and groaned.

  “You’re missing the point. I’m trying to give you something to relate to.”

  “Evidently that is not it, because the next thing I’d do, is be on the phone with the Egyptian authorities. Who, would not understand a word I said. I’d want it out of my possession, though. I told you about the hefty fine, imprisonment, and hard labor that’s enforced for possessing Egyptian artifacts, did I not?”

  “Fine, bad example, but I think you’re being intentionally dense, and choosing not to understand.”

  Claire gasped and looked appalled.

  “Intentionally dense?” />
  “It’s either that, or just plain dense,” he replied, and smiled when she laughed.

  “Alright, fine. I can’t relate, though. Maybe it’s a guy-thing.”

  “Not entirely. I work on classic vehicles because I love doing it. Finding one that’s in such excellent condition, and as rare as yours, and to have the opportunity to restore it…”

  “Your eyes are shining again,” she pointed out.

  “Yours do too, when you talk about searching trash for treasure. Speaking of which, don’t you need to meet the new guy at work?”

  “Right, I do,” she said.

  They stood, and carried their mugs to the sink. They gave Herschel a pat, and much to the cat’s annoyance, Claire closed and locked all the windows. So much for tearing out the screen, and joining the birds outside.

  Herschel sighed deeply, and resigned himself to a nap in the sunny south window.

  “Will Tammy be at the museum too, or any of the other employees?” Alec asked, as Claire locked the door, and they crossed the basketball court toward his property.

  “Don’t tell me you forgot the museum is open on Saturdays,” she replied, giving him a funny look.

  “Oh. Right,” he said. He looked relieved.

  “Tammy will be there, too. Mark has paperwork to finish filling out. A lot of employees will be there, and visitors. Not in the sorting room, but the rest of the place will be crawling with people. A lot more than during the week.”

  “What about in the sorting room, itself?” he wondered. “Are you going to be alone in there with this new employee? That doesn’t seem like a good idea, at all. I’m surprised Martin didn’t consider that.”

  “He probably did,” she said, glancing at Alec. He looked concerned again. She appreciated that, it made her feel good actually, but she didn’t want him worrying. “Mark has impeccable references, so I’ve been told. Mr. Lochlan questioned my references thoroughly, and I’m sure he did Mark’s, too. Character matters to him. So… there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  He appeared to mull that over as he opened the passenger door of his truck for her.

  “When do you get off, again?” he wondered, as he joined her on the driver’s side.

  “Noonish. What about you?”

  “I’m not sure. The customer has waited long enough for this part to come in. Now that it has, I’d like to finish today and get his vehicle back to him. But we can have lunch. And I’ll take you home.”

  “That’ll be great,” she smiled. There was no point in arguing that she could walk. He was as good at insisting, as she was at basketball.

  “Did Mrs. Frederick shed any light on the secret sitting room?” he asked suddenly.

  “Yes… so did my grandmother’s letter.”

  “And?”

  “It was my room.”

  “Your room?” he asked in surprise.

  “I know. I never would’ve guessed. The house originally had three bedrooms. That was mine, when we visited. Once I started walking, my grandmother worried that I’d go out into the hall and fall down the stairs, or through the hallway railing. So they framed in the doorway leading to the hall and turned it into the linen closet, and installed doors in both bedroom closets.”

  “I… would never have guessed that,” he said in amazement.

  “Most people would put up baby gates. They did, but… they also did this. Eventually, several years after they lost touch with my mother, my grandparents packed up my baby things and turned it into a sitting room.”

  “That’s really something. The room must mean even more to you, now.”

  “It really does. I feel anger toward my mother for depriving me of the grandparents who loved me so much, but… in her letter, my grandmother encouraged me to realize she’s hurt, and broken, and to forgive her.”

  “That must be hard to do,” he said in sympathy. “It’ll be a lot better for you, though, if you can.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “I am. I will. I’m working on it. Mrs. Frederick reminded me that although my mother left everything else in the past, she took me with her. She did make sure I had the material things I needed. Mrs. Frederick thinks she loves me as much as she’s able to love anyone, and… I think she’s right. I need to stop talking, or I’m going to walk into work crying. I’d hate to make the new guy think I’m devastated to have him there. I intend to put him to work.”

  “I understand,” Alec replied. He parked near the sorting room door, and turned off his truck.

  “What are you doing?” Claire wondered, as he removed the keys and opened his door.

  “Walking in with you.”

  “Okay…” she said. She wondered why he didn’t park, watch her go inside, and then leave, like usual. She climbed out of the truck, and he joined her in front of the sorting room door. With a swipe of her ID and a turn of the key, they entered.

  The rays of the morning sun shone through the high windows, lighting the large room pleasantly. The estate of the generous Mr. Edwards remained untouched, but the other side of the sorting room showed vast improvement.

  “You’ve made quite a dent in it,” Alec commented.

  “I have,” Claire said with satisfaction, glancing at the floor space that was now visible. “The janitor actually had a spot to clean.”

  Alec looked down at the floor, and couldn’t help laughing. It was obvious where the mop had been, and where it stopped short of reaching the items piled on the floor.

  There was a knock at the door leading to the stairs, so Claire crossed the room, with Alec right behind, and stopped in front of it.

  “What’s the magic word?” she called out.

  There was a moment of silence on the other side.

  “If I remember right, then that would be ‘please,’” Tammy answered. Claire opened the door.

  “Alec will worry less, knowing we have a password system,” she explained quietly.

  “Yes, because Alec didn’t hear any of that,” he retorted, and she smiled in response to the look he gave her.

  Tammy’s eyebrows rose, then she nodded.

  “That’s not a bad idea. Anyone with enough manners to say please, wouldn’t be up to no good, anyway.”

  “Probably not,” Claire smiled, as Tammy passed through the doorway.

  “Come up with a different word anyway, and Alec will be less inclined to worry,” Alec told Tammy.

  A guy, presumably Mark, followed along behind her. He was probably closer to Alec’s age than Claire’s. He was about Alec’s height. His hair was also brown, although lighter. His eyes were gray, rather than brown. He looked serious, quiet, and maybe shy. His smile was polite, and reserved. She wondered if he had a sense of humor. It was hard to tell, just yet. He nodded respectfully to her as he entered the sorting room, then looked to Tammy.

  “Claire Davis, meet Mark Reynolds,” she introduced them.

  “It’s great to meet you, Mark,” Claire smiled, as they shook hands.

  “It’s great to meet you, too,” he smiled back. He gave the sorting room a glance, and his eyebrows rose.

  “This is my friend, Alec Collins,” Claire introduced them.

  “I refer to myself by name only when Claire pretends I’m not here,” Alec clarified, as he and Mark shook hands.

  “Good to know,” Mark replied, and smiled.

  Claire decided he must have a sense of humor. Otherwise, he’d be looking at Alec with concern, and wondering if Claire often pretended he wasn’t there. And, why.

  Tammy closed the door, and blocked it.

  “Just in case you look around, and decide to try and make a break for it,” she informed Mark. “Alec, you get the other door.”

  She looked so serious, the rest of them couldn’t help laughing.

  Mark took a good look around.

  “You don’t have to do that, Mrs. Smith. I want this job. I’m thankful to have it.”

  “It can’t be worse than going on a dig, anyway,” Claire reasoned, and he gave the c
ontents of the room another glance. He grimaced slightly, as if it was a close call.

  “I guess that all depends on what gets unearthed,” he said, his eyebrows knitting slightly at the sight of the sarcophagus, statues, and other pieces of Mr. Edwards’ collection.

  “Good, because Claire needs the help,” Tammy declared.

  “And I’ve got to take off,” Alec said. “I’d prefer not to work tonight, and I’ll have to, if I don’t get finished.”

  “Then I will see you out,” Claire replied. Nice-to-meet-yous, and see-you-laters, were said on the part of Tammy and Mark, then Claire walked with Alec to the door.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The other two were still by the door to the stairs. Mark was listening to whatever Tammy had to say, so Claire turned back to Alec.

  “Feel better?”

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t leave,” he informed her.

  “Wow, you—really care,” she said in surprise, and he suddenly smiled.

  “In spite of your claims earlier, you’re not dense, after all.”

  She laughed at the teasing in his brown eyes. She also scolded herself for trying to read meaning into that. And, she was set off balance figuratively, if not literally, by the brief hug he gave her.

  “I’ll see you at lunch,” he smiled. She looked back at him, a little discombobulated. He took her hand, which held her ID, and swiped it before opening the door. “Bye, Claire.”

  “Bye,” she said automatically.

  She watched him on the screen of the monitor as he walked to his truck, then drove away.

  He was so cute, and incredibly nice, and maybe, just maybe…

  With extreme effort, she set aside that train of thought, pulled herself together, and turned just in time to see Tammy leading Mark in her direction.

  “Unless you need me, I’ll leave you to induct Mark, and get back to work,” Tammy said.

  “We all need you, Tammy, but not here in the sorting room, for the foreseeable future,” Claire replied.

  “Alright then. If that changes, you both know where I am. Unless you decide to quit, Mark. That’s positively prohibited,” Tammy said, giving him a stern look.