Lochlan Museum: The Case of the Collectible Killer

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  “The warrant is for corporate, so they must know it doesn’t involve a different country. But… they could always charge him with more, later. So it’s impossible for us to know for certain.”

  “It doesn’t make sense that Allen’s supervisor would kick him out unceremoniously over this. He’d want him arrested,” Claire mulled.

  “No way would his supervisor order his office to be cleared out, and the contents tossed in the trash,” Alec agreed.

  “Then maybe the guy at Variant was right. Maybe he did what you’d do, if some guy brought a bunch of dolls and cluttered up your garage. Maybe Allen was fired for something totally unrelated to corporate espionage.”

  “You must be right, because Allen’s supervisor would be completely inept if he knew what Allen was up to, then took the steps that he did,” Alec agreed.

  “Then, after the fact, they found out what he was doing and contacted the FBI,” she concluded.

  “No wonder his supervisor is angry. He fired Allen and got rid of his belongings, which contain whatever he was stealing. Allen’s out of there, and all that’s gone, and I’ll bet the supervisor’s superiors aren’t happy with him.”

  “I feel sorry for him. The poor guy didn’t know, or he wouldn’t have,” Claire said sympathetically.

  “I do too, but, allowing Allen to ship anything from inside the building was a huge flaw in security,” he pointed out. “I wish we knew Allen’s eBay userid. We’d be able to get an idea of how long this has been going on.”

  “I might be able to figure that out,” she replied.

  “How?” he asked, looking at her curiously.

  “By process of elimination. We do a search on bobble-heads. Or Troll dolls. Or both. We—or I, since you’re trying to block those images from your mind—check the userids for the sellers of the dolls that match those in the box. If there’s a repeated match, and especially if that seller has auctions for both types of dolls, then… that’s him.”

  “Excellent, Claire,” he smiled. “If the person he shipped to was bidding in an auction, then we may find the buyer, too. But I’m not sure how knowing their userid will do us any good.”

  “Maybe none at all, and maybe the competing company didn’t gain their ill-gotten research by winning an auction. Or maybe they used a number of different accounts. But I’m going to look, anyway.”

  “I wish I could stay and search with you,” he said, glancing at the clock. “I have to go soon.”

  “Then in the time you have left, let’s see what clinical trials Variant is conducting, or planning to conduct.”

  “Good idea,” Alec said. He tapped the mousepad, and the Variant Research Laboratories website filled the screen. Claire watched as he clicked through various menus.

  “They don’t have any job openings posted,” he commented.

  “So either Allen’s position was filled internally, or they haven’t gotten around to searching for a replacement. That doesn’t mean they won’t.”

  “True… we’ll check back. Look, this is interesting. There’s a clinical trial seeking candidates with brain injuries.”

  “Does it say what the candidates may gain by participating?” she wondered.

  “As nearly as I can understand, without referring to a dictionary, they hope it will stimulate the brain and promote healing. There’s a list of criteria a person has to meet in order to be selected.”

  They both scanned the participant requirements.

  “Why don’t they want patients with recent brain injuries? It seems like they’d respond best.”

  “Maybe that’s the point. Positive results in a patient whose condition is static, will mean it worked, not that the person was still recovering and their progress had nothing to do with this medication. Check this out, it’s the primary developer’s bio. Look under interests,” Alec pointed.

  “Study of gamma waves. Sounds like something out of a comic book. Isn’t that what happened to the Incredible Hulk?” she grimaced. Alec seemed to find her reaction amusing.

  “That doesn’t seem quite right, does it. I think that was gamma rays. This evidently has something to do with the brain. The developer’s favorite pastime is studying the possibility of restoring brainwave activity in coma patients.”

  “That would be cool, if it was possible. A lot better than coming up with a less-incredible hulk,” she replied.

  “Much,” Alec said. He set the laptop back in front of her, and gathered his empty lunch bag.

  “You’re going? So soon?” she asked.

  “I’d rather not have to work late. I will, if I don’t get back to it.”

  “Alright then, if you must,” she said, walking with him to the door. “Say hi to my car for me, while you’re at it.”

  “I will,” he smiled. “Save some research for me, alright?”

  “Whoever heard of Nancy investigating without Ned? Oh, wait. That’s right. Pretty much all the time. Are you sure you don’t want to be Bess or George?”

  “I’d rather be Lassie. Stay away from wells while I’m gone.”

  “I will,” she laughed. “But I think I’ll paint my porch.”

  Alec stopped on his way out the door, and gave her a look of deep concern.

  “Please. No. If you insist on painting, wait until I can help. You have no idea the mess you’ll get yourself, and your house into, if all you’ve got is a second-hand paint sprayer, and instructions off a YouTube video!”

  Claire looked back at him as seriously as she could.

  “But I do know, Alec. You should see some of those videos, they’re hilarious. And I’m kidding, I’m not going to paint,” she smiled. Alec looked relieved. Very relieved.

  “Good,” he replied, running his fingers through his hair. “You had me worried. It’s your fault, if my hair turned white.”

  “Not yet. You did, however, say you’ll help me,” she smiled. “Instead of white, how about rose quartz? You’ll match my car.”

  Alec laughed, and groaned. He also shook her a little, which made her laugh.

  “I’m leaving, before you can think of some other way to have fun at my expense,” he declared.

  “Too late. I have a list,” she smiled, and he laughed again.

  “I guess I’m a glutton for punishment. If I get done early enough, I’ll come by and give you another chance. Maybe we can watch a movie, or something.”

  “Sounds like fun,” she replied, and they both smiled. Alec got in his truck and headed back to work, and she went inside.

  Chapter 15

  Claire set aside the hairdryer, then walked the short distance to her bedroom and collapsed on her extremely springy bed. Herschel practically bounced out of his spot in the middle. He stretched briefly, then curled up against her. She scratched under his chin, marveling again at how her hand shook, and how utterly exhausted she was.

  “Mowing the lawn is harder than it looks,” she told him.

  Herschel purred in response, and pressed harder against her.

  The light evening breeze carried the scent of the fresh cut grass through the open windows. Claire breathed deeply, and hoped she wasn’t allergic. Who knew what an itchy job that would be. And filthy!

  But it was worth it. Probably. It might be preferable to pay someone else to do it, once she started getting paid.

  That’s what the Coopers said. They were her neighbors on the opposite side of the house from Alec’s. The elderly Mr. Cooper also suggested checking the oil level in the mower, and filling it with gas, if she was determined to use it. She seemed to be, the way she was pulling that cord over and over. He also suggested she forgo the gas in the can that sat in the garage for the past several years. He assured her that gas did, in fact, go bad. It would, in fact, ruin the mower, most likely. Whether he was right or not, Claire had no idea. But he believed it, and that was enough to convince her not to take any chances. He also suggested she fill the mower’s tank with the gas in the can he filled just two weeks ago. Or better yet, let him d
o it. He then suggested she mow in straight lines, rather than back and forth, as if she was vacuuming. His last suggestion of the day was to come visit sometimes. He and his wife knew her grandmother well, and were delighted to have Martha Davis’ granddaughter as their neighbor. If they knew she was coming, they would’ve put off that visit to their son last week, so they could be there to greet her. But better late, than not at all.

  She did visit with them, after she was finished. On their back porch, that is. Who knew mowing was such filthy, dusty work! She was thankful the grass she was plastered with didn’t plug the tub’s drain.

  They were such a sweet couple. Mr. Cooper did resemble a mother hen, somewhat, but Claire needed the help, and was glad to have his advice. Did ever a girl have better next door neighbors, than hers? They had nothing but good to say about Alec, too. The memory made her smile.

  She lay there listening to the birds outside the window, enjoying the cool breeze and the scent of her own cut grass, as she pet Herschel and thought over all that happened since the day she arrived in Juniper Creek.

  She yawned, and her stomach growled. Herschel gave her a concerned look, and she stifled a laugh. Between mowing the front and backyards, and visiting the Coopers, time passed quickly. Now the sun was rapidly sinking in the west, and she… was exhausted, and starving.

  Was she more hungry, or more tired? She frowned a little as she considered that. If she fell asleep… hunger would be sure to wake her. Claire’s stomach growled again, as if in agreement.

  She gave Herschel a good petting, then dragged herself off the bed with a groan. She thought she worked hard a week ago, when she cleaned the whole place! That was nothing compared to this.

  As she slowly descended the stairs, she considered her dining options. There was peanut butter and jam… she grimaced slightly.

  Herschel strolled past. Not because he was following her, of course. Certainly not! It was mere coincidence that they were going in the same direction. Passing her, however, was not part of the plan he did not have.

  It wasn’t intentional, but it was unavoidable. In spite of how slowly he attempted to stroll, she was slower. Herschel found it necessary to stop and sniff the spindles of the banister more than once, so that she would understand his reason for being there was very serious, and completely unrelated to her presence. He wasn’t waiting for her to get ahead of him once more, so he could be certain where she was going. Not at all.

  Claire watched Herschel studying the spindles, a deeply studious look in his greenish yellow eyes. Why he didn’t want her to think he was walking along with her, she had no idea. It must be a cat thing. She thought it was funny, but didn’t let on. The lengths he went to were hilarious, especially when she was in a hurry, and moving rapidly back and forth from room to room, and floor to floor.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs, and proceeded to the jelly cabinet.

  Herschel decided he should be fed. After all, they were both there in the kitchen, standing in front of the cat food at the same time. How often did that happen? How likely was it that this amazing coincidence would ever occur again?

  Unless she followed him. She sometimes did. That, was not only acceptable, but obligatory.

  But they were here, and he was hungry, and he made certain she knew it.

  “Gracious, you’re going to knock me down,” she protested, as he slammed his forehead against the back of her leg. She fed him in self-defense, then turned back to the jelly cabinet once more.

  Much as she adored her grandmother’s jam, and thinking of her while she enjoyed it… a girl could hardly live on peanut butter and jam, alone.

  Or maybe a girl could, but Claire didn’t want to be the one to test that theory. Payday was next week, which was practically here. Money would no longer be a concern at that point…

  She retrieved her purse, and counted what was left in her wallet. She’d been incredibly frugal since coming here, and it paid off. She could afford to splurge, and get takeout. That’s what she would do. Claire took her phone out of her pocket, and searched for a place to eat.

  There weren’t a vast number of options, not locally anyway, which didn’t surprise her. One of the restaurants did appeal to her, and their menu even more so. She called and placed her order, then returned her phone to her pocket, picked up her purse, gave Herschel a pat, locked the door behind her, and walked across the basketball court to the Blue Lightning.

  She hesitated for a moment, then set her purse inside the car and popped the hood. She knew exactly what to do, since Alec showed her how to check the transmission fluid.

  But not in the dark.

  She went inside the garage and turned on the outside lights, which made all the difference.

  The transmission fluid was a little lower than before, but not by much. She’d make it there and back, without having to call Alec to come to her rescue.

  Claire latched the hood back in place, and turned her vehicle in the direction of town.

  During the day, the city was adorable. One couldn’t imagine there being crime of any kind, and there seldom was. But take away the light of the sun… and what was once adorable and friendly, became furtive and inhospitable. Beyond the glow of the streetlamps, shadows lurked, shifting eerily as the Blue Lightning’s headlights swept by.

  The museum was worst of all, it’s tall towers rising up into the darkness, it’s narrow arched windows glittering in the faint moonlight. She shivered a little.

  Why she felt so spooked, she had no idea, it was ridiculous! She told herself to snap out of it—

  She slammed on her brakes, her heart pounding.

  Were the shadows moving? She strained to see through the darkness as she shifted into reverse, backed up, then tore into the employee parking lot.

  The shadows were moving alright, and so was the huge guy in front of the sorting room door! He turned swiftly, covering his face, as she slammed the horn, jumped the curb, and hurtled across the sidewalk. The guy leaped out of the way, sparing himself being struck by Blue Lightning.

  The sorting room door was badly dented, the camera smashed, and he was getting away! Claire threw her loyal vehicle into reverse, it jumped off the curb and onto the pavement, and with a rapid turn of the wheel and a shift into gear, she shot after him.

  What she would do if she caught him, she had no idea. Pin him to something, and wait for the police to come?

  She grabbed her phone, and managed to dial 911. It rang, then connected.

  “This is Claire Davis, a guy tried to break into the museum, he just ran into the courtyard!” she exclaimed, turning the wheel sharply. The Blue Lightning hopped the curb again, screeching to a halt just short of the stone posts that formed the arched entryway. She probably lost half her brake pads and a significant portion of tire tread doing it, but she had him trapped! A thrill of excitement joined the adrenaline that coursed through her system. “Hurry, I’ve got him trapped!”

  “Is the suspect armed?” asked the dispatch operator.

  There was a new thought.

  “I have no idea! He tried to break into the museum, the sorting room door’s badly dented, and the camera smashed! I work at the museum, and—yes he’s armed!”

  Claire dove sideways, out of sight, and out of the sights, of the handgun the man aimed at her windshield. He scrambled over the hood, jarring the car as he did so. He leaped onto the sidewalk, and Claire cautiously looked out the passenger window, just in time to see him disappear around the corner.

  “Claire, are you alright?” the operator sounded tense. Claire could sympathize.

  “Yes, he has a gun! He disappeared around the corner of Main and Second, headed south! He didn’t shoot, but he aimed at my car, then jumped the hood and took off!”

  “Police are on their way. Are you in a safe location?”

  “I thought so, until he aimed a gun at me!” Claire snapped, not because she was impatient with the woman, but because her mind was filled with the realization of all that cou
ld’ve happened. She pressed her hand to her forehead, and tried to breath.

  Sirens blared, and red and blue lights flashed. Claire took another deep breath. One car raced past and turned the corner after the guy. The other pulled up to the curb.

  “They’re here. Thank you for sending them,” she had the presence of mind to add. “I’ll talk to you later. Or—goodbye, or something. I have no idea what I’m saying anymore!”

  The woman chuckled sympathetically.

  “The police will take it from here.”

  Claire ended her call, and opened the car door.

  “He ran that way,” she said, motioning to the corner down which the police vehicle turned just moments ago. She had to say something, and it was all she could think of.

  The approaching officer nodded slightly. He seemed to be taking in everything at once. His partner followed the wall toward employee parking, and the sorting room door.

  “I’m Officer Andrews. Are you injured?”

  “No,” she said in surprise. “Didn’t dispatch tell you what happened?”

  “I’d like you to tell me. Go ahead and start at the beginning,” he said. Claire took a deep breath, and did.

  “My name is Claire Davis. I started working at the museum last week. A few minutes ago, I was driving by on my way to pick up dinner, and…”

  Claire told the man everything she could remember. He listened seriously, told her she was lucky and to leave cornering suspects to the police from now on, then traded places with his partner. Officer Andrews spoke into the radio on his sleeve, while Officer Simpson asked the same questions, and gave the same warning.

  Next, they all took a walk to the back of the museum, and the sorting room door. She told them all over again what she saw. They seemed satisfied for the time being. Two more officers arrived, and photographs were taken of the attempted breakin.

  Her phone rang, and she looked at the screen. The police didn’t appear to have any more questions, so she answered.

  “Hi, Mr. Lochlan. What’s going on?”