"Thanks for your help, Roscoe. I need to speak with the coroner and help his team get set up."
John overheard Jackson. A profound look of worry wrinkled his brow. "Detective Jackson," John said over the din of the coroner and his assistants entering the room. "I do hope they'll be careful in here. Nothing should be moved or touched. There are valuable artifacts and pieces of equipment in every corner of this lab." There John went again, thinking more about the museum than of the young, lifeless woman on the floor.
"Mr. Hartman," Jackson said calmly, "we all have a job to do here. There will be evidence collection and a preliminary exam of the victim. I must admit this is the first time I've run an investigation inside a museum, but we'll take extra care to make sure nothing is disturbed."
John nodded weakly. "Thank you. This has been such a trying night. How much longer do you think you'll be?"
"We'll be here for a few hours. If you need to go home, I have your phone number in case I need something."
"Yes, well, no." He glanced over at the strangers filling his precious antiquities lab. "It's best if I stay."
"That's fine." Jackson walked over to me. "Are you sticking around? It's getting late. I could fill you in tomorrow."
I peered up at him. "Are you kidding? And miss the incredible, breathtaking Detective Jackson doing his job? I think I'll stay right here."
"All right but I warn you, it's been a long day. Not sure if I can stay incredible or breathtaking for much longer."
Chapter 14
While the professionals got to work on the crime scene, I set out for the coffee vending machine I'd seen down the hall from the lab. It seemed I wasn't the only person who'd decided a hot cup of coffee was just what this calamitous evening needed.
Professor Fisher leaned down to remove his coffee cup from the machine. He hadn't heard me approach and startled just enough when he saw me to spill coffee on his hand.
"I apologize. I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." I plucked a napkin from the small cart set up next to the machine with cream and sugar. I handed him the napkin.
"It's not your fault." He wiped his hand. "Guess I'm a little jumpy after what happened to poor Sarah." He chuckled. "Probably shouldn't be drinking the coffee. It only compounds my agitation, and it'll keep me up all night. Although, that was probably a given considering what's happened." He reached into his pocket for some change. "Here, my treat."
"Thank you. That's kind of you." I pushed the button for the small hazelnut coffee. A cup shot down into the chamber and seconds later liquid filled the paper cup. "I wish I had a machine like this in my house."
"This old coffee machine is nostalgic for me," Dr. Fisher said softly. "My uncle used to work in this very museum. He would take me to work on Saturdays because he knew I was obsessed with all things ancient. It was an odd hobby for a ten-year-old boy, but I ignored the teasing and pursued my dreams."
"I'll bet those bullies would turn red in the face if they knew how famous you became in your field. I've done my research. There is hardly an article on ancient Egypt that doesn't include the name Samuel Fisher." I pulled the hot coffee out. "Thanks again."
"The bullies I remember in school had no interest in intellectual pursuits. I doubt any of them travel in circles that discuss the latest find in Egypt or the newest technology for carbon dating."
Without voicing our plan, we both walked to a nearby bench and sat down with our coffees. "Well, Professor Fisher, as one of the leading experts in Egyptian artifacts, who do you suppose made off with the Lotus Chalice? Do you think Sarah had anything to do with it?"
Professor Fisher took a long sip of coffee, seemingly contemplating his answer. "I'm not sure how Sarah's death plays into all this. As much as I am a full believer in coincidences, I don't believe her death and the stolen chalice were coincidence. As for the culprit, I have no idea who would be bold enough to steal it. Very few of us had access to the piece. Sarah did have access."
I changed my mind about a coffee vending machine at home once I'd tasted the bitter hot water in the cup. Still, the hot drink was better than nothing. "I wonder if Sarah had an accomplice, someone without access to the chalice. Maybe that person decided they wanted the whole thing to themselves, or maybe they worried she'd lose her nerve and confess."
A professorial grin appeared. I'd gotten the same one from a journalism professor after I'd written a piece for the local paper. "You're very good at this, Miss Taylor. You should turn in your press pass for a detective's badge. I'd never considered that possibility, yet it makes perfect sense."
I swiveled on the bench to face him more. "Were you part of the team that moved the chalice to the display? I assume you weren't since you so quickly noticed it was a fake."
"No, I didn't arrive until after six. The chalice was already in the case. I would have seen the discrepancy immediately. The authentic piece does not have a moon and star carved into its base." He laughed dryly. "It's almost as if the thief was flaunting his brazenness in our faces. He obviously wanted us to discover the forgery immediately. I still can't believe John didn't notice as he carried the piece to the case. Of course, he had a lot to do for the event. Maybe he just didn't take the time."
"Or maybe he knew it was a fake," I suggested.
Professor Fisher's face snapped my direction. "What are you suggesting?" he didn't ask it angrily. In fact, I could almost see the gears turning in his head. "You don't think—No, I can't believe that John would do such a thing." His posture deflated some. "He is one of the few people who had access to the chalice." Fisher was talking out loud, but it seemed he was talking to himself.
"And he and Sarah," I suggested again, then just as quickly retreated. I had no right to start rumors or theories, especially with someone so close to the whole tragedy. "Never mind. I need to get my nose out of everyone's business." My self-admonishment had not done the trick. The notion was out in the open now, and again, I could see gears turning.
"Naturally, I never bother myself with the social connections and relationship rumors at the museum, or the university, for that matter, but I know Sarah and John were seeing each other outside of work." His face dropped as he shook it. "No, I refuse to believe they conspired to steal the chalice." He stated his refusal with an edge of uncertainty. It seemed I'd planted a seed. I only hoped it would not grow too big or into an invasive weed. Once rumors had been cast, they were impossible to reel back in.
"I'm sure you're right," I said. "It would take a diabolical mind to pull off such horrible crimes, and while I only met Sarah briefly, I spent a good hour with John Hartman. He just didn't seem the diabolical sort."
Jackson's text beeped through. "Where are you at?"
I texted back. "Just having a coffee with Dr. Fisher. Would you like a cup? It's not the best but it works." Watery and bitter as it was, I was already feeling more perky from the coffee.
"A coffee would be good. I'll meet you out in the hallway."
"Detective Jackson is going to brave one of the vending machine coffees." I hopped up to buy another cup.
Professor Fisher laughed. "It's not exactly coffee shop quality but then if you'd sipped coffee in some of the exotic places I've sipped it, Turkey, Italy, Ethiopia, you'd crinkle your nose at the coffee shop drinks as well."
I pushed my coins into the slot and waited for the rather antiquated process to complete. "How exciting. I guess you've seen most of the world. I suppose that's the only way to garner such a large collection of artifacts."
"Indeed, I've found pieces from every part of the world. Even right here in the states."
"Wow, I never would have guessed that the states would have antiquities to offer."
"You'd be surprised." He covered his mouth to stifle a yawn. "What a long, disastrous evening. I just want to get to bed."
"I'm sure Detective Jackson would allow that. He's on his way." I slid open the little door and pulled out the hot coffee. The other thing a coffee vending machine didn't offer was
the cute and highly practical coffee cup sleeves. The contents of the thin paper cup were hot. I carried it quickly to the cart and poured in the powdered cream and sugar Jackson liked in his coffee.
Jackson turned the corner. John Hartman trailed after him, calling his name. He was holding a piece of paper. "Detective Jackson, I have that list for you."
I used my status as coffee delivery girl to head toward the two men. I assumed the paper held a list of names with a key card for the lab. John handed him the paper just as I reached Jackson. I held onto his coffee while he perused the list. Without making it too obvious, I stretched my neck just a bit to see the names on the list. Aside from John Hartman, Professor Fisher, Roscoe Banner and Sarah Essex, there were a few names I didn't recognize. Jackson zeroed in on those as well.
"Nathan Young?" Jackson looked at John.
"Yes, he was a grad student. He interned in the lab for a year. He should have been crossed off. He moved to Boston last year."
"Does he still have a card?" Jackson asked.
"No, no, of course not. He turned it in. We keep tight control of those cards." John glanced at the list. "And Millie Shuster is currently in the Middle East. Her card is here, in my office, locked in a cabinet."
"I'd like to see it just to be sure," Jackson said. "That leaves Flora Myers as the only name I don't recognize."
"Flora, yes, of course. Flora is an antiquities consultant and buyer. She makes purchases for the museum. She helps us choose which items to display. Her knowledge is invaluable."
I could sense Jackson perking up. "So she works for the museum?"
"No, actually she works for many museums. We are just one of her clients. She was supposed to be here tonight, but she cancelled at the last minute."
Jackson put a circle around her name. "Did she say why?"
"No, but as you can imagine, she's always very busy."
"Thank you for the list. I'm just going to have a word with Miss Taylor, then I'll join you in your office to check for that key card."
John smiled weakly my direction and walked away. "Hold on, John," Professor Fisher called from the bench where we had sipped coffee. "I'll walk with you. I left my coat and hat in your office." Professor Fisher reached us. "If it's all right with you, Detective, I'd like to go home. It's been a trying night, and tomorrow morning, I'll have to phone my contact in Cairo and tell them the dreadful news. I need to figure out what to say. I expect to be tossing and turning all night."
"Yes, I understand. If I need anything, I'll call you," Jackson told him.
Professor Fisher was more than ready to leave. The two men walked down the hallway toward the offices.
"Well, Detective Jackson? Anything of note on your search?"
"It's pretty clean. Literally. The lab is immaculate. Not a speck of dust. Coroner confirmed it was death by strangulation somewhere between the hours of five and seven. Of course, he'll examine the body at the coroner's office, but he said the marks on her neck are unique."
"Unique?"
"Yes, might have been a chain or something with links. We couldn't find anything in the lab to match his description. Anyhow, thought you'd be interested. And, at the risk of earning what I consider to be one of the cutest scowls in the world, I'm going to order you to go home. You look tired, and there's nothing else to do tonight. I'll walk you to your car."
"Wait, am I not at least allowed to don that adorable scowl for a moment before you whisk me away from the crime scene." I furrowed my brow at him. "There, now you've been properly admonished for ordering me about, Detective Jackson."
Jackson glanced both directions briefly before kissing me lightly on the lips. "There, you've been properly rewarded for obeying an order." He took my hand. "Let's get you safely to your car. There are murderers about."
I sighed. "Story of my life, it seems."
"Yeah, about that . . ."
Chapter 15
Henry, all I'm saying is that if you eat too many eggs, your arteries are going to get clogged up like a sink and then you're going to have a heart attack and I'll be stuck taking care of you, spoon feeding you and all that. And when I'm in charge of your care, because you're an invalid from stuffing your face with half a dozen eggs at a time, I'm going to feed you nothing but oatmeal and broccoli, the two foods you hate the most. And you'll be too feeble and weak to resist."
I waited in the hallway, secretly listening and smothering a laugh, as Ursula finished her speech. I peered around the corner. Ursula was still standing over her brother, hands on hips, and a glare that could burn holes in the top of his head. Henry, on the other hand, went right on shoveling forkfuls of fluffy scrambled eggs into his mouth. Emily's chickens had been extra productive the past few months providing me with an endless supply of eggs. I rarely made eggs for breakfast, but Henry trotted in every morning and headed right to the fridge and then stove for his plate of eggs.
"You've missed all the entertainment," Edward drawled from the hearth. "It's been particularly lively this morning."
I nodded slightly to let him know I'd caught some of the performance.
Ursula smiled. "There she is. You slept late this morning. If Henry can ever get done stuffing his face with breakfast, we're going to start on that upstairs bathroom. Did you pick the tile yet?" she asked.
Henry took a breather from his breakfast. "We're still a month away from needing the tile. Let her take her time. You're always rushing her."
Ursula's fists went back to her slim hips.
"Here we go again," Edward quipped. "You know she means business when those walnut-sized fists clench."
I turned away from the scene and busied myself with the coffee pot so Ursula wouldn't catch me holding back a laugh. I poured myself a cup.
"Oh, Sunni, by the way, your sister's boyfriend dropped by the inn yesterday," Ursula remarked.
My mind went straight to Nick. I spun around with my cup. "Nick isn't Em's boyfriend. They're married."
Ursula blew a raspberry. "I know that. Nick is a great guy. No, I'm talking about Lana's boyfriend, Dave."
"Dave came here? Was he looking for me?" I asked. I couldn't think of any reason Dave would drop by my house unless he was hoping to see more flying oranges.
Ursula saw my cup and decided to refill her own. "Actually, he came by to admire the work we've been doing." She beamed proudly as she poured the coffee.
"He brought us some cookies," Henry said between bites.
"Yeah, and you ate them all, leaving me with the crumbs," Ursula noted. She had my full attention, and the last thing I had time or patience for was another one of her rants about her brother's eating habits.
"Let me get this straight," I said quickly to keep her from veering off onto the cookie tangent. "Dave came by here, not to see me but to look at the work you're doing."
Ursula looked a little hurt. "That's right. He came to see us," she repeated. "He is thinking of buying an old house and wants to hire us for the renovations."
"I see. Well, he'd be smart to hire you." My compliment brought the grin back to her face.
Henry laughed. "Guess he's worried about buying an old house and having trouble with ghosts because he was asking both of us if we'd ever noticed or heard anything strange at the inn."
Ursula grew quiet. I knew she was thinking back to the frightening moment when Edward, no longer able to listen to her incessant hammering, pulled the tool from her hand. I nearly lost my contractors that day, but with some coaxing, I talked Ursula into returning to the inn. I also had to warn Edward not to lose his temper again.
Henry noticed his sister's silence (a rarity). "I told him there were a few weird things but then I changed the subject right back to his house restoration. I didn't need this silly woman thinking about ghosts and ghouls again."
I realized I'd been holding my breath when the air ushered out of my lungs. The last thing I needed was for Ursula to list off all the inexplicable events she'd encountered while working on the inn. The hammer incid
ent, alone, would have turned the biggest skeptic into a believer, and it seemed Dave was already landing on the side of believer. He was certainly spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about ghosts.
"I'm sorry he bothered you two about something so silly," I said, all while trying my hardest to ignore the six-foot-plus ghost floating over to the kitchen window.
"We don't mind if it means more work," Henry said, adding quickly. "Of course we can't start anything else until the inn is finished. This place is a full-time job."
Ursula had been uncommonly quiet the past few minutes. I glanced fleetingly her direction, not wanting to make direct eye contact and trigger a discussion about ghosts.
"And I'll make sure everyone knows that the Rice siblings restored the Cider Ridge Inn to its former glory," I said emphatically. That seemed to pull Ursula from whatever thoughts she'd mired herself in.
"This inn will be our greatest advertisement," Ursula declared. "We'll have more business than we know what to do with."
"I agree. Now, if you two will excuse me, I'm late for work." I walked back to the bedroom, my mind swishing back and forth about Dave Crockett nosing around the inn. I'd have to ask him all about this old house project. Something told me my question would catch him off guard. Last time I'd heard him talking about buying a house, he was telling Lana that he wanted something modern, industrial. They'd even had a little debate about it, Lana sharing that she thought modern, industrial houses were cold and uninviting and Dave countering that they were more efficient and less cluttered. I would stake my year's salary that Dave was not in the market for an old house. Hopefully, Lana would step in and stop his snooping around. I took heart in knowing all of his investigative reporting was going nowhere. With any luck he'd give up the quest soon.
Chapter 16
News of the shocking events at the museum had reached Prudence and the entire news office, for that matter. Prue had called a meeting. Before I could take one bite of the jelly donut I'd nabbed on my way in the door, she was asking about the stolen chalice.
Death at the Museum Page 7