The Skeleton Stuffs a Stocking

by Leigh Perry

  Madison started rubbing and Sid objected, “Hey, that stuff isn’t easy to get off!”

  My only response was to make kissing noises as I went down the stairs.

  Maturity runs in the family.

  Fortunately for my dignity, Brownie had not heard me smooching my way down the stairs. He was in the living room chatting with Andrew about life in dissertation purgatory.

  Andrew had the good grace to look embarrassed when he saw me. “Good evening, Dr. Thackery.”

  “Andrew, how’s it going with the Transcendentalists?” I realized immediately it was a mistake because his eyes lit up and he opened his mouth.

  Brownie hurriedly said, “Sorry, Georgia, but we’ve got to book if we’re going to make our reservation.”

  I tried to look disappointed while I threw on scarf, coat, and gloves as fast as I could. Brownie was moving nearly as quickly as I was, and we were out the door and halfway to his car in record time.

  “We have reservations?” I said.

  “Not at a restaurant, but I have grave reservations about the entertainment value in that guy’s dissertation. I know Nathaniel Hawthorne was a great writer, Georgia, but I never could stomach him.”

  “Stop right there, Brownie Mannix.” I grabbed him by his coat, pulled him over, and gave him a big kiss. Then I wiped the lipstick off with one thumb.

  “Whoa. Is there any other great writer I should not like?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  When Brownie announced that we were going to Marion’s Steakhouse, I was glad I’d changed clothes. It wasn’t an overly fancy place, but it was definitely a step above sweatshirt-related ensembles. Along the way, and after we got to our table and ordered, I gave Brownie a synopsis of what Sue had told me, ending just as our tossed salads were delivered.

  “Does that match what you know?” I asked.

  “It exceeds it. You got a lot more detail out of her than I got from my parents.”

  “I think she felt bad about lying to me.”

  “My parents aren’t big into guilt.”

  “Speaking of guilt, is that why you brought food trucks to Bostock? Because you felt guilty about keeping the real story from me?”

  “Maybe a little, but mostly I really want to help with the investigation. In fact, I did a little nosing around already.” He paused while the waitress brought our steaks and baked potatoes. “I went on campus looking for you yesterday since you weren’t returning my calls.”

  “I admit that was not a particularly adult reaction.”

  “No worse than when I quit calling you a few months ago. Anyway, you weren’t at your desk, so I was heading back to the trucks when I spotted that museum you mentioned. Which of course I already knew was involved in the case. And I’m still really sorry—”

  “Stop. You’ve apologized, I’ve accepted, and this is an excellent steak. We’re good.”

  His smile before he went on was a thing of beauty. “I tell you, Georgia, that place is bizarre enough to be a sideshow attraction.”

  “At least now we know why it’s such a hodgepodge.”

  “I bet the thief targeted the place because it was a hodgepodge, not the other way around. If I were a stealing man, there are plenty of things I could have walked off with. There’s no security to speak of, just that one student at the door who never looked up from her laptop.”

  “There must be a curator in charge of the place,” I said.

  “That’s what I thought, so when I got back to the food trucks, I chatted up some of the professors. According to them, the head of the history department is technically in charge, but in reality, he has as little to do with the place as possible. When donations come in, he gets the departmental secretary to type up the labels, going purely by the inventory they’re given, without doing any additional research. Somebody eventually lugs the stuff to the museum and finds a spot to squeeze it in. No chronology, no explanation of an item’s significance, and certainly no climate control. It’s enough to make a historian cry!”

  “What about the attendants? Don’t the students who run the museum have a company with a cutesy name?”

  “The museum is spared that particular indignity. McClelland’s bequest included funds to pay for museum attendants. If it weren’t for that, I doubt the place would be open to the public at all. The attendant I spoke to said the job was considered easy money.”

  “That would put the attendants high on the list of potential thieves, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would if any of them had spent a decade at Bostock. While the thefts might have started ten years ago, they’re still going on.”

  “Seriously?” I said. This was news to me.

  “I looked at the dates on the object labels, and one of the fakest of the fakes was a so-called suit of medieval armor donated earlier this year. Georgia, I could buy a suit of armor just like it at the mall.”

  “I thought the same thing when I saw it.”

  “I made a list of the most obvious phonies, the ones that are so bad they don’t deserve to be called forgeries. Shall I email it to you?”

  “That would be great. I can add it to the file.”

  “You keep files?”

  “One has to keep track of data somehow,” I said modestly. The modesty came naturally since Sid did the vast majority of the filing.

  “I also asked the attendant if there was a more thorough listing of the contents of the museum, since that brochure was next to useless. She didn’t know and neither did the research librarian.”

  “Did you ask the history department secretary?”

  “And thus was my thunder stolen.”

  “Sorry. Department secretaries know where all the bodies are buried.” I remembered how I’d gotten involved in this case in the first place. “Though usually not literally.”

  “Metaphorically, you’re right on the money. The secretary appreciated the coffee and muffins I brought her enough that she dug up a database file for me. I’ll send that along, too.”

  “Terrific.” Sid would love it.

  “She also told me that if I wanted to know more about the museum, I should talk to Professor Dallas Sieck. She’s retired now, but when she was still working, she was as close to a real curator as the place had.”

  “Did you get contact information?”

  “I did.” I was expecting him to offer to email me that as well, but instead he said, “I thought we could go talk to her together.”

  I blinked. “Um, I’ll have to check my schedule, but maybe tomorrow or the next day?” Though it seemed like a good opportunity, I had a feeling Sid wasn’t going to like the idea, even if I promised to bring him along.

  Despite my threat of requiring Brownie to provide a dessert to achieve full apology, I decided that the salad, steak, and potato were more than enough food. Nor did we indulge in a dessert of another kind, since we both had to be up early the next morning. Instead Brownie drove me straight home after we left the restaurant, and we enjoyed a short interlude for fond farewells.

  Mom, Phil, Madison, and Sid were waiting for me in the living room. Even Byron was sitting expectantly.

  “Did you have a nice time?” everyone but the dog said in perfect unison.

  “How long did you guys practice that?”

  “Fifteen minutes,” they replied together, then we all broke up into laughter.

  I took off my coat and winter accessories and joined Madison and Sid on the couch. “We had a very nice time.”

  “Did you two kiss and make up?” Sid asked.

  “We made up,” I said. “As for the rest…You know carnies and their secrets.”

  That stopped them cold.

  We finished watching The Year Without a Santa Claus and then headed our separate ways: Mom and Phil to their office, Madison to bed, and Sid and me to the attic.

  “I’m glad you finally got away from the computer,” I said.

  “I was too ex
cited to be alone. After Sue’s revelations, I did some more research into the McClelland Museum. And guess what I found out?” He was too eager to wait for the obligatory What? in response. “Somebody is still stealing from the museum!”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sid looked at me in clear expectation of my enthusiasm and adulation, and I tried my best to provide some.

  “Wow, really?” I said. “That’s amazing! How did you find that out? Good going, Sid!”

  He ignored reality long enough to narrow his eye sockets. “You’re a terrible liar, Georgia. You already knew it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I knew,” I admitted, “but I didn’t lie about it.”

  “I stand corrected. You’re a terrible actress. How did you figure it out?”

  “I didn’t. Brownie did.”

  “Oh.” His expression turned even blanker than the expression on most skulls.

  “He visited the museum and—”

  “The museum he already knew was involved in Annabelle’s story but didn’t trust you enough to tell you?”

  “He apologized for that.”

  I think he muttered, “Not to me,” but I didn’t call him on it. Instead I explained how Brownie had discovered that the museum thefts were a long-term scheme. “How did you find out?”

  “I found a couple of scholarly papers that referenced items in the museum, and unless that historian was an utter buffoon, the artifacts cited were real as of five years ago. So I compared the photos from the papers to the ones Madison took, and obviously they weren’t the same items, which means that somebody has continued to steal from the museum.”

  “It’s good to have it confirmed, isn’t it?”

  He sniffed. “The papers were written by a Dr. Dallas Sieck, who used to be at Bostock, but she retired.” He gave me another look. “How much of what I just told you did you already know?”

  “Not all of it. Brownie found out that Dr. Sieck took a lot of interest in the museum, and that she was retired from Bostock, but he didn’t find out about the papers. That’s good work, Sid.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Georgia.”

  That was as much as I could take. “Coccyx, Sid, what do you want from me? Do you want me to tell Brownie not to help, even though he’s giving us access to information we wouldn’t have otherwise? It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve had help. It’s not even the first time with this case. Madison went with us to Bostock to provide cover, and Deborah told us about the Nichols house cleanup. Should I tell them I don’t want their help either?”

  “They’re different. They’re family. Brownie isn’t.”

  “Neither are Charles, Dana, Treasure Hunt, or Sue, all of whom have helped us.”

  “They’re not the same, either. Brownie is—” He stopped.

  I waited for him to finish the sentence, but when he didn’t, I said, “He’s my friend, Sid, and I’m sorry he’s not yours. Maybe you can take an online class with him like you did with Charles and get to know him.”

  “He never teaches online classes,” Sid said in a low voice. “I checked.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Coccyx, Georgia, I should just get this off my rib cage. I’m jealous of Brownie.”

  I know it’s impossible for somebody’s heart to literally sink, but it sure felt like mine did. I put my hand on his bony one and said, “Sid, you know I love you, but not like that.”

  Sid leapt up from his chair. “Coccyx, Georgia, don’t even go there! That’s just gross. I’m going to have to pour hydrogen peroxide inside my skull to get that image out of there.”

  “Oh,” I said, incredibly relieved. “I was afraid you meant that—”

  “I know what you thought, but all the EWWWWWs in the world could not express my feelings on this matter.”

  “Now I’m feeling insulted.”

  “I’m freaked out and you’re insulted! You see, no good could ever come of this topic. We should never speak of this again.”

  “Agreed.”

  He sat back down, but considerably further away from me. “As I was trying to explain, I’m jealous because Brownie can do things I can’t, like going to restaurants and bookstores without being stuck in a bag.”

  “I thought you wanted me to make up with him.”

  “I did. I have no problems whatsoever with Brownie as a boyfriend.”

  “You just don’t want him taking your place as my partner in crime-solving.”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “First off, he’s not going to take your place. Nobody can work the computer the way you do, Sid. Even if Brownie had your abilities, he’d never be able to keep up with your speed, let alone your tenacity. He’s got to work two jobs, wear clothes, eat at regular intervals, and deal with countless other biological issues you can safely ignore.”

  “Plus has to sleep hours and hours every day, which is disgusting.”

  I let that slide for the time being. “However, during one of his rare waking moments, Brownie can arrange for us to see the retired professor who wrote those papers. Are you up for it?”

  “No, you two go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry I was being a pain in the patella.”

  “Sid, you don’t have to put yourself in timeout. If you want to come, come. You might catch something Brownie and I miss.”

  He stroked his jawbone. “That’s true.”

  “Ahem.”

  “I mean you’re experienced, but Brownie is a newbie. So okay, I’ll come.”

  “All right then. Oh, were you able to delete anybody from the suspect pool?”

  He cocked his skull. “I told you I hadn’t. The cop show montage, no nosy neighbor. Remember?”

  “Yeah, but that was before you knew that museum thefts weren’t a one-time deal and are still going on. Now you can eliminate people who no longer have access.”

  His eye sockets got as big as an anime character’s. “I am a total bonehead. I never thought of that.” He jumped up and clattered to his desk. “I’m on it!”

  I checked my watch. “Then I’m going to get some of that oh-so-repellent sack-time.”

  He waved in my general direction without looking away from his computer screen, and I went downstairs.

  I felt as if Sid and I were on a better footing than we had been earlier, but I was still uneasy about his feelings toward Brownie. Neither Brownie nor I had said the L-word out loud, but after our dinner, I realized that I was about ninety percent in love with him. How would Sid react when I told him? Of course, Madison’s approval was the most important, and I cared what my parents thought, too, but none of them relied on pure force of will to stay alive. If Sid ever decided he was being replaced by Brownie, he might fall apart forever.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I didn’t have time the next morning to stop at the food trucks for coffee with Brownie, but I did tap my horn, and when he looked up and saw me, he actually blew a kiss. I was grinning like an idiot as I drove to the parking deck, found a place, and waited for the shuttle bus. Receiving a text from Brownie wishing me a good morning didn’t hurt either.

  I maintained my happy mood until the shuttle arrived a minute or two later and I climbed on board.

  “Allons-y!” I chirped to David, the driver of the day.

  I expected him to reply with Geronimo!, Hello, sweetie!, or some other catchphrase from Doctor Who, but he just nodded and said, “Hey, Dr. Thackery.”

  I took the seat closest to him and once we started up, I asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m just wondering about this strike stuff. My parents are worried that the union rally tomorrow might get ugly.”

  “What, bad grammar on the picket signs?”

  “No, seriously. People are talking about a riot, but I don’t think that could happen here. Do you?”

  “No, of course not. Where is this coming from?”

  “Th
ere’s a parents’ group on Facebook.”

  “Sounds as if somebody is pulling their leg.”

  “That’s what I thought, but a couple of the other shuttle drivers have heard rumors, too.”

  “What about campus security? They must be on high alert.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a big campus and they can’t be everywhere. We drivers are going to meet to decide if we should suspend service tomorrow afternoon for safety reasons. It would be bad for business, and we hate to strand people, but—”

  “You do what you have to do to stay safe,” I said, though the idea of having to make my way around campus on foot didn’t appeal. “Just give us as much warning as you can manage.”

  “Will do.” We pulled up at my stop, and he opened the door. “You be careful, Dr. Thackery.” Then he mustered up a grin to say, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  After that, my mood was soured, but I made it through classes. It did seem as if the students were unusually restless, but it could just as easily have been end-of-semester anxiety or something completely different. I didn’t know that I should attribute it to rumors, but it worried me just the same.

  Brownie had sent me a text inviting me to join him at the food trucks for lunch, and not only did I have the obvious reasons for accepting, but I wanted to get a good look at the picketers and see if I could gauge their state of mind.

  At Brownie’s suggestion I drove to the church lot and then moved to the backseat so we could have a private picnic in the heated car rather than shivering outside. A couple of minutes after I arrived, he delivered a tray.

  “I share with you the delicacies of my people,” he said, then placed it reverently in my lap.

  I laughed when I saw that he’d brought me classic carnival treats: hot dogs, popcorn, and fried dough. “Perfect.”

  “I also have news. Professor Emeritus Dallas Sieck can meet with us this afternoon if you’re available.”

  “As long as there’s time for me to run by my house first.” In other words, I needed to grab Sid.

  “That’s no problem. As soon as we get through the lunch rush, I’m going to shut down here and send the trucks back to the zoo. I’ll swing by your place so we can go in one car.”