Diane Vallere - Style & Error 03 - The Brim Reaper (16 page)

He let me speak, uninterrupted except for the occasional sigh, grunt, and WTF. Only he didn’t say the letters W-T-F. The Lord’s name got invoked a couple of times. I finished by telling him about Cat being mugged.

“Was she hurt?”

“No. But she’s shaken up. Like, a lot.”

He pulled his knees up to his chest and curled his arms around them, like he was trying to shrink himself down into the size of a bowling ball. He started to rock back and forth against the white crocheted afghan that I left on the back of the sofa. I don’t think he knew he was doing it.

“It all goes back to the exhibit,” he said.

“How is that possible? Cat said she bought that hat years ago. She’d been saving it for a special occasion, and the first time she wore it she got mugged. Nobody even knew she had it, except for her boss, who apparently is a Hedy London collector, and whoever sold it to her.”

“Do you know where she bought it?” Eddie asked.

“She said it was through back channels. I don’t think they’re listed in the phone book.”

“So now she’s a Cat without a hat.”

“I don’t think she took out an ad in the paper to tell people she was going to debut it. Who could have possibly known what it was? It seems like a totally random act of violence.”

“I have to talk to her. I have to find out what she knows.”

“She doesn’t want to talk about it.” I switched gears. “What do you know about Milo Delaney, the hat designer?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“He’s the one producing Hedy London’s collection.”

He thought for a second and scratched the side of his head. “Nobody said anything about him. To be honest, nobody’s told me much about the whole history of this thing.”

“How were you approached when it came to this exhibit?”

“Two weeks ago the regional director of visual merchandising called me down to his office. He congratulated me again on winning the contest and said the museum wanted me to work on this exhibit. I admitted I was surprised. When I won, I thought there would be a little fanfare when it came to the exhibit, but the more time that passed, the more I thought it was one of those never-gonna-happen things.”

“You said something about a promotion.”

“Yes. He said if I could pull it off, I’d get a bump to director of visual merchandising. Nicer title, better pay.”

“Not that you don’t deserve it, but it seems like they really sweetened the pot on top of the whole contest win. I mean, is that normal? Win a contest, get a great opportunity as your prize, and then get a raise and promotion too?”

Eddie pulled the white afghan around his shoulders like it was a superhero cape and walked into the kitchen. I followed him and we sat at the table.

“When I told you about the promotion, I wanted to impress you. I didn’t tell you the other part.”

“There’s more?”

“Or less. If I don’t pull this thing off, I’m out of a job.”

“I think it’s time someone rewrote Tradava’s employee-relations handbook,” I said.

Eddie smiled, but it seemed as though the effort was almost more than he could manage.

“Tell me exactly what you remember from the day you were given this assignment.”

“My boss told me a personality conflict at the museum was holding up progress on the exhibit. Tradava had a lot of money invested in the collection, and they’d been counting on something big from the museum to give them national press.”

“So before you were onboard, it was just Dirk Engle. Right?”

“Right.” Eddie picked at a loose thread on the afghan.

“And now he’s dead.”

“Right.”

“Tonight I found out that before Dirk Engle, Vera was involved.”

“Vera from Over Your Head?” he asked with surprise.

“One and the same. And Christian wants you to keep working on the exhibit, even though there was a murder there.”

He lowered his head to the table and rested his forehead on the placemat for a few seconds. When he lifted his head, the imprint of a grid remained on his skin. He burped and set his head back on the placemat.

I didn’t know if it was because I was still hopped up from finding Eddie in my living room or because I felt helpless not doing anything, but I had to get out of there.

I pulled on a pair of pink wrestling sneakers and grabbed Eddie’s keys. “Is Thad expecting you to be at the museum tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Two Hedy London movies came from Netflix today. Watch them. I’m taking your car.”

The sun descended as I drove. Within the hour, it would be dark. Instead of pulling into the parking lot, I parked Eddie’s Bug on a residential side street about a half a mile from the museum and walked.

I let myself in with the keys Dr. Daum had given me to give Eddie. A single light glowed from behind the counter by the gift outpost, casting weird shadows from the
object d’arts
and merchandising trinkets. I passed the gift shop and went down the stairs that led to Christian’s office. A beam of light ran between the bottom of it and the floor. I tiptoed across the marble, quiet thanks to my rubber soles, and pressed my back up against the wall, listening for signs of conversation.

When I heard nothing, I put my hand on the knob and pulled the door open.

Christian stood by a fax machine that was spitting out paper. His back was to me. I slipped into the office, dropped to all fours, and crawled past his desk to behind the same metal audio-visual cart I’d hidden behind yesterday.

Christian seemed satisfied with the information that came off the machine. He ran his finger through his golden-brown hair, the same way he had the day we’d first met, and then turned to the desk and picked up the receiver.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d left for the night. If you’d still like to talk, I’m available.” There was a pause, and then he said, “I’ll be waiting.” He hung up and scanned the surface of his desk, lifting a couple of pages and tucking them into his top left desk drawer.

I shifted my weight, wondering who he’d called. I was disappointed when Rebecca peeked around the door into Christian’s office. Today her ringlets had been brushed out into soft, feminine waves. She smelled like patchouli, a scent I could identify because it had been infused into every pressing of Madonna’s
Like A Virgin
album.

“Come in,” Christian called, shuffling through papers that I’d shuffled through earlier that day. He waved toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

She perched on the edge of the chair that faced him. Her posture was stiff, like she was balancing a book on her head. Her hands were folded in her lap like an obedient child.

“What did you want to see me about?” he asked.

“I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help with the exhibit,” she said in a soft voice.

He looked at her across the desk. From where I was, I had a sliver of vision between the bottom of the TV monitor and the top of the VCR/DVD player. I wasn’t sure whether I should concentrate on Christian’s expression or Rebecca’s, but knew if I kept moving my head like I was watching Wimbledon, there was a pretty good chance I’d be discovered.

“Actually, I do have a project for you,” he said. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. “These are the top millinery collectors in the area. They must be contacted about the upcoming exhibit. A few might have concerns that we’re going to cancel, and they need to be reassured that we’re not. They represent a great deal of exposure and a great opportunity for the museum to raise funds. Can you do that for me?”

I peeked at Rebecca. She leaned forward, and her black silk blouse exposed a lace trimmed bra and cleavage created by padding. Christian’s eyes flicked down to her chest for a split second, and then he continued speaking.

“They each need to be told only the most salacious pieces of information about the hats that we’ll be displaying. Their interest needs to be piqued to maximize the wow factor. Tell them about the murder, if you think it will heighten the drama.”

“Christian, is that a good idea? Does the detective want you to talk about it with these people?”

The director sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “What happened can’t be helped. In light of it, we have a unique opportunity to raise the stakes and gain national coverage. It is better to seize this moment than to avoid it because of an unfortunate event. I hardly think I need to consult with detectives on how to raise publicity. Can I count on you?”

She cocked her head to one side and her curls fell over her shoulder. “Of course, Dr.—Christian.”

“Thank you, Rebecca.”

She looked at the piece of paper like it was a love note, folded it into a small square, and stood up. She watched him for a few seconds more before standing.

I slouched lower, scared that she’d see me.

After a few seconds of silence, Christian spoke. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. I imagined her tucking her hair behind her ears, if only because that’s what she’d done that first day that Christian had confronted her by the gift shop.

“Then please close the door behind you. I’m going to finish up with some paperwork before I leave.”

“Of course.” Her chunky loafers made clunking noises against the concrete floor. The door opened and then swung shut.

I was trapped.

19

I’d taken a chance slipping in while Christian’s back was turned, but there was no way I could get the door open and get out without him noticing. I was either going to spend the night in his office, or I was going to have to figure out a way to get him to leave.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and put it on mute, and then pressed *67 followed by the museum phone number. When the shrill ring tore through the silence of the office, I waited. Christian answered on the first ring.

“Christian Jhanes,” he said.

I’d forgotten that his voice would come through my phone! I pressed the phone between my palms to muffle the sound. He said hello a few times and hung up.

I muted my phone and called him again. The phone rang four times before he answered. Again with the hellos, again with the hang up—this time harder than before. It was working.

The fifth time, he let the phone ring twenty-six times before answering.

The sixth, he got up from his desk and stormed out of the office.

As soon as he was gone, I stood up and followed him. The ringing phone jangled behind me. I ducked out of the office and ran up the concrete stairs to the gallery space. I snatched two empty boxes and headed back to the stairs, getting halfway down when Rebecca saw me.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said nervously.

“Eddie and I are finishing up some last minute things. I’ve been so deep in research that I lost track of time.” I looked around. “Have you seen Thad?”

“Thad’s here too?” She looked over one shoulder and then the other. “I thought Christian and I were alone.” She blushed.

“Christian’s here? Are you sure?” I asked, trying out my clueless routine. “It’s been so quiet I thought
I
was the only one here.”

“He’s here, or he was. Maybe he left. I—I thought he’d say goodbye.” She looked behind her for Christian, but no one was there. I remembered what it was like to work hard to impress the new boss, and how it felt to go unappreciated. I put my hand on Rebecca’s forearm.

“Rebecca, if I were you, I wouldn’t get too attached to Christian. I don’t think he’s going to stick around for long after this exhibit is over.”

“I don’t think that’s true. He’s so passionate about the future of the museum. After this exhibit is over, just think what he’ll do next.” Her eyes grew wide and she blinked deliberately, her curled lashes batting up and down like a little girl afraid of the dark. “I don’t think he’ll leave us for a long time.”

“Maybe I’m wrong,” I said. “It’s been known to happen.” I carried the empty boxes past the gift shop as she turned off the light behind the counter and pulled a cloth cover onto the register.

“Do you want me to throw those boxes away for you? I’m on my way out with the trash from the store.”

“That’s your job?”

“We take turns. Today’s my day. It’s not a big deal, we just line up the plastic bags behind the building. The trash man picks them up every Tuesday morning before we open.”

“Thanks.” I handed the boxes to her and headed back up the stairs, happy that she’d offered. She’d just given me my next idea.

I spent the next two hours cleaning up the exhibit space. From the lack of sound in the rest of the building, I figured I really was alone now. When Thad hadn’t shown by nine thirty, I called it quits. I carried a black plastic garbage bag outside and set it next to the row Rebecca had already left. I untied the knot on the top of one of the bags but couldn’t see the contents. Same with the next, though the scent of coffee was present. In the dark, the exterior of the museum was horror-movie creepy. I moved the row of garbage bags—eight in all—to the edge of the property line. I jogged to Eddie’s car and moved it to the row of trash bags and stuffed them into the backseat. The last bag I stuffed inside was the one I’d brought out myself, filled with Eddie’s sketches, schematics, and notes.

A light came on in the gardening shed in front of me. I crouched beside the trash bags and watched. Was that Thad? He had expected Eddie to meet him tonight, but I’d seen no sign of him so far. Had it been a mistake to come here alone? A figure came out of the shed. He had on a dark jumpsuit and wore a hat pulled down far over his head. He turned off the light and ran toward the parking lot. I stood up to see where he went but lost track of him in the darkness.

My heart thumped like a bass drum keeping time for a marching band. I had a bad feeling about what I would find if I looked in the shed. I ran across the yard and cupped my hands around my eyes, trying to see the interior. I couldn’t make out details. A silver padlock kept me from entering. In the distance, I heard the wail of a siren. I backed away from the shed until I was halfway to the car, and then turned around and ran the rest. I stopped about fifteen feet from the car. The driver’s side door was open and a black plastic garbage bag like the ones I’d stuffed into the back rested on the passenger-side seat.