One Grave Too Many (11 page)

“I did get it,” said Donald. He clamped his mouth shut and stared at her like a bulldog.

“I don’t doubt it. Forward me the E-mail when the meeting’s over. I’ll check my computer to see if that’s where it came from.”

“All right,” said Mark. “I’d like to open up the discussion to moving the museum and selling the property. The monetary gain for the museum would be enormous.”

“And what would that be?” said Diane.

“What?” Mark stared at her in surprise.

“What is the monetary gain? Presumably, you’ve worked out the figures. May I see them?”

“We’re talking several million added to the museum’s holdings.”

“This is a million—or more—left over after we either build or refit another suitable building with the correct spacial, environmental, electrical and security requirements to house the collections, and including relandscaping the nature trails? I think we need to examine your figures line by line before we’re even prepared to discuss a change this radical.”

“Look, Diane, I called this meeting to discuss the concept. This is a great opportunity to increase the museum’s holdings.”

“I’ll set aside for a moment your odd use of the word
increase
, since all I’ve heard up to now will decrease the holdings. If we discuss this idea in theory and the figures don’t work out, we will have wasted a lot of time.”

“I agree,” said Kenneth Meyers, fingering his Palm Pilot. “Mark, what’s this obsession you have about moving the museum? I can’t see how it could work out in the museum’s favor. I don’t think the land here is going to be as valuable as you seem to believe, and we just remodeled this place, for God’s sake.”

“With all due respect, Ken, what do you know about real estate?”

“I haven’t made any bad real estate investments lately, and I can balance a checkbook. I know we’d have to be getting downtown-Manhattan prices in order for it to pay off for the museum in the way you’re suggesting.”

“I move we table this until Mark develops a line-by-line detailed budget for the sale of the property and building and moving the museum compared with the current figures for the renovated museum.” Laura was smooth and casual in stating her motion. Diane wondered if Mark noticed how detailed it was.

“I second,” said Kenneth.

“All in agreement with Laura’s motion raise your hands.” Laura, Kenneth Meyers, and Harvey Phelps raised their hands. Three votes out of the seven board members present. Mark looked around the room and smirked. His gaze shifted to Diane, whose hand was also raised.

“You can only vote to break a tie,” said Madge.

“You’re forgetting, I have Vanessa Van Ross’ proxy. All those against Laura’s motion.”

Mark Grayson, Gordon Atwell, Craig Amberson and Madge Stewart all raised their hands, producing a tie vote.

“I vote for Laura’s motion,” said Diane. “We’ll table this discussion until Mark has his figures together.”

“Why don’t we all just send you a rubber stamp with our signatures, and we won’t have to waste our time showing up for these meetings?” said Mark. “I don’t know why we even have a board, since you will do what you want anyway.”

“Milo intended the board members to offer their expertise for the good of the museum,” said Diane. “Why do you consider having to get your facts and figures together a defeat?”

Diane didn’t wait for an answer. She stood and took a stack of papers and began passing them out. “Here are the new figures for the opening. They include some workshops we will be offering to the public.”

“Stop ignoring legitimate questions for a moment. This is something we need to discuss.”

“You mean the purpose of the board? That’s covered in the hand—”

“I know, Milo’s handbook. Milo is dead, yet every time anything comes up about the museum, you or your friends trot out his name like he’s going to show up any minute and judge what we’ve done to
his
museum. Time goes on, and there are new considerations.”

“Milo may not be here with us, but he left us his plans in his will—along with his money. His death didn’t change the validity of his plans for the museum. Nor did it change Mrs. Van Ross’ commitment to see his plans realized.” Diane gazed around at the board members. Most were looking at her handouts.

Mark detected the sudden lack of support and stood up. “I need to get Signy home. Perhaps there will be a future time when this is not such a forbidden topic.” The way he left the room reminded Diane of a spoiled child.

There was a moment of silence finally broken by Madge Stewart. “This conservator’s workshop, what’s that?”

“Korey Jordan, our head conservator, thought members of the community would be interested in learning how to protect some of their family heirlooms,” said Diane.

“Oh, I’d be interested in that,” said Madge. “I have this quilt. . . .”

Craig Amberson let out a sigh, and Madge glared at him.

“I think the meeting’s clearly over,” said Diane. “Have a look at the budget I’ve handed out and we’ll discuss it next meeting. Come with me, Madge, and I’ll take you to meet Korey. He can give you some acid-free tissue paper and a box to store your quilt in.”

“Well, this was a big waste of time.” Craig Amberson stood up and stuffed the budget papers in his briefcase.

Gordon Atwell looked at his watch. “I might have just as well stayed at the bank. We should have at least talked about Mark’s plan, if nothing else but to get it over with.”

“Nothing to talk about without figures,” said Diane. “Until we have those, it’s all speculation—that’s a waste of time.”

Craig muttered something under his breath and walked out the door with Gordon. Diane took Madge to the conservation laboratory. It was not a large laboratory. Many of their items were contracted out to be processed. They did have a large storage vault controlled for temperature and humidity, a fume hood for handling chemicals, deacidification facilities, a suction table for treating fragile objects that can’t be completely immersed in water, binocular microscopes, and photographic equipment, all managed by a head conservator and five assistants. Diane was negotiating an arrangement with the local technical schools to offer classes for training conservation assistants.

Most of the items Korey worked with were bones, botanical specimens and objects from nature, but he also had expertise in the conservation of historical objects and paper. All the documents that passed through the museum went through Korey’s hands first, before going to the archivist.

Signy was leaning over a table looking at water-stained documents, Korey’s jacket over her shoulders.

“We found these in an old trunk in a corner of the basement,” Korey was telling her. “They contain some of the history of the place. Once I test the ink, I’ll know how to clean the paper and separate the pages that are stuck together. I think they’ll eventually make a terrific exhibit.”

“There’s certainly a lot more to this museum business than one would first guess,” said Madge.

As they discussed the documents, Diane noticed boxes of supplies, three layers high stacked against the wall. “What’s this?” she asked Korey.

He laughed. “Enough supplies to last me into the next millennium. I don’t know what’s going on. I suddenly started receiving a triple order of everything. I called the supplier and they said we’d ordered it.”

“Send me the paperwork that came with it,” said Diane. “I’ll take care of it. We’ll send back all the extras that have a shelf life.”

Madge rubbed her bare arms. “How can you stand it so cool in here? I’d turn up the temperature.”

“It’s best for the stuff we work on if the room is kept a little cool,” said Korey. “We get used to it.”

“Would you give Miss Stewart a box and some wrapping tissue? She wants to store a quilt.”

“Sure thing.” Korey went to collect the items.

“I suppose the meeting’s broken up, then.” Signy took the jacket off and laid it on the table.

“Yes, it has. I imagine Mark will be looking for you in the lounge. I’ll show you the way, if you like.”

“Thanks, Korey,” she yelled after him. “I appreciate the tour.”

“No problem, Mrs. G.”

“Korey will take care of you, Madge,” said Diane. “He can give you advice on cleaning your quilt, if it needs it.”

Diane left Madge looking at a tray of resin casts of dinosaur eggs and walked Signy out of the lab to the elevators that led to the staff lounge on the second floor.

“How did the meeting go?” Signy looked at her watch. “You couldn’t have gotten much done.”

“No. We didn’t get much done. Just small business. Did you enjoy your tour of the conservation lab?”

“I did,” said Signy. She sounded surprised that she could actually enjoy herself in a museum laboratory. “Korey’s a good teacher. Very enthusiastic about his work.”

“Mark said you’ve been taking cold medication. I’m sorry you had to spend the night in the conference room. I’ll have to ask the cleaning staff why they didn’t notice you.”

“It’s just as well. I didn’t need to be driving, and Mark was going to be at his office half the night talking to Japan.”

“I would have been glad to drive you home.”

“The couch was very comfortable.”

Diane didn’t press further, but she found the whole thing very odd. They met Mark just outside the staff lounge. He was frowning and didn’t automatically light up when he saw his wife. When he finally did smile, it looked forced.

“I’d better get you home,” he said. “You must be exhausted.” He nodded to Diane, took Signy by the arm and led her across the emerald green tile floors toward the elevators.

Diane headed toward the elevators herself, but was stopped by Donald. The way he was frowning, she thought she was in for another quarrel with him.

“Diane, I didn’t make up that message.”

“What?” For a moment she didn’t understand what Donald was talking about, for her hearing picked up Mark and Signy’s background conversation as they waited for the elevator. Their voices were not much more than a loud whisper, but the words swept her way as if on a breeze.

“Can’t you do anything right?” said Mark.

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even know about them. I’ll drive myself home.”

Diane glanced at them in time to see Mark take Signy by the arm. She jerked it out of his grasp and hurried into the open elevator.

“I really didn’t. I wouldn’t do that,” Donald was saying, “and I’m really disturbed that you think I would.”

Diane turned her attention back to Donald. “I don’t think you did, Donald. I think we both were innocent victims of some prankster.” His frown dissolved into a lopsided smile. What she didn’t say was that she doubted he would do something that so obviously pointed to him.

“Who do you think it was?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Do you have a printout of the E-mail?”

He slipped a page from the folder he was carrying and handed it to her. “It was sent from your computer,” he said.

“Looks like it. Will you forward me the message?”

“Sure. I’ll do that.”

When Donald left, Diane headed for her office. As she crossed the lobby, the guard standing by the intercom stopped her.

“A Frank Duncan wants to see you, Dr. Fallon.”

“OK. You can let him in.”

The guard opened the door and Frank walked in carrying a large envelope.

“Frank, I didn’t expect to see you today. Any news about what happened to your friends?” She gestured toward the hallway that led to her office. They walked through the glass doors labeled ADMINISTRATION and continued down the corridor.

“I know you don’t like being involved in any investigation, but I would really like to talk to you.”

“Is this about their deaths?” Diane fished her door key from the pocket of her jacket.

“Yes. The detectives have picked up their daughter, Star.”

Diane held her key so tightly in her hand, her knuckles were white. She stopped and turned to face Frank, not even realizing she also held her breath until she spoke. “She’s alive, then? She’s all right? That’s good news. I . . . well, I feared the worst.”

“So did I. She’s alive, but the kid’s in a world of trouble. Her parents and brother are dead, the detectives think she killed them, and I’m afraid the whole thing’s being mishandled by the Rosewood police department.”

They entered Diane’s office by her private entrance, and she sat down at her desk. “Mishandled how?”

Frank drew up a chair and laid his envelope on her desk. “Do you know anything about Rosewood politics these days?”

“Some ongoing disagreements involving the mayor and the city council?”

“And the county commissioners thrown in, just to further complicate everything. It’s a hell of a mess.”

“I don’t know much about local politics. I try to stay out of it as much as my job will allow.”

“The short version is that there’s a power struggle between Mayor Sutton and the city council. He thinks Rosewood is Atlanta.” Frank made a face. “He wants to be governor one of these days and he’s using our little city to build his empire.”

“A lot of people are moving here. We’ve had to do demographics for the museum.”

Frank waved his hand. “I work in Atlanta and live here. There may be only sixty-three miles in between, but there’s a big difference. The city council’s just as bad in the other direction as the mayor is. They don’t want any change that might shake up their little kingdom. They have their own fish to fry.”

Diane leaned back in her chair. “What does all this have to do with the murder of your friends? Are you saying it was some kind of political hit?”

“No, of course not. That’s not what I’m getting at.” Frank fidgeted in his chair, moving it closer to her desk. “We finally get a new police commissioner. We needed one. But the mayor wrestled his choice from the city council. The commissioner’s been pushing out people who don’t support the mayor and hiring new people—most of them old buddies of his, who will, like the chief of detectives, keep a low profile and do what they’re told. The chief of detectives, in turn, has been putting his men in. The upshot is that it’s all political cronyism, and nobody knows what the hell they’re doing.”