Dead Hunt

phone,’’ said Diane.

‘‘It’s a cell. I always wait by it. So that’s why you

called, isn’t it? I figured you would need me.’’ ‘‘I’m sorry to intrude on your vacation,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It’s not an intrusion. You know how I’ve been

dreading it. So is that why you called?’’ he asked

again.

‘‘Yes, it is. You can start by interviewing Kendel.’’ ‘‘Great. I’ll be right there. And thanks. You don’t

know how I’ve been hoping for something to do.’’ ‘‘I thought you were going to be doing some traveling,’’ said Diane.

‘‘I was, but then what do I do when I get there?’’ ‘‘Go sightseeing?’’

‘‘If I wanted to stand and look at stuff, I could stay

at the museum and save on gas money.’’

‘‘I’ll be in a board meeting when you get here. Kendel will be in my office waiting for you.’’

When she hung up with David, she turned her attention back to Kendel, who sat looking like her world

was coming to an end. Normally Kendel was tough.

Diane wondered if there was something else, or perhaps Kendel was tough only when she had firm footing. Now, with the rug pulled out from under her . . . ‘‘Kendel,’’ said Diane a little sharper than she

meant to, ‘‘David is going to investigate. He’s the best.

I’ve asked him to speak with you first. What I want

from you is two things. First, find where you left your

backbone. Then I want you to think about every interaction you had concerning the Egyptian artifacts.

Every person you spoke with, anything, no matter how

remote, that you noticed during the transactions, any

casual person who happened to walk through the

room while you were negotiating, anything.’’ Kendel nodded. ‘‘I appreciate your support. Everyone at the museum has been great.’’

Except for a certain member of the board, thought

Diane. ‘‘You’re innocent unless proven guilty,’’ she

said. ‘‘Stay here and wait for David.’’ Diane stood up.

‘‘Now I have to deal with the board.’’ She picked up

the rolled newspaper from her desk.

Chapter 8

Andie looked up from her desk as Diane passed through her office on her way to the boardroom.

‘‘Mrs. Van Ross is with the board members,’’ Andie said.

The situation must be critical, thought Diane. More than any other single person, Vanessa Van Ross was the museum. She and Milo Lorenzo had been the driving forces behind its development. She had shown caution not to undermine Diane’s authority or to give the impression of undue influence over the operations of the museum. She rarely came to board meetings, trusting instead to give Diane her proxy vote. If Vanessa was in attendance, it meant she was more than just concerned; she was alarmed at the possible harm to the reputation of the museum—Milo’s museum and hers.

Milo hired Diane to be assistant director under him. He died of a heart attack before the museum even opened, and the governance he had set up for himself went to Diane—a governance that gave Diane more power than the board. Still, under extraordinary circumstances they could remove her. It was going to be an interesting meeting.

Diane started out the door, hesitated. Clymene’s concern for Grace Noel nagged at her. Damn, if she hadn’t enough to do. She turned back to Andie and pulled the piece of paper from her pocket with Grace Noel Tully’s information written on it that Rev. Rivers had given her.

‘‘Andie, get this woman on the phone for me. When you find her, transfer the call to the office in the boardroom.’’ Andie nodded. ‘‘This is the only interruption I want,’’ Diane said.

‘‘Got you . . . MOF. . . .’’ said Andie, nodding her head up and down as she read the card.

MOF was Andie’s abbreviation for museum on fire, which meant only in a dire emergency did Diane want to be disturbed.

Diane cocked an eyebrow at Andie. ‘‘If the museum’s on fire, just let me and the board go up in the conflagration,’’ said Diane.

Andie giggled and reached for the telephone. Diane left the office, still holding the rolled-up newspaper.

The board members were waiting for her in the third-floor meeting room. Diane wasn’t in a hurry to get there. She needed to regain her focus. On the way up she reread the newspaper article to rekindle her anger and her indignation. It worked. What could board member Madge Stewart have been thinking?

Diane knew the answer to that question. Madge liked to feel important and in the know. She also liked to blame others for her own lapses in judgment. How she must have enjoyed it when Ms. Boville called for her opinion.