Frank had a nice family—parents who were still alive and still married, two brothers and one sister, nieces, nephews. He had a photograph of his son, Kevin, from a previous marriage and one of Star, the young girl he adopted after her parents were murdered. Diane took down the photograph and smiled at it. Star, now going to Bartram University, had been working hard, overcoming a lot.
Frank came back with two cups of cappuccino— which was always way too strong. But right now she needed a good jolt. She put the photo of Star back on the mantle.
‘‘Do I need to sip this sitting down?’’ she said.
‘‘It probably would help.’’ He sat down next to her with his own drink.
Diane blew across the top of the beverage to cool it, then took a small drink. It was hot, strong, and good.
After a moment she began her recounting of the day by telling him about waking up to the knock at the door and then slipping in the blood. She told him about the attack in the hospital in more detail than she had related in the presence of Lynn Webber and the nurse’s aide.
‘‘Did you recognize the voice?’’ asked Frank. As they spoke he sipped his coffee and rubbed the back of her neck with his hand.
‘‘No, I didn’t. But calling me a dirty dealer... it had to be about the artifacts. Someone thinks I’m dealing in stolen antiquities. That’s the only thing that makes sense.’’
From Frank’s blank stare and raised eyebrows, Diane realized he didn’t know about the disputed artifacts or the newspaper articles. He usually didn’t read the local newspapers until the weekend. Frank worked in Atlanta and the story hadn’t yet made it there, at least not on the front page. That would be today most likely—something else to look forward to.
‘‘We have a scandal of sorts at the museum,’’ she said. Diane told him about the wretched newspaper articles and the hastily called board meeting.
‘‘Are you sure Kendel isn’t involved?’’ asked Frank. ‘‘Just to play the devil’s advocate, could she be using RiverTrail to launder looted antiquities or at least to get a good deal on some Egyptian artifacts for the museum?’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘The only Egyptian artifacts we’re looking for right now are twelfth dynasty. The same as our mummy. The artifacts delivered to us are from several other dynasties.’’
‘‘Could she have intended to replace the photo
artifacts graphs in the documents and launder the
that way?’’
‘‘The photographs wouldn’t match the
tions,’’ said Diane. ‘‘She couldn’t hope to launder the
artifacts at our museum.’’
‘‘Why?’’ said Frank. When he decided to play the
devil’s advocate he was like a dog with a bone. ‘‘I
would think a museum would be the perfect place to
launder looted artifacts.’’
‘‘Not ours,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We’re a small museum
and we’ve had one director—me.’’
descrip‘‘So?’’ said Frank.
‘‘Large museums show only a fraction of their holdings at any one time. The Bickford shows only about a third of theirs. The rest is in storage. Periodically they create new exhibits from their inventory, rearrange items into perhaps a comparative study—like stone tools from around the world or medicinal plants
from various cultures.’’
‘‘The Bickford? Where have I heard about them?’’
said Frank.
‘‘That’s where we purchased our casts of the Jurassic dinosaurs,’’ said Diane. ‘‘They sent staff from their
museum to help us put them together.’’
‘‘Ah, yes. I remember now,’’ he said. ‘‘Go on. You
were telling me why artifacts can’t be laundered in
your museum.’’
‘‘In large museums like the Bickford it might be
easier to integrate looted artifacts into the stored
ones—especially with turnovers in directorship. In
fact, their current director is leaving. Here at RiverTrail what you see is basically what we have. I know
all of our holdings, and everything comes through me.
For Kendel to be laundering artifacts, she’d have to
enlist the staff who work at the loading dock, the
