opportunity to use Bryce’s bad judgment against him.
‘‘Most of this is just posturing by Bryce,’’ she said. ‘‘But I need to stop it, and I want to make sure no one from the museum has to cross his path until I get it cleared up. No one should be afraid they will face a man with a bad attitude and a gun during the course of their day at the museum.’’
Emily nodded and gave Diane a faint smile, and Diane patted her on the shoulder.
‘‘This guy is the definition of
‘‘I’ll say,’’ said Andie. ‘‘But weird is what we do here.’’ She grinned at Diane.
‘‘Good night, Andie,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’ll see you in the morning.’’
Andie nodded, said good-bye, and started to leave. She lingered at the door momentarily, as if there might yet be fireworks to see. Diane shooed her away.
‘‘Mike, you mind coming with me? There’s some thing I’d like you to help me with,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Sure thing, Doc.’’ Mike grinned. ‘‘I love working here. Always something going on.’’
‘‘I’ll go too. I need to get my purse,’’ said Emily. ‘‘It’s in the docents’ office.’’
The three walked out to the elevator and rode up to the third floor. The guard was still there. Diane saw him at the far side of the building as she was about to enter Exhibit Preparations. He was sitting in the chair looking like a troll guarding the bridge, popping something—candy or popcorn—into his mouth and staring down the hallway.
Mike looked down the long hallway at him. ‘‘So tell me,’’ he said. ‘‘Which Billy Goat Gruff am I?’’
‘‘Well, I know I’m the littlest one,’’ said Emily, ‘‘so I’m out of here.’’ She waved at them and went to the docents’ office.
Diane went to each department on the third floor and told her employees to go home. That done, she told Mike what she was planning and the two of them walked down toward the west wing overlook. The guard stood up as she approached, expecting, no doubt, another confrontation. He was grinning, ready for it.
Shipman. That was the name on his uniform. G. Shipman. He was a large, broad-shouldered fellow with short dark hair and a broad face with a nose that looked like it had been broken at least once. Diane wondered whether he was a bully when he was in school.
‘‘You’re going to have to bring someone bigger than that skinny runt,’’ he said, pointing at Mike. ‘‘He’s not much better than the broad you brought last time.’’
They ignored him, and before Shipman realized what Diane was about, she’d pulled the metal accor dion gate from its slot in the wall. He ran at her, lunging at the expanding door, trying to wrestle it from her, grinning and staring her in the eyes the whole time. Mike stepped in and slammed it in the latch. Diane locked it.
Shipman’s muscles, Diane guessed, were like Harve Delamore’s—all show. Mike’s were not. It was nice to have the testosterone advantage on her side this time.
‘‘Hey, you can’t lock me in,’’ he said. He shook his hands as if they hurt. Probably stung after Mike grabbed the gate from him.
‘‘I’m not,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’m securing the museum. There’s a stairwell and an elevator to the left and right of the overlook. They lead down to the first floor. There will be guards at the desk and they can let you out. Or you can go through the crime lab to their private elevator,’’ said Diane. She closed the fire doors and locked them too.
As Diane and Mike walked to the middle bank of elevators, she called security on her cell and told them to turn on the night lighting.
After a few moments they were plunged into dark ness except for the foot lighting. They heard a muffled yell but couldn’t hear what Shipman was saying. She pushed the button for the elevator and the doors opened immediately. They got in and the doors closed, drowning out all sound.
‘‘I thought something was up the way you talked to Bryce—a little harsher than your usual tone.’’
‘‘Bryce had already lost two battles with me. I knew he wouldn’t want to lose a third, and I didn’t want to tempt him into being reasonable by making nice with him.’’
‘‘Doc, I didn’t know you could be so manipulative,’’ he said.
‘‘Of course you did,’’ retorted Diane.
Mike folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall of the elevator. ‘‘Exactly where did this get you?’’ he asked.
Mike was wearing tan slacks and a dark gray sweater, dressier than his usual Dockers and polo shirts. She was glad he was back. She hadn’t liked the idea of his ice caving any more than Neva had.
‘‘The terms of the contract between the museum and the City of Rosewood specify that neither the crime lab operation nor any of its employees shall put the museum, its staff, or any visitors in danger,’’ said Diane. ‘‘When the lab left my control, Vanessa and the board wanted the crime lab gone. I confess, I had already been thinking about it even before Vanessa suggested it. It would be nice to have the space back.’’
‘‘So Bryce really stepped in it this time,’’ said Mike. ‘‘When Neva gets off work her muscles are knotted up worse than mine after a hard rock climb. She really doesn’t like the guy. And neither does David from what I hear. Neva’s worried about him.’’
Diane didn’t say anything for a long moment. Fi nally she spoke. ‘‘We’re coming up on the anniversary of the massacre,’’ she said at last. She didn’t elaborate. People who knew her well knew what she was talking about. ‘‘It’s always hard on both of us. This year, more so on David.’’
‘‘Oh, Diane, I’m sorry . . . I hadn’t realized. I don’t think Neva did either.’’
The elevator doors opened.
‘‘It’s not something we bring up without cause,’’ said Diane as they stepped off the elevator into a stream of
