“Why did they wrap it up like that?”
“It was their religion.”
“I wouldn’t like to be tied up like that.”
“Neither would I. Not if I was alive. But once you’re dead, it doesn’t matter. You don’t know what’s happening to you.”
Zoe had crouched down, trying to get a better view of poor old Asherati the stonecarver, and Lucy wondered what the poor fellow would think of his new situation if he were able to. He had died secure in the knowledge that his remains would be properly prepared for the afterlife; he would probably be horrified to find himself a subject of curiousity in a New England museum.
* * *
Leaving, they passed the empty display case that usually contained the war club. Lucy paused for a minute, thinking sadly of Curt Nolan. When she was leaving, she spotted Fred Rumford coming out of his office. To her disappointment he was wearing a blue blazer with brass buttons.
“I see the police still have the war club,” she said, approaching him. “Do you know when you’ll get it back?”
He shook his head. “They say it’s evidence. We may not get it back until after the trial—if there is a trial, that is.” Rumford grimaced. “Considering they have to figure out who killed Nolan and catch him before they can even have a trial, it could be years before we get the club back.”
“What if they don’t make an arrest? What if the case is never solved? Do you get the club back?”
“That,” he said with a grim nod, “is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. The answer I got was, ‘maybe.’ ”
“I guess you could sue them,” said Lucy, ignoring Zoe’s tugs on her arm. She’d gotten the chance to question Rumford and she wasn’t going to let it pass.
“I guess I’d have to if it came to that,” said Fred. “The problem is, of course, that the war club is centuries old. It’s extremely fragile and needs special care. Controlled humidity and temperature. Which I’m pretty sure it’s not getting in some evidence locker at state police headquarters.”
Rumford’s voice had gotten louder as he spoke; he was clearly very upset. “It’s bad enough that they take it out of the museum and wave it around at the pep rally every year, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s outrageous, but people didn’t understand how to properly care for primitive artifacts when William Winchester wrote his will specifying the annual display at the football game.” He seemed to run out of steam. “I’ve learned to live with it. I mean, it’s been going on for nearly a hundred years. And it was never a problem until now.”
Lucy nodded, hugging Zoe to her side. The little girl was getting restless and Lucy didn’t want her to wander off.
“I know how upset you were when Chris White didn’t return it after the rally.”
“You bet. I called the cops and they were great. They tracked the kid down, but no club. Chris couldn’t be bothered getting it back here—he gave it to Nolan. Of all people!”
“You know,” said Lucy, looking at Rumford closely and watching his reaction, “I think Nolan might have been just as concerned as you about the club. I heard he took it for safekeeping and intended to return it to the museum.”
“That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Rumford. “You know as well as I do that Nolan’s always said the war club belongs with the tribe.”
“Ellie told me he wanted it for the tribal museum—the one that’s part of the casino deal.” Lucy held tight to Zoe’s hand; the little girl was squirming, trying to run away. “She’s certain he was going to return it to you. What I wonder is whether he tried to do that at the game? Maybe you were the last person to see him alive.”
Rumford looked at her suspiciously. “You know, the police asked me that same question.”
“The police questioned you?”
“Oh, sure.” His face reddened with the admission. “I guess I’m a suspect.” He looked around the museum, as if to reassure himself it was still there and he was still its director. Then he gave a short, abrupt laugh. “Oh, well. I’m probably in good company. Half the town would have liked to kill him !”
That was exactly the problem, thought Lucy as she and Zoe left the museum: too many suspects and none at all. Reluctantly, she crossed Rumford from her list of suspects. Not because he couldn’t have killed Nolan; Lucy thought that Rumford would have liked nothing better. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have committed murder, but he wouldn’t have, not using the war club. He would never have risked damaging such a precious artifact.
“I’m going to ask Santa for a Barbie Bakes Cakes oven,” said Zoe, her mouth full of cookie. “You’re too big to sit on Santa’s lap, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then how does he know what you want for Christmas?”
“He just knows.”
“He does? How?”
“Magic, I guess. Santa magic.”
That was what it would take, she thought, to get what she really wanted for Christmas. Even Santa would be hard-pressed to come up with a lead in this case.
CHAPTER 15
Looking out the laundry room window, Lucy saw it had started to snow. Not heavily, but scattered tiny flakes were drifting down and a light frosting had collected on the cars in the driveway.
It was almost noon on Sunday and Lucy had spent most of the morning doing laundry. The girls had been up for hours. Elizabeth had gone ice-skating with some friends, Sara was working on a school project at a classmate’s house, and Zoe was at the Orensteins’, playing with her best friend, Sadie.
Lucy pulled one of Toby’s shirts out of the laundry basket and began to fold it. Snow had been forecast, and if the kids had been smart, she thought, they would have gotten up early for the drive back to Coburn. If they had, they would almost be there by now. But as it was,
