Diane searched around her desk for a weapon. All she could find was a letter opener decorated with Mayan symbols. She took hold of it, trying to think what to do. Call Leonard? He would still be upstairs. This was foolish. It was probably Andie. She put the letter opener back on the desk and walked out into the hall and around to Andie’s office door. If she opened it from the hall side, at least she would have a place to run. From there someone could hear her shout.
She touched the door so that it slowly swung open. A figure silhouetted by the desk lamp was going through Andie’s desk drawer.
Chapter 6
Diane switched on the ceiling light and heard a sudden intake of breath as the figure popped up from her stooped position, her hand over her chest.
“Oh. . Dr. Fallon. . You scared me.”
“That makes two of us. Can I help you?” Diane relaxed, relieved she hadn’t brought the Mayan letter opener with her. The intruder was Melissa, the second violinist from the string quartet.
Melissa smoothed a strand of light brown wavy hair away from her face. “Your assistant, Andie, said she had some extra-strength aspirin in her drawer.” She held up Andie’s keys as if to verify that she had permission to be rambling around in her desk.
“I imagine that playing for hours can bring on a headache.”
Her blue eyes looked relieved. “You’re not kidding. That, and dealing with people. Do you know someone asked us to play ‘Memory’?”
Diane laughed. “I can see it now. Next they’ll want karaoke night at the museum.”
“Here they are.” She poured two tablets out onto her hand and put the bottle back.
“There’s a water fountain just outside the door.”
Melissa’s passage out of Andie’s office left a trail of heavy perfume in her wake. She downed the pills at the water fountain and took a deep breath. “We really do appreciate being asked here. We’ve had several people wanting to hire us.”
“I’m not surprised people are impressed. The music’s been wonderful.”
As Melissa turned from the fountain, Diane noticed that under carefully applied makeup, she had a black eye. A brief glance down at her arms discerned no more bruises, but the dark, floor-length sleeveless dress the young woman wore had a turtleneck. Diane fought an urge to turn down the collar to look at Melissa’s throat.
Too much time spent investigating the products of abuse, she thought. She needed to mind her own business, which was now the museum, and not man’s inhumanity to man. But it haunted her that she had always been too late to help the victims. They were already decayed flesh and bones by the time she saw them. It would have been nice just once to be in a position to stop some atrocity.
“That black eye looks like it might hurt,” Diane said, letting the sentence hang between them.
Melissa was young, shy, and that evening Diane was her employer-powerful stimuli to say something about what had happened, if only to lie. They both stood, paused in the hallway.
“Yes, it does, some. Clumsiness,” Melissa said at last.
“I was exercising. I have to keep strength in my arms to play the violin. You wouldn’t believe how much stamina it takes to keep your arms at that level for hours. I don’t know how Lacy manages that viola for so long. Anyway, I accidently hit myself in the face with one of my hand weights. Almost knocked myself out.”
Melissa laughed at herself and Diane thought she heard a slight tremor in her voice-and such long, detailed explanations often meant that the teller was lying.
“What bad luck, just before the event. I hope it heals quickly.” Diane didn’t pursue it. But her friend Laura knew Melissa’s family. She would mention it to her.
After seeing that the office doors were locked, Diane walked with Melissa back to the party. Mark Grayson was on his way out.
“Leaving early?” said Diane.
“Signy’s staying. I’ve got an overseas conference call. Nice get-together. I’m sure everyone’s having a good time. I’ll see you at the board meeting tomorrow.” He punched the air between them with his finger. It could have been a quick, friendly gesture, the way some men talk with their hands, but it seemed to Diane like he was pointing a gun. She was glad to see the door close behind him.
Melissa had taken up her place with the string quartet and they began playing Diane’s favorite part of Max Bruch’s Violin Concerto in G Minor-the Allegro Moderato. Diane entered the Pleistocene hall where she mingled, talked, laughed at bad jokes and sipped wine. Her feet hurt from the effects of hardly ever wearing high-heeled shoes, and her head ached.
“Wow,” Andie said, coming up behind her. “We all did a good job, didn’t we?”
Diane turned and nodded as she looked at the guests. “Yes, I believe it’s a success. I had my doubts on occasion, but everyone seems to be having a good time. Andie, did you request that the quartet play the
“Who? No, I thought you were handling the music selections.”
“I did, but someone wanted to hear it, and I just wondered who it was.”
Andie shrugged just as a good-looking guy tapped her on the shoulder and pulled her toward the murals.
Diane moved toward the buffet. The ice mammoth looked fresh and unmelted. She reached out to touch the trunk and found it cold and dry.
“They just replaced it,” Donald said, filling his plate with caviar and crackers. “Apparently, they made several. Someone who works for them must be an ice-carving fool.” He drifted away and melted into a crowd of black tuxedos before she could say anything more to him.
Signy was working the room in her husband’s absence. She reminded Diane of a mouse cursor trail, the way she and her red dress flashed around the room, flirting with the men, ignoring the women. David Reynolds was Signy’s current target. She threw back her head, laughing at something he said. Diane caught sight of David’s wife, Cindy, at the bison exhibit looking over the head of her son, frowning at the scene. Diane recalled Frank mentioning how easily Cindy could become jealous.
Kevin was demonstrating the computer animations to a tall elderly woman dressed in a long silk gown as white as her hair, dripping pearls and diamonds. It was the unmistakable Vanessa Van Ross, the museum’s best patron, second only to the late Milo Lorenzo as the driving force behind the museum. Diane threaded her way through the crowd toward them.
“Diane, dear. I wondered where you’d got to. I just met the most disagreeable young woman. Flashing around like a red sparkler. Called me by my first name. Mark Grayson’s wife. The man has no taste. I guess I shouldn’t speak like this in front of the boy. Just ignore what I say, young man.”
Kevin cackled. Diane kissed her cheek.
“It’s good to see you, Vanessa. May I steal you away from Kevin for a moment?”
“Certainly. Can you pause that thing, young man?” Vanessa Van Ross and Diane stepped away to a private corner.
“I know nothing about real estate,” Diane said. “Can you tell me why this land is suddenly so valuable? Why does Mark want it so badly?”
“Did you know Hollis MacElroy?”
“I’ve heard the name. Farmer, owns a lot of land?”
Vanessa nodded. “
“I’m beginning to see.” Diane looked at her watch. It was a little after 8:30 P.M. Mark would be back at his office before 9:00 P.M. for his overseas call. She did some quick calculations. That would make it midmorning in Japan. So, Mark was talking to Japanese businessmen about the museum property. She looked around the room and
