“I seem to have a lot of them. They make no sense. Even I realize that. I’m afraid of new dolls, and I don’t know why. I’m afraid of certain words-I see them written down or hear them spoken and they strike dread in me. That’s why this job is so important to me. With so many neuroses, I need to work at something solitary. Creating educational kits and cataloging seashells is perfect.”
“Have you seen a professional about your fears?” asked Diane.
“Yes. In college. They weren’t very much help.”
“I’m sorry,” said Diane, “this is very personal and I didn’t mean to force you to share that kind of information. What do you do for fun? You do have fun, don’t you?”
Juliet was thoughtful for a moment. “No, I really don’t.” She shrugged. “I like to read.”
“What do you like to read?” asked Diane.
“Biographies of historical figures. I’m reading Dumas Malone’s biography of Thomas Jefferson at the moment.”
Diane raised her eyebrows. “Which volume are you on?”
“
“No,” said Diane. “I’ve read about them. I read a lot of science fiction.”
“Really. I also like historical romances.” She smiled at the admission of a guilty pleasure.
Diane thought it was a very rare dropping of her guard.
The waitress brought their food and they ate for several minutes without saying anything. Diane felt lucky to have gotten this much out of her.
“I like working here,” said Juliet. “I know I’m a little strange, but academic settings are perfect for people who are a little strange.”
Diane grinned. She agreed. “I think there is a little strangeness in all of us. I like to go caving. Most people find that very strange, especially the guy I date.”
“I’ve heard about your caving. I confess, I can’t imagine going caving.”
“Most people can’t. But I find caves to be absolutely beautiful mysterious worlds.”
“The geology curator also explores caves, doesn’t he?” she said.
“Yes. He’s one of my caving partners. The caving club meets here in the museum once a month, if you’d ever like to drop in. You aren’t obligated to go caving. You could talk to the group about fossil seashells. We usually have some kind of educational program at the meetings.”
Diane talked a long time about the caves she’d explored. She told Juliet about Mike’s-the curator of the geology collection-extremophiles research. Their conversation was awkward and a little strained and certainly one- sided, but Diane felt it was probably normal for Juliet.
“They have terrific chocolate cake here,” said Diane.
The waitress came and Diane ordered a piece. So did Juliet.
“I like chocolate,” said Juliet. “The chocolate shaped shells in the gift basket were wonderful. I was going to buy some more but then I found out that Andie made them herself.”
Diane didn’t mention the gift basket event-and Juliet’s screaming terror over a mermaid doll. Some things were better left unmentioned. But she was curious.
“I know Darcy Kincaid a little,” said Juliet. “She’s working on another exhibit for the shells. She thinks the fossil shell exhibit can stand some improving. I hope she’s going to be all right.”
“So do I,” said Diane.
“Do you know how she’s doing?”
“The doctors don’t know anything yet. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Darcy has lots of plans-graduate school, getting her boyfriend to propose. I’ve met him, too. He’s a charming guy,” she said.
The way she said
Dessert came-a moist triple layer chocolate cake with chunks of chocolate chips and iced with fudge frosting. Juliet raised her brow after she took her first bite.
“This is delicious.”
The waitress refilled their coffee. As Juliet raised the cup to her lips, the sleeve of her sweater slipped up enough for Diane to notice several scars on her arm. She wondered if Juliet was a cutter. At the end of dessert, Diane took a card out of her purse.
“I don’t intend to interfere in your business, and this is the only time I’ll mention it. I have a friend. Her name is Laura Hillard and she is a psychiatrist. If you ever want to talk to her, even if it is just to learn coping strategies to deal with people like Whitney Lester, give her a call. She won’t report to me, and I won’t ask you if you called her. This is just for your information if you need it.” Diane put the card on the table and pushed it forward.
Juliet picked up the card and turned it over in her hand. She stared at it for a long time before she spoke.
“I’ve been having dreams again,” she said, still staring at the card. “They stopped for several years and now they’ve started again. That’s why I couldn’t cope with Ms. Lester tonight.” She looked up at Diane. “I don’t remember much about my early childhood. I only know what I’ve been told and what I looked up in the newspapers. I was kidnapped when I was seven and left for dead in a culvert. I think all my problems stem from that-even if I don’t remember it.” She put the card in her purse.
Diane was stunned. It was several moments before she could speak. “Juliet,” she said finally, “I don’t know what to say. Was your kidnapper caught?”
Juliet shook her head. “No.”
“You only saw a therapist in college? Not sooner?”
“Since I couldn’t remember, my parents didn’t want the memories dredged up. They thought it best if the experience remained buried. My mother died a year later and my father remarried. My father and my grandmother told me I had nightmares because I felt guilty for being disobedient and ‘got myself snatched,’ as my grandmother used to say. She told me that if I was obedient, the dreams would stop. My stepmother thought the cure was summer camp. A benign cure, but I was never able to pull off being a happy camper.”
“I’m sorry,” said Diane. “Life must be very difficult for you. If I can help, I will.”
“You gave me a job. Do you know how many times I lost jobs in the interview stage? That’s why this job is so important to me. I’d never jeopardize it by stealing. I’ve never stolen anything. I’m not a thief.”
Diane was glad they had dinner. It helped her understand a lot of things about Juliet. She offered her a lift home, but Juliet said she drove to the museum and her car was parked in the lot. Diane left a tip on the table and the two of them walked out together. The hostess nodded to Diane on the way out. She knew to send the tab to Diane’s office. Diane found that arrangement easier than arguing with the few guests who insisted on paying their own way. The matter was a nonissue if they weren’t presented with a bill.
The restaurant was about to close and there were few cars in the parking lot. Diane noticed that one of the streetlights was out. It was the one near her car. She stopped, wary. Juliet apparently sensed the change in Diane’s demeanor, for she slowed and stiffened. Diane reached for Juliet’s arm.
“Let’s go back in,” she whispered.
Juliet didn’t ask why, she turned on her heel, but as Diane reached for her phone to speed dial the security desk in the museum she saw a man stand up from behind her car. He had a baseball bat and he was walking toward her. Diane turned to run, but another man was coming up behind. Juliet gave a cry and sank to the ground.
Chapter 17
Diane wanted to run-she thought she could make it to the museum-but she couldn’t leave Juliet crumpled on the ground. She hurriedly dialed museum Security as the men approached. She frantically tried to think of some
