Dead Hunt Part 4

After hanging up with Jin, Diane immediately dialed David Goldstein, another member of her crime scene crew, who was supposed to be leaving for vacation today. David had worked with Diane at World Accord International when she was a human rights investigator and had been a friend for a long time.

She hated interrupting his time off, but she knew he would love it.

"Diane," he said immediately, "want me to come in and look into that artifact thing I've been reading about?"

"You sound like you've been waiting by your phone," said Diane.

"It's a cell. I always wait by it. So that's why you called, isn't it? I figured you would need me." "I'm sorry to intrude on your vacation," said Diane. "It's not an intrusion. You know how I've been dreading it. So is that why you called?" he asked again.

"Yes, it is. You can start by interviewing Kendel." "Great. I'll be right there. And thanks. You don't know how I've been hoping for something to do." "I thought you were going to be doing some traveling," said Diane.

"I was, but then what do I do when I get there?" "Go sightseeing?"

"If I wanted to stand and look at stuff, I could stay at the museum and save on gas money."

"I'll be in a board meeting when you get here. Kendel will be in my office waiting for you."

When she hung up with David, she turned her attention back to Kendel, who sat looking like her world was coming to an end. Normally Kendel was tough.

Diane wondered if there was something else, or perhaps Kendel was tough only when she had firm footing. Now, with the rug pulled out from under her . . . "Kendel," said Diane a little sharper than she meant to, "David is going to investigate. He's the best.

I've asked him to speak with you first. What I want from you is two things. First, find where you left your backbone. Then I want you to think about every interaction you had concerning the Egyptian artifacts.

Every person you spoke with, anything, no matter how remote, that you noticed during the transactions, any casual person who happened to walk through the room while you were negotiating, anything." Kendel nodded. "I appreciate your support. Everyone at the museum has been great."

Except for a certain member of the board, thought Diane. "You're innocent unless proven guilty," she said. "Stay here and wait for David." Diane stood up.

"Now I have to deal with the board." She picked up the rolled newspaper from her desk.

Chapter 8.

Andie looked up from her desk as Diane pa.s.sed through her office on her way to the boardroom.

"Mrs. Van Ross is with the board members," Andie said.

The situation must be critical, thought Diane. More than any other single person, Vanessa Van Ross was was the museum. She and Milo Lorenzo had been the driving forces behind its development. She had shown caution not to undermine Diane's authority or to give the impression of undue influence over the operations of the museum. She rarely came to board meetings, trusting instead to give Diane her proxy vote. If Vanessa was in attendance, it meant she was more than just concerned; she was alarmed at the possible harm to the reputation of the museum-Milo's museum and hers. the museum. She and Milo Lorenzo had been the driving forces behind its development. She had shown caution not to undermine Diane's authority or to give the impression of undue influence over the operations of the museum. She rarely came to board meetings, trusting instead to give Diane her proxy vote. If Vanessa was in attendance, it meant she was more than just concerned; she was alarmed at the possible harm to the reputation of the museum-Milo's museum and hers.

Milo hired Diane to be a.s.sistant director under him. He died of a heart attack before the museum even opened, and the governance he had set up for himself went to Diane-a governance that gave Diane more power than the board. Still, under extraordinary circ.u.mstances they could remove her. It was going to be an interesting meeting.

Diane started out the door, hesitated. Clymene's concern for Grace Noel nagged at her. d.a.m.n, if she hadn't enough to do. She turned back to Andie and pulled the piece of paper from her pocket with Grace Noel Tully's information written on it that Rev. Rivers had given her.

"Andie, get this woman on the phone for me. When you find her, transfer the call to the office in the boardroom." Andie nodded. "This is the only interruption I want," Diane said.

"Got you . . . MOF. . . ." said Andie, nodding her head up and down as she read the card.

MOF was Andie's abbreviation for museum on fire museum on fire, which meant only in a dire emergency did Diane want to be disturbed.

Diane c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at Andie. "If the museum's on fire, just let me and the board go up in the conflagration," said Diane.

Andie giggled and reached for the telephone. Diane left the office, still holding the rolled-up newspaper.

The board members were waiting for her in the third-floor meeting room. Diane wasn't in a hurry to get there. She needed to regain her focus. On the way up she reread the newspaper article to rekindle her anger and her indignation. It worked. What could board member Madge Stewart have been thinking?

Diane knew the answer to that question. Madge liked to feel important and in the know. She also liked to blame others for her own lapses in judgment. How she must have enjoyed it when Ms. Boville called for her opinion. No one on the board ever did.

It probably was not simple chance that led the reporter to the one board member who was most likely to speak unguardedly to her. Someone had primed the reporter and pointed her toward the weakest link. Diane looked again at the byline-Janet Boville. She didn't know her. She wondered if David could wheedle out of the reporter the name of the person who started this whole mess. Perhaps not without extreme trickery.

Madge Stewart was on the board of directors because her parents were friends of the Van Rosses and had donated a substantial sum to the museum. Madge had studied art and she worked as an ill.u.s.trator for a publis.h.i.+ng company in Atlanta. Added to her trust fund, her work should have provided her with a good living. But Madge had reached her Diane sensed she was feeling that her by.

mid-fifties, and life was pa.s.sing Diane didn't hesitate at the door when she reached the meeting room. She opened it and walked in. They were all there-Vanessa; Laura Hillard, a psychiatrist and Diane's friend; Harvey Phelps, retired CEO; Madge Stewart; Kenneth Meyerson, CEO of a computer company; and the newest members-Martin Thormond, American history professor at Bartram; Thomas Barclay, a bank president; and Anne Pascal, schoolteacher and Georgia Teacher of the Year.

They were divided up-old Rosewood families on one side of the table and more recent residents on the other. Recent Recent meant having great-grandparents who weren't from Rosewood. It was odd how social boundaries were subconsciously maintained. meant having great-grandparents who weren't from Rosewood. It was odd how social boundaries were subconsciously maintained.

They all looked up as she entered. Laura smiled slightly. Vanessa didn't smile, but she rarely did in board meetings. All their faces reflected the seriousness of the situation. Their frowns deepened when they saw Diane. She must look as p.i.s.sed off as she felt.

Thomas Barclay looked eyes over gla.s.ses pushed at her with dark, serious forward on his nose. His bushy eyebrows met in the center as he frowned. She wondered how many loans he'd turned down with that weighty expression. Laura told her that he had been shocked to discover how much power Diane had and how little the board had. She said he had been lobbying Vanessa to make changes. Were it not that the governance was Milo's plan-and as far as Vanessa was concerned, Milo was a saint-she might have considered it.

Diane reminded herself that most of the people in the room were her friends. Not because she was nervous about what they were going to say to her, but because she was angry-angry with the reporter, with Madge, and with all of them for insisting on a board meeting. Before the meeting was over, she intended to wipe that what-do-you-have-to-say-for-yourself look off Barclay's face.

Diane went to her place at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, unrolled the newspaper, smoothed it down on the s.h.i.+ny surface, and sat down. She looked at Madge, then at the others.

"This article has created a problem for the museum," she said in an even tone.

"It looks to me like Miss Williams has created the problem," interrupted Barclay. "Has she been suspended?"

Diane looked over at him. "Mr. Barclay, you are trying to apply solutions when you don't know what the problem is."

She turned her attention back to the rest of the board. They looked startled. Were they surprised she hadn't come hat in hand? They were all frowning except Kenneth Meyerson, who winked at her. Don't make me smile Don't make me smile, she thought.

"The museum's reputation is seriously threatened," continued Barclay.

He said that for Vanessa's sake, thought Diane. He knew what phrases would get to her. Diane also knew that Vanessa would listen to what she had to say . . . and Vanessa was no fool. She came from a family of centenarians and supercentenarians and had more than sixty years' learning from their experiences. thought Diane. He knew what phrases would get to her. Diane also knew that Vanessa would listen to what she had to say . . . and Vanessa was no fool. She came from a family of centenarians and supercentenarians and had more than sixty years' learning from their experiences.

"Mr. Barclay, a museum's danger. That's the reality of reputation is always in an enterprise that depends on acquiring objects in a field fraught with looters, smugglers, forgers, grave robbers, and sharks. That's why we have procedures and a code of ethics for dealing with acquisitions."

"Well, it looks like your procedures and ethics don't work." He tapped the table with his middle finger, reaching toward the newspaper in front of her.

"How do you know?" asked Diane.

"What?" he said, clearly surprised by her question.

"How do you know the procedures didn't work?" repeated Diane.

"Look at the news." This time his tapping was more of a hammering. "The newspapers . . . then television...now that d.a.m.n radio talk show..."

"You accept that as authoritative? And where did the newspaper get its information?" she interrupted.

He hesitated, glanced at Madge beside him and then at the others.

"Where there's smoke there's usually fire," he said, still giving her his you-don't-get-the-loan look.

Diane saw Laura wince. She knew how Diane hated bad a.n.a.logies.

"No, Mr. Barclay. Often there's just someone lobbing smoke bombs."

His eyebrows parted as he looked at her for a moment.

Diane didn't wait for a response. "When Dr. Williams finds an object for the museum, she researches the provenance before authorizing a purchase. If she needs to, she hires independent appraisers. Once the item is here, its provenance is audited by our staff. If Dr. Williams' research is in error, the second check will find it. When the Egyptian artifacts came to us they were stored in the conservation lab, where they remain, unopened, awaiting the audit of their provenance. No one No one yet knows if there is a problem with them." Diane cast her gaze around the table at all of them. yet knows if there is a problem with them." Diane cast her gaze around the table at all of them.

"Let me explain to you what this article did." She laid her hand flat on the newspaper. "It reports that a board member, Madge Stewart, admits that Dr. Williams knowingly purchased looted artifacts and that RiverTrail Museum possesses stolen antiquities." Diane stopped to let that sink in. "And the story has been picked up by other news outlets.

"The consequences to Dr. Williams have been severe. She's getting hate mail calling her a thief and worse. The University of Pennsylvania canceled her lecture series. Out of the blue, her reputation is in tatters with no proof whatsoever of wrongdoing. As for the museum-at best we look incompetent, at worst we look disreputable." Diane paused. The board members exchanged glances.

"Why did you think it was true?" Laura asked Madge.

"The reporter told me it was," she said.

"Oh, Madge," muttered Vanessa.

"Christ," said Barclay, s.n.a.t.c.hing off his gla.s.ses.

"Why would she say it was true if it wasn't?" Madge looked around to each board member, challenging them to offer an answer.

"If our goal is to protect the reputation of the museum," said Martin Thormond, "perhaps we should just give the items in question back."

Diane was shaking her head even before he finished. "Protecting the reputation of the museum is more than making sure we don't display stolen antiquities. We must also protect our ability to acquire them. If it's known that all it takes for us to back off an acquisition is an anonymous accusation, then we have seriously crippled our ability to compete in a very compet.i.tive world. And I also want to add that an important part of our reputation is how we treat the people we employ. The people here look to me to protect them-and I will."

Diane stood, walked to a bookshelf, and came back with two magazines she laid on top the newspaper. "Best Aging magazine lists Rosewood in the top ten places to retire to. In citing the reasons for the selection they named the RiverTrail Museum of Natural History." She pointed to the other magazine. " magazine lists Rosewood in the top ten places to retire to. In citing the reasons for the selection they named the RiverTrail Museum of Natural History." She pointed to the other magazine. "Good Working named RiverTrail in its list of top one hundred best places to work in the Southeast-citing treatment of employees." named RiverTrail in its list of top one hundred best places to work in the Southeast-citing treatment of employees."

Her gaze took them all in before she spoke again. "This is a good museum and a good place to work. Because of the efforts of Dr. Williams and Dr. Seeger, our geology department has one of the best reference collections in the country. Students from several large universities in the region come here to study our specimens. That kind of scholarly caliber was one of Milo Lorenzo's goals for the museum. I will not let all we have accomplished be sabotaged by rumors." Diane wondered if her face looked as hot as it felt.

"Where did the newspaper get the information in the first place?" asked Harvey Phelps. He had been fingering a copy of the newspaper tucked away on his lap. Diane noticed that he had looked sheepish the entire meeting. Another friend who felt guilty confronting her.

Most of the members had remained quiet, perhaps letting Barclay be the bad guy, a role he seemed to relish. Diane supposed they hadn't said anything because all the words they had for her were of reproof and they hadn't wanted to scold her. But they had wanted answers.

"I don't know who the original source was," said Diane. "But I will find out. Someone set out to do us harm. And I will find out who they are."

Harvey smiled at Diane. He tried making it the avuncular smile he usually had for her, but it came up a little short. "What are we doing about the problem?" he asked.

"I've told the registrar's office . . . " Diane noticed a puzzled look from the newer members. "That's where we review provenances," she explained. "I told them to start reviewing the provenance for the Egyptian artifacts immediately. My best detective has agreed to cut short his vacation and find the source of this attack on us."

"Our bank uses a good detective agency I can recommend," offered Barclay.

Diane supposed he wanted to purchase back some of the ground he had lost by now being helpful. She really wanted to ask him what a bank needed with a detective agency.

"David will do an excellent job," said Diane.

"Professionals in the field will do a better job than museum people," he said. "I'm sure your people are good at researching artifacts, but this investigation needs to be out in the real world."

Diane didn't believe that he meant to be insulting. He was just one of those people who was out of touch with anything that wasn't in his world. She folded her arms and looked at him for a moment.

"I think you're forgetting that Diane's also director of the crime lab over in the west wing," said Kenneth Meyerson. "Her people are pretty professional in the real world."

"Yes. Well, I suppose I must have forgotten. One doesn't think of that in a museum," he said.

"How is Kendel?" interrupted Vanessa.

Vanessa liked Kendel-well enough to let the a.s.sistant director talk her out of a ten-thousand-dollar diamond to put in the gemstone reference collection.

"Not well at the moment. As you can imagine, this has been devastating," said Diane.

Madge looked up suddenly from somewhere deep in her thoughts. "You don't think she will sue me, do you?" she asked.

"I would," said Diane.

Madge sucked in her breath and her eyes grew large and round. She looked frightened. Diane hoped she would think before she spoke from now on.

"But what should I have said?" asked Madge. "The woman said Kendel was guilty."

"You say you have no comment, and then refer them to me," said Diane. "That would be good for all of you. The charter specifies the director as the official spokesperson for the museum. I'm the one with the most up-to-date information. And we do have policies in place to handle these matters."

They nodded, muttering among themselves in agreement. Barclay sat looking at his gla.s.ses. Diane noticed he no longer looked as if he were going to make her explain herself.

The room was tense and Diane wanted to leave it that way. The mission of the board was advisory, and they had offered only recriminations. However, her friend Laura sat smiling brightly. Laura liked to end things upbeat. Diane supposed it was the psychiatrist in her. Diane started to adjourn when she heard the phone ringing in the adjacent office.

"I have to take this call," said Diane. Ignoring the frown Barclay gave her, she left the table and entered the small, bare, little-used office off the boardroom. It had a large window that allowed her to watch the boardroom.

She picked up the phone. "This is Diane Fallon. Is this Grace Noel Tully?"

Chapter 9.

"Yes, I'm Mrs. Grace Tully," said the voice on the other end of the phone. "The girl said something about your being the director of the museum?" She emphasized the word Mrs. Mrs. and ended with a slight giggle. Grace had a childlike voice that probably made her mistaken for a kid on the phone. and ended with a slight giggle. Grace had a childlike voice that probably made her mistaken for a kid on the phone.

Okay, Diane thought, Diane thought, she's not dead. Now what? Tell the woman that I'm happy to find her alive? she's not dead. Now what? Tell the woman that I'm happy to find her alive?

"I'm working with FBI agent Kingsley, the profiler . . ." Diane began.