Beverly Connor - Dead Past

“I’m sick of your mousy ways. Tell me, damn it!” yelled Lester.

“What’s going on?” said Diane, in a voice she hoped was calm.

Whitney looked in Diane’s direction with the same angry look she was giving Juliet, ready to light into whoever was interrupting her. Her expression turned to surprise, then an attempt at a smile.

“Dr. Fallon, I didn’t hear you come in.”

How could you with all your yelling, thought Diane. “What’s going on?” she repeated.

“Miss Price stole several valuable shells from the collection. I’m trying to persuade her to give them back.”

Diane looked at Juliet Price. Her arms were folded over her stomach and she was bent over. Her blond hair swung forward and hid her face.

“Dr. Price, are you all right?” asked Diane.

“She’s fine. She’s a malingerer.”

Diane ignored Whitney. “Juliet, are you all right?” Diane walked toward her and guided her to a chair.

“I didn’t steal the shells,” she whispered. “I need this job.”

Diane heard a snort from Whitney. “You should have thought of that… ”

“Enough,” said Diane. “Juliet, you aren’t going to lose your job. Sit right here and try to stay calm. I’ll be right back.”

“Mrs. Lester, in the office, now,” said Diane.

Whitney Lester looked as if she’d been hit between the eyes. “You’re not going to leave her out here?”

“Now, Mrs. Lester.” Diane preceded her into the collection manager’s office and sat down behind her desk.

Whitney Lester followed and stood for several seconds as if waiting for Diane to get up from her desk. After a moment she sat in a chair in front of the desk, smoothing her brown suede skirt under her. She sat up straight and arranged her face to show her serious disapproval-or at least that’s what it seemed to Diane as she watched the movements of Lester’s expression go from surprise, to puzzlement, to a stern demeanor. She reached up once to smooth her salt-and-pepper hair.

“What’s this about?” asked Diane.

“Juliet stole some valuable shells. I’m trying to get them back.” She puffed up her chest, looking very righteous.

“What’s missing?” asked Diane.

Whitney straightened up again, looking more confident. “A Conus gloriamaris, seven inches long and worth four thousand dollars. Eight Cypraea aurantium, three hundred dollars apiece.” She ticked off each item on her fingers, hitting each finger firmly and bending it back as if that lent greater emphasis to the loss. “A giant whelk worth two hundred fifty dollars. That’s over six thousand dollars worth of shells.”

“Have you informed Security?”

“No, I like to handle things in my own department,” she said.

“Did you see Dr. Price take them?” asked Diane.

“No, but she is the only one who could have. They were here last week in the vault. I saw them. Now they’re gone. She’s here practically all the time and the only one who has access to the vault.”

“So you were browbeating her. Couldn’t you see she is terrified?”

“Yes, I could see that. I was trying to get a confession. You, of all people, should appreciate that.”

“This isn’t a police interrogation room, nor is Dr. Price some perp you pulled in off the street. She’s an employee of this museum, and no employee here will be bullied. I hope that’s clear.”

“My management style…,” began Whitney.

“Is not acceptable,” interrupted Diane.

Whitney looked back through the open door as if to see if Juliet Price was listening. Diane could see Juliet sitting there where they left her, still holding her folded arms to her midsection. Diane was sure she was listening to every word. But it apparently was not giving her comfort. Juliet was one of the few employees that she had not had either lunch or dinner with-mainly because Juliet kept putting it off for one reason or another.

Diane remembered interviewing her for the job. She was dressed in a conservative dark tweed suit and had her light blond hair pulled back into a French twist. It was one of the few times that she had seen her face. Her pale hair and skin and sky blue eyes gave her an ethereal appearance-almost like an angel. Had she chosen to flaunt it, she could have men hanging around her all the time. As it was, she was almost invisible. Juliet spent a lot of time hiding.

Diane and Kendel almost hadn’t hired her, her shyness was so extreme. But in the end, her expert knowledge of marine life, and of mollusks in particular, proved to be the deciding factor. In reality, she was overqualified for her position. With her Ph.D. in marine biology she could be on a curator’s track. But she wanted to work cataloging shells and putting together learning kits for the schools-which was mainly solitary work. Hiring her had been a good deal for the museum.

Until now there had been only one other puzzling event. When Juliet came to work, Andie put together a gift basket as she did for all the new employees. Andie liked to create the baskets with the theme of the new employee’s expertise. In Juliet’s case it was oceans and shells. The basket was filled with tropical fruit, shell-shaped chocolates, canned oysters, colorful seashells, and as a centerpiece, the mermaid Ariel from the Disney animation, all amid blue green celluloid grass and artificial plants that looked like seaweed. It was a beautiful basket. Andie had it sitting on Juliet’s desk when she arrived. The gift didn’t have the desired effect. Juliet saw it, screamed, and almost fainted.

Juliet had been mortified by her reaction. Kendel reassured her, telling her that on her first day she herself had screamed loud enough to wake the dead and scare the employees up to the third floor. Of course, Kendel screamed because she found a rather large adult snake coiled up in her desk drawer. The thing that sparked Juliet’s fear had been a gift basket.

Andie felt guilty, everyone else was simply puzzled, and Diane was left wondering if perhaps Juliet had a stalker who had been leaving her unwanted gifts. She asked Juliet if that was why she wanted a very low-profile job. Juliet assured Diane that was not the case, but her only explanation was that she was afraid of new dolls. Not a particularly satisfactory explanation. Which was probably why, thought Diane, she avoided having lunch with her.

Whitney Lester sat stiffly in the chair. It was a plain un-upholstered wooden chair and looked very uncomfortable. Diane wondered if she chose it because normally she wouldn’t be sitting in it, but her staff would. Then maybe, I’m reading too much into a chair, thought Diane.

“My management was always effective in my previous positions,” said Lester, her chin raised, ready to defend herself.

“Bullying is not the culture we promote in this museum.”

Whitney Lester stood her ground. “The shells are gone. Everyone else in this department is off on that ship.” She said it as if marine biologists are foolish to go off on a research ship. “Who else could have stolen them?”

“You,” said Diane.

That stopped her cold. She sucked in her breath. Her eyes widened until Diane could see the whites all the way around her iris.

“Me? Me?” she sputtered.

“By your own admission, you were the last person to see them in the vault. You know the exact value of each item. You haven’t gone to Security; instead you wanted to keep it quiet. And you weren’t exactly telling the truth when you told me that Juliet is the only one who has access to the vault. You do.”

“But I didn’t,” she said, her knuckles were white, gripping the arms of the chair.

“I don’t know that,” said Diane. “Accusing Juliet Price could be an elaborate ruse to deflect suspicion from yourself.”