Beverly Connor - Dead Secret

“Diane. Been looking for you.” Jonas Briggs, the museum’s archaeologist, and professor emeritus from Bartram University, came strolling into the conservation lab, his face lit up with his usual smile. “The archaeology faunal lab at the university thanks you profusely for helping out with its faunal remains.”

Diane looked at him blankly. “What was it I did for them?”

“Did Dr. Mercer not tell you? You were on vacation, so I guess she forgot.”

He handed her an envelope. Diane tore it open and found a thank-you note from the Archaeology Department head for allowing them to use the museum’s faunal lab to strip some of their remains. She looked up at Jonas.

“Some idiot stole their dermestid colony about three weeks ago. Probably some fraternity prank. They had fresh carcasses and were in immediate need and appealed to us-actually to me. I asked Sylvia Mercer, and she generously agreed to help.”

Diane stood looking at him for a long moment. She and David looked at each other.

“You don’t think. .” began David.

“It’s entirely possible,” said Diane.

“What?” said Jin.

“Not frat boys?” said Jonas.

“Maybe not,” said Diane.

“But you aren’t going to tell, are you?” said Jonas. “This is part of the business of the museum’s dark side, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Sorry-ongoing case. I suppose it’s too late to work the scene,” mused Diane. “But Jin, go ahead and have a look at the faunal lab sometime today.” He nodded. “Do they have any leads?” she asked Jonas.

“On the theft? No. It’s pretty easy to come and go in the lab. Could have been anyone,” said Briggs.

“I’ll check it out,” said Jin.

“What was that about?” asked Neva when she and Diane were out the door.

“David found a lot of beetles with Jane Doe. She had cuts all over her body, and she was found with other animals in various states of decomposition. Just a hunch, but I’m thinking that maybe the killer wanted to hurry the process of decomposition. One way to do that is to cut the body tissue to allow access to insects. I believe he also thought that putting out extra bugs and other carcasses would increase the rate of decomposition.”

“So maybe Jane Doe hasn’t been dead as long as we first thought,” said Neva.

“That could be the case. I was thinking maybe a month. But now I’m not so sure.”

On the way back to the stairwell they walked through Earth Science. Through the doorway that led to the rock room, Diane saw Dr. Lymon and Mike at the door to the geology lab.

“What is he doing out?” said Neva. She started to go to him when Diane put a hand on her arm.

“Let me handle this,” said Diane. “You start on Plymouth Doe’s face.”

“Is that Dr. Lymon?”

“I’ll catch up to you later,” said Diane.

“Yes, ma’am,” Neva said, though she hesitated for a moment before continuing on to the osteology lab.

Diane passed through the rock room, headed for the geology lab. Several people were looking at the igneous rocks, trying not to look like they were listening to the argument that was clearly going on. Dr. Lymon’s voice was getting progressively higher. Mike was trying to get out of the doorway, but she grabbed his arm.

Diane walked up to the two of them. “Let’s go into the lab. Now.”

“This is none of your damn business.” Dr. Lymon’s face was red with anger.

“You’re making a spectacle in the museum, and that makes it my business. If you don’t want to be escorted out by security, take this to the office.”

Annette Lymon looked at Diane as if she didn’t understand her. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you,” she said after a moment. “No one seemed to know where you were.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Diane saw Shelly Cates, the geology collection manager, in her office putting down the phone receiver. She dashed out and came toward them. Diane could tell by her body language that she was angry. Her face was red under her tanned skin, her body rigid.

Shelly Cates was a fit woman in her early forties. Her hair was up in a tight ponytail. She was the type of person who seemed more comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt, but in the museum she always wore nice suits usually topped by a lab coat. She had come to the profession late. After being a stay-at-home mom, she got an undergraduate degree in geology and took courses in museum management. Her job meant a lot to her.

“She has been pitching a fit in front of visitors in the museum,” said Shelly. “I was just about to call you.”

“Doc,” began Mike. “I’m sorry.”

“Mike, why don’t you and Shelly go talk in her office. I’m going to speak with Dr. Lymon.”

Mike hesitated a moment. So did Shelly.

“Now,” said Diane.

The two of them turned and went into Shelly’s office. Mike moved slowly and stiffly, favoring one side.

“Dr. Lymon, let’s go sit down, and you tell me what’s going on.”

Diane managed to maneuver Annette Lymon so she could shut the door to the geology lab, cutting off the view and the sound of the unfolding drama from the public. She held the office door open for Dr. Lymon, who reluctantly walked through and sat down behind the desk, as if she intended never to get up again.

“Now what’s this about?” Diane pulled up a chair and sat opposite her.

“How dare you hire him! I told you he is incompetent, and you gave him my job!”

“Dr. Lymon, who I hire isn’t your concern. You wrote me several letters telling me of your dissatisfaction and intention to quit. You told me you are severing ties with the museum. I had a position to fill. Mike is qualified. As far as you are concerned, that’s the end of the matter. Why were you looking for me?”

“To talk to you about giving him my job.”

“It’s not your job. And you can never come into the museum and make a scene. The visitors in the museum don’t need to be subjected to whatever problem you have with my hiring practices. Your letter said you are resigning the curatorship.” Diane was exasperated, but tried not to show it. She hoped she sounded matter-of-fact, but firm.

Dr. Lymon had a stubborn set to her face. Her chin was thrust out and her mouth was turned down into a frown. “That’s not the point. You didn’t have to hire him. Not him. He came on to me; did you know that?”

Diane was starting to get angry. She was glad she had an independent witness to the episode. “No, he did not come on to you. You came on to him. It was inappropriate, and if you weren’t leaving I would fire you. I have no tolerance for that kind of thing here.”

Angry tears sprang up in her eyes. “He’s lying. He’s just trying to get my job. He’s just trying to make himself look like he’s the wronged party.”

“Mike never told me about it. You were observed by another curator.”

Annette Lymon’s eyes grew wide. She was silent for a long moment. The tears spilled down onto her cheeks, leaving black mascara tracks. She grabbed a Kleenex from her purse and wiped her eyes.

“He rejected me. Do you know what that feels like? Who was he to reject me after all these years? After everything I’ve done for him. I put him through school.”

“He was your student. He doesn’t owe you sex, Dr. Lymon.”

“Doesn’t owe me? We were married for sixteen years.”

“What? Who are you talking about? Mike’s not your ex-husband.”

Dr. Lymon looked puzzled for a moment. “Not Mike. Ransford. I did everything for that son of a bitch, and he leaves me for that young slut.”

Diane suddenly felt way out of her depth. She hadn’t a clue how to treat the woman.

“I understand that your husband betrayed you terribly. But that wasn’t Mike’s fault; nor was it the museum’s. Is there anyone I can call for you? A friend or family member?”