Beverly Connor: One Grave Too Many

“I’ll see you tonight. Remember, it’s black-tie.” She realized she was still holding his hand, and it felt comfortable. It had been a while since she felt so comfortable.

Diane spotted Donald, his thick, square body rigid, glaring into the mammoth exhibit.

“I need to speak with you,” she said as he shifted his glare to her.

“You took up the plants.” He had a childlike quality to his voice that made her pause a second before she spoke.

“Donald, they were wrong. There is four hundred million years’ difference between your plants and the ones that belong in here. Yours didn’t even represent the whole tree, only the leaves.”

“It won’t matter for the event tonight.”

“Yes, it will. Donald, this is not a battle to go to the mat for. Leave it alone. We have a lot to do before this evening.” Diane turned to go to her office.

“Wait. There are a couple of things we need to discuss.”

“Can we do it in my office?”

Donald followed her into her office. He moved a pile of books from the only chair besides hers and dropped them in an empty box. Diane noted ruefully that it was the box the books had arrived in. She took a seat at her desk and pulled out the budget folders but didn’t open them. Instead, she gave Donald her attention.

He glanced down at the folders before he spoke. “Some building plans have come to my attention.”

Diane started to laugh at the way he made it sound as if he were in charge and speaking to a recalcitrant employee. She forced her face to remain in what she hoped was a frown.

“Came to your attention? How?”

“That’s not important.”

“It is important. This discussion will end now unless you tell me.”

He shifted in the chair as if suddenly off balance. “We can’t afford to start a new building project. This building is too big already,” he said, leaning forward with his hands gripping the arms of the chair.

Diane stood up. “Donald, I’m too busy for this now.”

“I found a copy in the waste can by the Xerox machine,” he said quickly. The way the barely articulated words slid out of his lips so fast, she knew he was lying.

Diane narrowed her eyes. “Do you have the adult education exhibit ready for this evening?”

“It’s almost finished. The computer people are setting it up. The plans-”

“Go supervise their work.”

He hesitated a moment, then stood. “This isn’t the end of this. After tonight, you will have this discussion with me and the board.”

Diane stared at her closed door for several moments after he left. Maybe she should have talked to him. Milo’s plans for the museum weren’t secret, but Donald must have thought they were her plans. He must have been poking around in her office. She opened the folder and reread the budget figures. Money would certainly come up this evening and she wanted to be prepared. She could deal with Donald later.

The phone rang. She let it go for several rings and picked up the receiver when no one answered.

“RiverTrail Museum.”

“This is the Bickford Museum, confirming an order placed with us. May I speak with Diane Fallon?”

“This is she. What order are you confirming?” Diane searched her memory, trying to remember what might have been ordered.

“Casts of Albertosaurus, Pteranodon sternbergi, Tylosaurus , and a triceratops, for a total of 143,500 dollars.”

“Oh, yes. We received the items in perfect condition. The display is opening this evening. I’m sure our records show that the invoice has been paid. I reviewed the accounts myself.”

“No, you’re correct, payment was received. This is a new order.”

Diane stared into space, shocked for a moment. “For the same items?”

“Yes, identical to the first order.”

“When was this order placed?”

“It’s dated last Wednesday. We saw that we had shipped an order for the same items to RiverTrail Museum six months ago, so I’m calling to verify that this is not a duplicate of that order.”

“I’m glad you called. There has been some mix-up. How did you receive this order?”

“By fax.”

“Please cancel the order, and if you don’t mind, would you fax a copy of that order back to me so that I can straighten it out here?”

“Certainly. I’ll send the fax right now.”

Diane put down the receiver and sat at her desk for a moment, trying to imagine how duplicate orders of a purchase that large and that unique could have been made. She tried buzzing Andie, then remembered that she had gone out to speak with the caterers. She walked into Andie’s office just as the fax was arriving from Bickford. The order was as the man had said, placed the past Wednesday. It showed Diane’s name-and her signature. She punched in the number code to print the recent history of fax transmissions and tried to make some sense out of the order while she waited. Had she actually forgotten and duplicated the order? No, she couldn’t possibly have forgotten; she already had life-sized skeletons of dinosaurs standing in the exhibit hall. In getting away from human bones, she hadn’t expected dinosaurs to cast a giant shadow over her life. Diane had expected to find peace here. She scooped up the report from the print tray and went back to her office.

Frank was late. Diane wasn’t surprised. Columbus, Georgia, was a four-hour round trip, aside from whatever business he had to do there. She wrote a note telling him to meet her at the museum and was taping it to the door when she heard a voice coming from the apartment across the stairwell.

“Cats aren’t allowed.”

“I beg your pardon?” Diane turned, tape and message still in hand, and saw a woman in a blue chenille robe and pink hair net peering out of an apartment door.

“Marvin’s allergic to cats. That’s why we chose this apartment house. Cats aren’t allowed.”

There was a distant sneeze. The woman’s head retreated momentarily into the apartment, leaving behind a veined hand gripping the edge of the door and a blue sleeve as visible cues that she was still there. After another sneeze and a man’s muffled voice from inside, the woman spoke with that tone of impatience and irritability that arises between two companions of long duration.

“I’m telling her. She’s right here, and I’m telling her.”

Diane waited, trying to think of the woman’s name- Ogle, Ogden, Adell, Odell-that was it, Veda Odell. When the rest of Mrs. Odell appeared again, Diane spoke.

“I’m sorry for his allergy.”

“He doesn’t need sympathy, he needs for you to get rid of the cat.”

“I don’t have a cat.”

Veda Odell thrust out her chin. “You heard Marvin sneezing. He’s allergic to cats. Nothing else. Just cats.”

“Perhaps he has a cold.”

Mrs. Odell eased herself a little farther into the hallway, craning her neck as if trying to get a peek into Diane’s apartment. “It’s a cat. He gets this way around cats.”

Diane taped her note to the door and turned to go. “Well, Mrs. Odell, I don’t have a cat. Maybe one passed through the yard.”

“No. .” She hesitated, as if just noticing Diane’s black sequined dress and the cashmere wrap over her arm. “That’s a mighty pretty dress. I hope it doesn’t rain tonight.”

“I think the weather is supposed to be clear. We’re having a party for the contributors to the museum, and I’d hate for the attendance to be low because of rain.”

“You work for the museum?”

“I’m the new director of the RiverTrail Museum of Natural History.”

“You are? I heard you’re a grave digger.”

Diane opened her mouth, closed it again and wrinkled her brow. “A grave digger?” she said at last. “No, Mrs. Odell, I’m not.”