Dead Past

by Beverly Connor

  “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.”

  “You can’t accuse me,” she said, emphasizing the word me as if she should be, like Caesar’s wife, above reproach.

  “Yet you accuse Dr. Price on fewer grounds than I just presented to you.”

  “I’m the collection manager. It’s my job to know all the collection. That’s why I know their value.”

  “And it’s Dr. Price’s job to be here working and have access to the vault as she needs it.”

  “But I know I didn’t take the shells,” Lester insisted.

  “Dr. Price says she knows she didn’t,” countered Diane.

  “This isn’t right,” Lester said finally.

  “No, it isn’t right, and neither is it right to accuse and browbeat Juliet Price. Here’s what is going to happen. I am going to report the theft to Security and let them handle it. You are going to get me photographs of the missing items to give to them. They will question everyone. It doesn’t mean any specific person is under suspicion. And I’m telling Andie to sign you up for a management class. They will teach you the style that we use here in the museum.”

  “Management class?”

  “Yes. You may not buy into our philosophy here, but you will abide by it. Now, I need those photographs.”

  Whitney Lester stood up, looking like she wasn’t sure what to do, as if obedience was defeat. Diane felt a twinge of guilt for being so hard on her, but she had been looking forward to a peaceful time amid the shell collection, and Whitney Lester had ruined it.

  Diane stood and went back out to Juliet Price who wasn’t bent over holding her stomach anymore. She was standing, smoothing out her gray corduroy jumper, trying not to look in either Diane’s or Whitney Lester’s direction. Diane walked over to her.

  “Your job is safe. The security people will talk to you, so try and remember what you can about the missing items,” Diane told her.

  She nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Have you had anything to eat?”

  Juliet shook her head.

  “Then we’ll go to the restaurant and have our oft postponed dinner.”

  Chapter 16

  The museum restaurant had the look of a medieval monastery or ancient library with its maze of tall old-brick arches and vaulted ceilings. Four archways at right angles to each other made small chamberlike spaces throughout the restaurant. The spaces were furnished with dark rough-hewn wood tables and large padded wood chairs. The walls of the restaurant were lined with booths inside arched brick alcoves. Diane preferred the privacy of the booths. Apparently, so did Juliet.

  Diane could tell by Juliet Price’s demeanor that their presence in the restaurant was pushing Juliet out of her comfort zone. She said nothing, and her gaze darted around the room as if looking for some unknown thing. She scooted into the booth, looking dwarfed by the high-backed wooden bench. The dark interior and candlelight gave her an even more ethereal look. Diane would not have been surprised if she just suddenly faded away.

  “I have lunch or dinner with each of the employees of the museum to try to get to know them a little better. We’re long overdue. This is not meant to be a punishme
nt or an opportunity for me to scrutinize you. I just like to know the people who work at the museum. So, tell me about yourself.”

  Juliet nibbled on a bread stick. “There’s not much to tell. I’ve mostly led a very quiet life.”

  “Well, start with what you would like to eat. The waitress will be coming back soon,” said Diane.

  They looked at their menus, but Diane knew what she wanted. This late in the day she selected a vegetarian plate with portobello mushrooms, cheese, and tomatoes, and a fruit salad.

  “That sounds good. I’ll have the same thing,” said Juliet when Diane ordered.

  Diane made an effort to engage Juliet in conversation but was having little success. Juliet fingered her napkin as they waited for the food and looked like she’d rather be reamed out by Whitney Lester than eat dinner with Diane.

  “I hope you are not worried about your job,” said Diane.

  Juliet looked up from her napkin and Diane was startled by the clarity of her piercing blue eyes. There was someone in there after all.

  “Why did you believe me when I said I didn’t steal the seashells?”

  It was a fair question. Diane did tell her point-blank that her job was safe. Why had she said that?

  “Usually, stealing on such a scale takes a bit of daring. You don’t seem to be a person who takes any kind of risk.”

  Juliet gave a wisp of a smile. “No. I suppose I’m not. I’m a coward and I’m afraid of silly things.”

  Diane thought of the incident with the gift basket. Yes, that seemed to be a silly thing. She wondered what was behind it.

  “Almost everyone has a fear that others might think of as silly.”

  “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?”

  “The Sage of Monticello. Have you read them?”

  “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 charming, Diane wondered if she meant just the opposite. But there was nothing in her clear blue eyes that suggested that she meant anything other than what 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.”

  No wonder she’s skittish and prefers solitude, thought Diane. I would be too if I had been through that as a child. The knowledge made Whitney Lester’s behavior all the more appalling.

  “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 defense. As with Blake Stanton, the young carjacker with the gun, she had only words with which to defend herself. These men weren’t going to be as easy as Blake was.

  “Stop where you are and back off,” she said.

  She must have sounded pathetic to the huge men wielding baseball bats. Her thumb pressed the keys on her phone and she heard Security answer. As she brought it to her mouth she yelled.

  “Front parking lot now!”