Memory Lane

by Vella Munn

  Shock washed over Kim. She understood the museum’s reluctance to admit its vulnerability, but to deliberately mislead people… “And this has the approval of the police department?” she managed.

  Garner supplied the answer to that question in clipped tones. “That’s not their concern. We want them to stop the thefts. We do not need them to tell us how to run the museum. Ms. Revis, Camp Oro doesn’t have its own newspaper, and the Grass Valley paper doesn’t routinely cover Camp Oro police business.”

  “But a museum is a public institution. People have a right to know.”

  “We prefer to work with the police chief, not the newspaper,” Anthea interjected. “There are enough opinions expressed within these walls without outsiders becoming involved.”

  “Including the interests of certain people who should be concerned with special activities and not what kind of security system we can afford.”

  Kim ran her fingers through her hair, but the gesture didn’t shake free the knot in the pit of her stomach. Once again she turned toward the museum director, hoping he would defuse the two. Rogan looked as if this was the last place he wanted to be.

  Still, Kim didn’t have to sit and listen to this endless argument. There were things they needed to hear from her. Briefly she explained that she would be considering the effectiveness of everything from light beams and door switches to ultrasonic and passive infrared devices. Her suggestions would be just that, suggestions. The final decision would be up to a committee consisting of board members and employees. “Much of my recommendation will be based on finding someone locally who can do the necessary installation,” she finished. “The most sophisticated device, even if the museum could afford it, would be worthless if there’s no one in the area with the expertise to install it.”

  “That’s assuming you can get the board and employees to agree,” Garner snorted. Without giving anyone the opportunity to either confirm or deny his statement, he rose to his feet. He was smoothing the taut fabric over his thighs as he continued. “Much as I’d like to continue this discussion, I have another meeting. If you’re in need of transportation, Ms. Revis, I’d be happy to take you. Anywhere.”

  Kim drew a quick comparison between the business manager and the wolf at Little Red Riding Hood’s door. Thankfully she didn’t have to dream up an excuse for not accepting Garner’s offer. “I’m going to have Rogan give me a tour of the museum,” she explained.

  Anthea and William were getting to their feet as well. Ignoring Garner, Anthea pointed out that she needed to make an appearance at her shop. She left while Garner was still checking the contents of his briefcase. Kim was aware of William’s cool, wary eyes on her, but the security guard said nothing. He was still watching when she and Rogan left.

  Rogan was explaining that the second floor, which was accessible only by stairs, was divided into different sections, each one representing a specific historic era. “My time is short. I don’t have time to give you more than a superficial tour. Maybe later—”

  They’d retraced their earlier steps and were starting up the stairs when the receptionist stopped them. “Ms. Revis? I have a message for you. It’s from Mark Stockton. He’d like you to call him at this number.” The woman handed Kim a piece of paper. “He said to make sure you got the message.”

  “He called here? What else did he say?” Rogan asked.

  “That’s all, Mr. Coffers.”

  Rogan grunted. “How did Mr. Stockton know you would be here this morning?”

  Kim didn’t know why her relationship with Mark should be of any concern to the museum director. Still, she could hardly tell him it was none of his business. Briefly she explained that Mark had driven her this morning. Then she brought the conversation back to her reason for being here. “You said the only access to the second story is by these stairs. There isn’t an elevator for disabled access?”

  Rogan explained that the building’s age and physical design precluded the installation of an elevator. There was an upper-level door leading to a fire escape, but that was kept locked and would trigger an alarm should anyone try to use it. Rogan’s explanation of the second-story displays was cursory. Back on the ground floor, Kim was shown collections of mining exhibits, early photography equipment, tools and weapons. The displays devoted to silver artifacts and mint-condition Victorian bracelets rivaled those she’d seen in metropolitan museums and held her attention for several minutes. “The building’s a basic design,” she said as they reentered the ground-level hall. “There’s just the one door, isn’t there?”

  Rogan pointed out that there was a fire door at the rear of the building, but like the one upstairs, it was tied into an alarm system. “There aren’t any side doors or separate entrances for staff. Unless someone wants to set off the fire alarm, they have to go through the front door.”

  “Don’t the windows open?”

  “The last time the museum was painted, the windows were painted closed. Not only is it all but impossible to free the windows, but the screens have been nailed in place. Granted, that isn’t the most effective system in the world, but it stops kids from trying to sneak in at night.”

  “Has that happened?” Kim watched as Rogan tamped fresh tobacco into his pipe. “Have kids ever broken in?”

  Rogan shook his head. “Not successfully. I understand that some of the local youngsters consider it quite a challenge. But the museum grounds are patrolled at night. Between that and the local police, when they’re on duty, we’ve been successful in keeping the kids away.”

  “The police. In other words, William Lynch isn’t the only security personnel you have.”

  “Not strictly speaking.” Rogan opened a door to show Kim the museum’s historic library. He nodded to a couple of women working among the shelves but didn’t speak to them. “William works days. He spends most of his time stationed at the front door, although occasionally he will follow a group around if he feels they might be, shall we say, opportunistic. At night the door is locked, and we’ve felt we were secure with only external night patrols. At least we felt secure until the past few months.”

  “That’s when the thefts began,” Kim finished for him. “The museum has a substantial foundation. Is there a basement?”

  “No.” Rogan paused as he studied his pipe. “My one vice.” He patted his flat stomach as he returned the tobacco pouch to his back pocket. “I watch my weight and I don’t drink, but a pipe helps me to relax. Shall we return to my office? That’s the only place I smoke in the museum. I wish we did have a basement,” Rogan said as they entered his office. “It would remedy some of our storage problems. As it is, we have a great deal stored in other locations throughout the county.”

  Without waiting for an invitation, Kim seated herself in the chair she’d used earlier. Although she hated cigarette smoke, there was something pleasant about Rogan’s pipe. “Have there been any thefts from the storage buildings?”

  “No.” Rogan’s eyes strayed to his watch. “We rent space from commercial storage firms that have their own security systems. Very few people know about the existence of these storage units. That’s what has me convinced the thefts we’re experiencing are being done by the public and not an inside job as Stephan seems to believe.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because the only place that’s being robbed is the one the public has access to.”

  Kim thought about pointing out that it would be next to impossible, even for an employee, to steal from a storage vault protected by a modern security system, but kept silent. Until she knew which employees had access to what collections, she was going to ask as many questions as possible and reveal as little as necessary. She questioned Rogan about any possible pattern in the thefts, but because the museum was staffed in large part by volunteers and no routine checking was done of what was on display, it was hard to determine when a particular object had disappeared.

  “What happened twice was that a volunteer was explaining a display to a visito
r and noticed that something was missing. We have glass cases for the smaller, most valuable items and rope barriers to keep visitors from touching the displays, but obviously that hasn’t been an effective deterrent.”

  Kim’s mind whirled with possibilities. She had to remind herself that she wasn’t a policewoman. Still, it was within the realm of her responsibility to ask if the glass cases had been effective.

  “Up until ten days ago they were. I came to work Monday morning last week to find a case smashed and several pewter pieces missing.”

  “Monday?” Kim repeated. “Was anyone working over the weekend?”

  Rogan shook his head. “Not on Sunday. It’s policy that no one stay in the buildings after working hours. Either William or I lock up in the evening. And we always leave at the same time. He has his invalid brother to fix dinner for, and my wife and I have engagements most evenings, so neither of us are inclined to work overtime. Our leaving together is standard practice and acts as a check-and-balance system.”

  Kim turned that over in her mind. William was openly hostile, and it hadn’t been Rogan’s idea to hire her. She wasn’t likely to get much cooperation from either man. “How many people have keys?”

  Rogan was staring at her, his pale eyes giving away nothing of what he was thinking. “Just William and myself. And if you’re thinking that either William or I could come back at night or on Sunday, don’t forget the alarm system. It is activated after hours and turns off automatically Monday morning. It would alert the police even if either of us attempted to get in. Ms. Revis, we couldn’t get insurance without that.”

  Kim could have apologized or told Rogan she wasn’t questioning anyone’s integrity, but she didn’t. “Museums are like banks,” she said. “Most thefts take place during the day.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Rogan leaned back in his chair for a moment then suddenly straightened. “I’ve been the director here for almost six years, Ms. Revis. There’s never enough money for all the staff we could use. That means I wear many hats. Although the budget is Garner’s responsibility, I’m the one who the newspaper focused on when we were audited last year. According to preliminary reports, there were discrepancies in our bookkeeping methods. Those were later clarified, but I’m the one the fingers of doubt pointed at. Garner survived unscathed. As he always does.”

  Kim nodded, hoping the gesture would encourage Rogan to continue. It was obvious that Anthea didn’t like Garner, but this was the first inkling she’d had of how Rogan felt about the business manager. “I take it the budget is on the line.”

  “Oh, yes. There’s always money for Anthea’s little pet projects. Never mind that the budget committee hasn’t seen fit to give me a raise in two years.” Rogan ran a hand over his eyes. “I won’t burden you with our internal politics, Ms. Revis. Let’s just say that the business manager makes almost as much as I do.”

  “Oh.” Kim had been prepared to give finances priority when making her recommendations. She hadn’t realized she’d also be asking people who resented and distrusted one another to work together for the good of the museum. “About the blueprints,” she asked, determined to move the conversation away from the petty to what was essential.

  “I’m not sure I can get my hands on them right away.” Rogan glanced at the watch on his bony wrist. “I have other commitments. Wait here. I’ll be back.”

  Kim kept a smile pasted on her face until Rogan closed the door behind him. Then her tired muscles begged for relief. She leaned back, pressing a hand to her forehead. What she sensed at the Comstock Museum went beyond anything she’d experienced before. Working here was going to be an emotional strain, a strain made even more difficult because she had no one in Camp Oro to confide in. She wasn’t about to burden her grandmother with this.

  “Quit feeling sorry for yourself, Revis,” Kim warned herself aloud. “That isn’t your style.”

  There wasn’t much on Rogan’s desk to hold her attention. She flipped idly through several professional journals but didn’t look at the two letters awaiting his signature. She started to get to her feet but wound up reaching for her purse instead. A moment later Kim was dialing Mark’s number. He picked up the phone soon after she identified herself to his secretary.

  “How are you holding up?”

  For the first time since walking through the museum’s doors, Kim laughed. Some of the tension seeped out of her. The cold room warmed. What was Mark’s office like? What was on his desk? What had been on his mind when she called? “You tried to warn me.”

  “I don’t know much. Just rumors that all is not one big happy family. The reason I called was—are you going to need transportation? I’m at your disposal this evening.”

  Her own private chauffeur. “I don’t know,” she had to admit. “I don’t know what I’m going to be doing tonight.”

  “What about now?” the soft, rich voice asked.

  Kim no longer smelled Rogan’s tobacco. Instead her senses registered the memory of soap and spiced after-shave. “I need to talk to the police, but right now I’m waiting for the director to get back.”

  “I’m serious about being available tonight.” Kim could hear Mark say something to someone and then he continued. “A word of advice. Actually two words of advice. If you want to get out of there today, don’t ask Rogan about his wife. She has as much clout as your grandmother and would like the world to appreciate it. And watch yourself around Garner.”

  Kim laughed. “He certainly thinks a lot of himself. And his effect on women.”

  “I’m sure of that. He’s a brilliant man. Arrogant and brilliant and frustrated.”

  “Frustrated?”

  “Garner and I went to high school together. It came as a real shock to him when he learned that the world doesn’t revolve around him.”

  “Oh.” Kim pressed a hand to her forehead. Despite Mark’s voice, Rogan’s office with its high ceilings, massive desk and small, painted-shut window were making her feel trapped. She didn’t want to have to deal with Gamer Dillon’s complex personality or Rogan Coffers’s marriage on top of everything else. She didn’t want to face-off against a powerful businesswoman or a hostile security guard.

  And she didn’t want to have to ask herself why the eerie feeling of unease that had haunted her at the cave-in had followed her here.

  Chapter Four

  Whoever had been cutting the museum lawn was finished, and the air was filled with the sweet aroma of freshly mowed grass. It was all Kim could do to keep from skipping the half-dozen blocks from the museum to the police department. If she hadn’t been tempered by the years of projecting a certain image in San Francisco, the happy, carefree child who’d grown up in Camp Oro would have resurfaced.

  The town had changed and yet a great deal remained the same. The grocery store had moved into a larger building adjacent to the one it had occupied when Kim was a child, and a drugstore now occupied the old space. What had once been an historic residence across from the museum was now a bed-and-board. A vacant lot had been taken over by the local garden club and now provided a parklike setting where residents and visitors could relax surrounded by roses and other plantings capable of surviving the two or three snowfalls Camp Oro got a year. Kim had readied herself for the changes years and weather would have to have made on the brick buildings that lined the main street. She was pleasantly surprised to see that the buildings’ owners were keeping the structures true to their original condition. Kim kept to the right side of Pioneer Street because workmen had erected scaffolding around a restaurant and were in the process of replacing old mortar between the bricks.

  It was incredible. Fifteen years ago Kim had seen not an historic landmark, but a quiet town with little to interest a girl given to flights of fancy about living on a huge ranch surrounded by horses. Now she was peeking in the windows of specialty shops for quilters, antique collectors, wine connoisseurs, crystal fanciers and those attracted to gold jewelry. Kim noted an old-fashioned soda fountain as well. Altho
ugh it might not provide the most well-balanced meal, she was looking forward to having lunch there.

  Even with modern cars parked in front of the businesses, Kim was able to make contact with the past. Camp Oro had begun as a collection of tents that were gradually replaced by wooden buildings. It wasn’t until the town had burned down twice that brick buildings came into vogue. Once the sidewalks had been made of wood, but almost a hundred years ago they had been replaced with sandstone. The sandstone was worn down in many places. Kim was concentrating on her footing when she noted that the man coming toward her was wearing boots.

  For a moment Kim lost contact with today. She would look up and see, not a tourist, but a cowboy just in from the range. He would tip his hat at her, the pioneer woman in her Sunday dress. She would smile shyly at him, and he would show up later at the church social. They would share her picnic lunch. He would tell her about months spent herding cattle. She would let him walk her home. Weeks later, if he was still in town, they might share a shy kiss.

  Smiling at herself, Kim shook her head and focused on the owner of the boots. Her sense of anticipation faded. She’d wanted to look up into Mark Stockton’s eyes, not see a beanpole of a man with a small girl straddling his neck.

  Kim’s only consolation was that no one could have guessed what she had been thinking. Besides, Mark wouldn’t have been a cowboy. She was trying to decide whether he better fit the role of circuit judge or the owner of the town’s largest gold mine when her progress was slowed by a couple of well-dressed men emerging from the largest Pioneer Street business.

  “She’s going to be in this afternoon. At least it wasn’t a wasted trip,” one was saying to the other.

  “I guess,” the other grumbled. “All I know is, I don’t want to waste my time talking to the hired help. Anthea knows what I want.”

  “Relax. She’s always gotten you what you wanted before, hasn’t she?” the first asked. “She isn’t going to fail you now.”