Dressed to Die: A Lindsay Chamberlain Novel

by Beverly Connor

  The next morning Lindsay had marched into Frank's office first thing. She stood in front of his desk now, looking down at him. "It's slim, I know, but there's a connection. And why would whoever it was tell Detective Kaufman that he had suspected me of stealing antiquities for a long time?"

  "It was probably a miscommunication. Lindsay, I don't need this, and you don't either."

  "I have nothing to lose. I believe my fate is sealed," she retorted.

  He was silent for a long moment. "So, you've heard."

  "Yes. Why didn't I hear it from you?"

  "I haven't known long. It's something Francisco's been working on. And look, I don't know where you'll fit in."

  "You won't need two osteologists, and Dr. or Ms. Whatever-her-status-is, Chapman's been sizing up my chair. I know I won't fit in."

  "Well, I don't know that, and it won't happen without a fight from me. I hope you don't intend to just give up."

  "No, I won't give up."

  "Good. Now drop this thing about Einer. You won't get anywhere with it. Frankly, there's more circumstantial evidence that connects you than him."

  "I won't publicly accuse him, if that's what you mean. He's inoculated himself pretty well where that's concerned. Kaufman wouldn't believe me, now that Einer has gotten to him. He'd just think I was trying to get even or something."

  "If Kaufman talks to me-and he will if he's any kind of decent detective at all-I'll tell him he's wrong."

  "Thanks."

  "Leave the Einer thing alone, but don't lose heart over the other thing."

  "I won't."

  As Lindsay came down the stairs and rounded the corner, she almost ran into Brian, standing in her doorway. He looked guilty.

  "Hello, Brian. How are things?"

  "Lindsay, can I talk to you?"

  "Sure. Come in. Take a seat. How's your thesis coming?"

  Brian sat down uneasily in the chair in front of her desk. "Good. I'm tracing the chert source for the lithic material at the Cold River site. I'm evaluating different methods to get a chemical analysis of the material." Brian stopped talking. Lindsay said nothing, then they both tried to talk at the same time.

  "Go ahead," Lindsay said.

  "Look, Lindsay, I don't want you to think I have anything to do with what Gerri's been up to. I didn't know until last night what she's been planning."

  "I don't think that, Brian."

  He relaxed a little. "I broke up with her. I can't believe she's been going after your job. She's pretty cold about it. Told me it's not personal. Good jobs in osteology aren't that easy to come by, she said. Said she isn't doing anything different from what everybody does, using their contacts to get a job. But it really stinks."

  "Don't concern yourself about it," Lindsay said. "I don't blame you for anything Gerri may be involved in."

  Brian still looked miserable. "I told Gerri a lot of stuff. Not anything bad. I don't know anything bad. Just how you like to solve crimes, and the stuff Derrick told me about the missing artifacts. I'm afraid she may have used things to her advantage, you know, in talking Lewis into giving her the job here. Derrick is really pissed at me."

  "It's all right," said Lindsay. "Don't beat yourself up for trusting someone. Like you said, there aren't any bad things to know. If they sounded bad to Lewis, then it's because Gerri made them sound bad. It's not your fault."

  "Thanks, Lindsay. I would hate for you to think I was in on this. I guess Sally's pretty steamed?"

  "I don't know that she knows. We haven't talked about it."

  "She dating your brother?"

  "They've gone out a couple of times, I believe. Are you going back to Kentucky?"

  "Yeah, today. I'm trying to catch Sally. Does she come in today?"

  "Usually, but I've given her some time off. That attack at The Rocky Horror Picture Show really scared her."

  "It must have. I hope she didn't leave the show early because of me and Gerri." Lindsay didn't say anything. Brian sighed and rose from his chair. "I'll see if I can catch her at her apartment before I leave." He offered his hand and Lindsay took it.

  "Don't worry about me, Brian. I'm all right." Lindsay felt sorry for him as he walked out her door. She bet he was sorry he had dumped Sally.

  Her phone rang. "Dr. Chamberlain, this is Detective Kaufman. Would you come down to the Public Safety Building, please?"

  "You have some news about the artifacts?" asked Lindsay.

  "I'll tell you when you get here."

  Chapter 19

  LINDSAY WAS SHOWN to a chair in Kaufman's office by the receptionist. After five minutes of waiting and no Kaufman, Lindsay decided that it was just some tactic of his, and she wasn't going to play. She got up and was walking out the door when he entered, stepped behind his desk, and sat down. Lindsay turned but remained standing.

  "Please sit down," he said. Lindsay sat on the edge of the chair. She thought she probably looked as if she were ready to bolt at any minute. It was the way she felt. "I just have a couple of questions." The two of them looked up as Frank walked into the room. He sat in the empty chair near Lindsay, looked at her and shrugged.

  "You were saying?" Lindsay asked Kaufman.

  "We found some of the artifacts."

  "You did?" Lindsay and Frank said together.

  "Where?" asked Lindsay.

  "They were still in the basement of Nancy Hart. In a closet in boxes marked Fredrickson Foundation Archival Files." Lindsay opened her mouth and raised her eyebrows. She had passed them when she was finding her way out of the basement. "We found your fingerprints in the near vicinity."

  Lindsay was tempted to roll her eyes. Her fingerprints weren't on file; he must have gotten them when she was here the other day. Maybe on a coffee mug? She almost laughed. "I saw the boxes when I was in the closet. If you remember, I escaped from the basement through the closet and out the back door."

  "Yes. I remember that's what you said. We also found this in the box with the artifacts. Do you recognize it?" He held up a silver letter opener.

  "I have one like it. My aunt gave it to me. Mine is engraved with my name. If that one is engraved, I assume it's mine."

  "It is."

  "Then it must be mine."

  "Do you know how it got in the box?"

  "No, but I imagine someone put it there so you could haul me down here to ask me about it."

  Frank winced. "You said some of the artifacts. Not all of them?"

  "No. There was just one box," Kaufman answered as he picked up a box from behind his desk and set it on top. Lindsay and Frank peered inside at two small pots and a couple of clay effigy pipes.

  "Not much," said Frank.

  "We figure the rest were moved," said Kaufman.

  "There was a whole stack of boxes," said Lindsay.

  "And you don't know how your letter opener got in the box?" Kaufman asked again.

  "She said she didn't," answered Frank.

  "Detective Kaufman," said Lindsay, "to what use would I have put a silver letter opener while absconding with boxes of artifacts? The only thing you can do with it is open letters. It doesn't make a good knife, and I carry a Swiss Army knife in my purse. The letter opener is only there because it has my name on it."

  "When did you last see it?"

  "I don't know. It's usually on my desk, and I don't always lock my office. Anyone in Baldwin, or the university for that matter, could have gotten it. There's been a parade of people-students, faculty, police, reporters, and even Ellis Einer, an associate dean-through my office in the past few days."

  Lindsay watched him closely. He twitched slightly at the mention of Einer. She thought she had scored a hit. It occurred to her, watching him thinking up another question to ask her, that he might be in on it with Einer. It would be easy for a campus policeman to park behind Baldwin and take the artifacts. No one would notice anything amiss about a police car in the lot at night. Perhaps there had been no anonymous call, or perhaps he made it. Lindsay was on the verge
of asking him just that when Frank spoke.

  "Detective Kaufman, can't you see she's right? And look at these artifacts. All are chipped or broken. They picked the ones with the least value to leave behind to salt with incriminating evidence. Just how did you know to look in the closet in the first place? Another one of these ubiquitous anonymous calls?"

  "As a matter of fact, when we discovered that there was this virtual back door to the artifact room, I thought it would be a better way than going through the front door to steal the artifacts without being seen. And it occurred to me that they could also be stored there, too. It didn't look like anyone ever cleans or uses the place."

  "That was very good thinking," said Frank. "Apply some of that to Lindsay. I know her; I've known her for a long time. I don't know why someone is trying to throw suspicion on her, but they could have just as easily thrown it on me or any of the faculty or students who use the artifact room. This line of investigation is a dead end, and I would very much like to get the artifacts back. Have you looked on the collector's market at all for them to show up?"

  "Yes, I have, and they haven't, but that doesn't mean there wasn't a private sale. I'm focusing on Dr. Chamberlain because she's a common denominator."

  "Not in the antiquities missing from the library or from the Classics Department," said Lindsay.

  Kaufman looked at her in surprise. "What?"

  "The librarian informed campus police that valuable maps and books are missing from the rare book room. You mean the information didn't reach you?" Lindsay went on before he could answer. "Talk to Linda Andrews. She's the archivist at the Hargrett Library where the rare books are kept."

  "And you say some things are missing from the Classics Department?" asked Kaufman, removing the box from his desk. Lindsay told him of her conversation with Linda Andrews. "So, you were in the rare book room?" asked Kaufman.

  "After, " said Lindsay, underlining the word with the tone of her voice, "the items were stolen, and I've never been to Park Hall. Also, I believe there were some things stolen from the museum a year or so ago."

  "We know about that," Kaufman said.

  "Now, if that's all, I'm leaving. When you finish with my letter opener, I'd like to have it back."

  She and Frank stood up and left the building. "Nice going," said Frank. "When I first met you, you were shy."

  "Yeah, well, it's all the stuff that's happened, I guess. I'm feeling backed into a corner for the flimsiest of reasons. No one could really expect to do anything but throw the weakest of suspicions on me with the evidence they've come up with. What would I be doing carrying around an engraved silver letter opener? By the way, why did you come?" she asked.

  "Kaufman called. Maybe he's focusing on me next."

  "No, he just wanted to interview me in your presence. I think it was just a tactic to maybe make me nervous."

  Frank laughed. "Little did he know, you have nerves of steel."

  "Steel wool, maybe."

  Frank drove back to Baldwin, but Lindsay decided to visit Park Hall. With my luck, she thought, I'll run into Kaufman. She parked behind the building and went in, looking for the Classics Department office.

  The receptionist was a woman in her late fifties, slim, dressed in an light blue Oxford shirt and navy skirt. She wore black cat-eye glasses on a dark chain draped around her neck. The plaque on the desk identified her as Mrs. Annette Hargrove.

  "I'm Dr. Chamberlain from the Archaeology Department. We've had some of our antiquities stolen, and I was wondering if you have any missing from the Classics Department."

  The woman began nodding her head and motioned for Lindsay to sit down. "I told them they were missing. They think Dr. Lennox checked some of them out. She's out of the country now, and she certainly wouldn't take any with her."

  "They?" asked Lindsay.

  The woman waved a hand at the offices. "The faculty. They are very good classicists, but, well, they just don't think anybody would steal anything."

  Lindsay smiled. "I discovered it through a librarian."

  "Linda Andrews." She nodded. "She called and asked the same questions."

  "Has anyone else called or come by to ask about them?"

  "No, they haven't."

  "I've been talking to a Detective Kaufman. He'll probably talk with you."

  "Good. I've made a list of the missing items."

  "He'll like that. I don't suppose anyone from the administration has been here lately."

  Mrs. Hargrove shook her head. "Like I said, no one besides you and Mrs. Andrews has been interested."

  "How about just visiting?" said Lindsay carefully. "I know that one of the associate deans has been interested in security in our department...."

  "No, not that I'm aware of."

  "Thank you for talking to me. Maybe now that the campus police are aware of the problem, they can find the missing items."

  "I certainly hope so," said Mrs. Hargrove.

  Lindsay wanted to ask more questions, like where had the artifacts been stored, when was the last time she had seen them, but she knew the receptionist would probably tell Kaufman she had been here. He would ask Mrs. Hargrove what questions Lindsay had asked, and she didn't want to make any more trouble for herself. Instead, she changed the subject.

  "I have another question. This is rather sensitive." Mrs. Hargrove took off her glasses and leaned forward. "One of the campus police told me that Gloria Rankin was coming to see me when she was struck by the bus. I didn't know her nor why she was coming. Do you have any idea?"

  "Poor, poor Gloria. She was a nice girl, a nice girl." Mrs. Hargrove shook her head slowly back and forth. "I don't know, but she wouldn't have told me anyway. Her office mate, Theodora Ricarda, may know. She's down the hall in 210."

  "Thank you."

  Lindsay walked down the hallway of white marble, looking at the numbers on the wooden doors. She passed a glass case of statuary replicas of Hercules: Hercules throwing a discus, Hercules tearing off his tunic, Hercules leaning against a tree, Hercules fighting the Hydra. Among the statues were several journal articles and books about Herculean mythology written by faculty members. She looked to see if any of the articles were by anyone she knew. One was by Gloria Rankin, a review of Trachiniae by Sophocles.

  Lindsay knocked on the door to room 210, and a husky female voice told her to come in.

  "Theodora Ricarda?" A plump woman of about twenty five with black hair, dark lashes, and beautiful blue eyes sat at a desk situated perpendicular to the door. Another similar desk faced hers. Bookcases teeming with volumes lined the walls. "My name is Dr. Lindsay Chamberlain. I'm from the Archaeology Department in Baldwin." The woman raised her eyebrows in what looked, to Lindsay, like disdain. "I was informed that Gloria Rankin was coming to see me the day she died, and I was wondering if she might have told you why."

  "I don't feel comfortable talking about Gloria to a stranger." She looked back at the article she had been reading.

  "I can understand that. The police asked me about it. I'm sure they will come and ask you. They are tying up loose ends." Lindsay turned to go.

  "I don't know why. We didn't talk much."

  I'll bet, thought Lindsay. "Was she working on anything to do with archaeology?"

  "Not likely. She was interested in Greek and Roman mythology. That's her master's thesis on the shelf." Theodora pointed to the bookcase behind Lindsay.

  Lindsay picked up a thin black volume. The gold lettering stamped into the cover read: Medea: The Source of Her Sorcery, by Gloria Louise Rankin. Catchy title, thought Lindsay. The book was dated 1993.

  "What was her dissertation topic?"

  "Nothing to do with Indians."

  Lindsay smiled. "We study a lot of things. For instance, I'm an expert in bones. We have experts in lithics, underwater archaeology, pollen analysis-we also have Old World archaeologists."

  Theodora shrugged. "She was doing something with glazes and fifth-century Greek vases, I think."

  "What a
re your interests?" asked Lindsay.

  Theodora brightened. "Ancient Greek poetry and linguistics. I love translating from ancient Greek."

  "I think ancient Greek poetry is very beautiful." Lindsay hoped she wouldn't be struck down by lightning for lying. She actually had no idea what ancient Greek poetry was like.

  "It is, isn't it? The form is like nothing else, and the imagery gives you such insights into the ancient Greek psyche."

  Lindsay wondered if that were a pun and decided it wasn't. "You've been very kind to let me take up your time. If you think of anything, here's my card." She laid her University of Georgia business card on the vacant desk. "Thanks again." Lindsay was out the door before Theodora could ask her who her favorite Greek poet was.

  The visit to the Classics Department had yielded nothing useful, Lindsay realized, and she had probably compromised her already shaky position by simply being there. Depressed, she drove back to Baldwin.

  She sat at her desk and put her hands to her temples, trying to ease the tension from her muscles. Too many mysteries. She had the strangest feeling she was missing something important. She could almost feel the clues swimming around in her brain, waiting for the one piece that would make all of them make sense.

  The phone rang, and Lindsay let it ring a couple of times before she picked it up. She was starting to dread answering the telephone.

  "Miss Chamberlain? Jake Gilroy here. Think I have you an Explorer. Can you come by and look at it?"

  "Yes, after work today, or maybe tomorrow?"

  "Sure. It's a '95 program car. I think you'll like it and the price, too. We can probably give you a real good deal on your Rover."

  "Thanks, Jake. I appreciate it."

  Lindsay put down the phone with a sense of relief. If she could at least lower her car payments to make up for the property payment, that would be a big help, especially since she was about to lose her job. Her job. It made her sick. Just don't think about it, she told herself, you've got enough to occupy your mind. Her gaze rested on the box of old newspapers that was still sitting in the corner of her office. She had completely forgotten about them. She carefully took a brittle page and flattened it on her desk. It was a Macon Telegraph from 1935. There was nothing in it but bad economic news, advertisements, and an article about Babe Ruth quitting the Boston Braves. Boston Braves? Interesting, she thought.