Death at the Museum

by London Lovett

  Chapter 21

  Lana and Dave had walked over from Lana's farmhouse. They strolled up to the front stoop just as I was taking a final taste of the chili. It was Emily's recipe, only it wasn't nearly as delicious as hers. My little sister had some magical ability to make everything taste marvelous. I added a pinch of salt, hoping that would help. I stirred in the salt and replaced the lid. I untied my apron and took a second to admire the golden crusted cornbread. I only hoped it tasted as yummy as it looked.

  Lana always added an extra splash of makeup whenever she was with Dave. That was how I knew she was still interested in the guy. She stopped in the entryway and took a deep whiff. "I smell Emily's chili. Did she cook it for you?"

  "I am capable of following a recipe," I said. "However, I realized after tasting it that Emily's magic touch is actually an ingredient that cannot be added or replicated. I'm telling you this in advance to lower your expectations." I smiled at Dave. "Hello, coworker. Ready to do some ghost hunting?"

  He laughed rather nervously and grinned sheepishly at Lana. It seemed my sister had already lectured him about the nonsensical quest he was on. There was nothing like a bossy big sister to set things straight. "Well, I didn't bring my infrared thermometer or electromagnetic field detector, if that's what you mean."

  Lana looked pointedly at him. "Oh my gosh, you were actually looking that stuff up, weren't you?"

  Dave smiled coyly. "Why would you say that?"

  "Because you had those rather obscure terms ready to go, as if you've been online searching for ghost hunting equipment."

  I certainly hadn't meant for Lana to harass or embarrass the man. (There was that whole lifesaving debt and all.)

  I laughed to break the tension. "Come on, Lana, haven't you ever watched Ghostbusters? Everyone knows that's what people use to track down incorporeal beings. Now, follow me to the kitchen. I made some lemonade, and it's actually pretty darn tasty."

  I poured three glasses of lemonade, and we sat at the table to sip the cold drinks. Edward was nowhere in sight, but that didn't mean he wasn't nearby. Lana and Dave would not sense his presence. As long as he didn't pick up any solid objects or move things across the floor, the evening would, hopefully, convince Dave that the inn was not haunted.

  I expected Dave to be glancing surreptitiously around the room while we sipped lemonade, but he seemed to have something else on his mind other than ghosts. I soon discovered what had his focus.

  "So, Sunni, Lana told me you two were discussing the stolen chalice—"

  "Oh, that's right. That client never texted back," Lana interrupted abruptly. I might have been wrong about the makeup indicating she was still interested in Dave. This evening I was getting the impression that he had grown much less important in her world. She wasn't nearly as effusive or flirty in her attitude toward him. In fact, if I could pinpoint a word, rude would come to mind. While I was used to my bossy sister talking over me, it seemed Dave wasn't. His brow lowered in irritation, but he allowed Lana to continue nonetheless.

  Lana stirred her lemonade with her straw. "I told you she has some big, important job. She'll get back to me eventually." My sister could be a bit short-sighted when it came to other people's feelings, but she seemed to finally sense she'd cut him off. "Sorry, Dave, didn't mean to interrupt. I just needed to tell Sunni that before I forgot. Please proceed." She added a smile, but it wasn't terribly genuine. I wondered if this ghost obsession had flipped off a button for my sister. She was extremely judgmental, and she never put up with stuff she considered farcical.

  Dave pushed aside his irritation and returned his focus to the conversation he'd started. "Sunni, in your opinion, are the two crimes, the stolen chalice and the murder of the lab assistant related?"

  "I don't think they've been concretely connected, but in my opinion, yes, they are related. It would just be too farfetched to think that two unrelated devastating events happened at the museum on the same evening."

  "I agree." He took a sip of his drink. "This might be the best lemonade I've ever tasted." I was being buttered up for something and that thing came next. "I talked to Jax earlier, just happened to catch him down at the station. He was not very forthcoming about details of the murder. I need something, anything. Prue has her mind set on a front page murder story." He flashed me a simpering smile. "Any crumbs you can toss your coworker's way would be much appreciated."

  I was glad to see that he'd taken his mind off my haunted inn for a moment. Typical that it was only because he needed me to do his job. "I'm afraid I've only been working on my assignment, the missing chalice." That wasn't entirely accurate, but my excuse was more than plausible. Prudence had tasked me with the missing chalice story, after all.

  "Oh, come on, Sunni, surely Jax told you some details on the case." He was forcing a chummy tone, but beneath the surface, he was perturbed. I couldn't help but think that Lana's harsh treatment had pushed him into a less than congenial mood.

  "I gave you everything I had. The victim, Sarah Essex, was working on cataloguing artifacts in the lab when someone entered the lab and strangled her from behind."

  Lana spun on her chair. I tensed knowing full well a Lana scolding was forthcoming. "Why are you counting on Sunni to do the research for your assignment?"

  A stunned breath stuck in my throat. I hadn't expected her to go full throttle. Something was definitely up between them. Was it just the ghost obsession thing, or was my sister finally coming to the realization that Dave Crockett was not the one? Could it be that the afterglow from Dave's saving my life had worn off? I needed to step in. After I'd toiled over the cutting board for an hour, I was hoping for a nice dinner.

  "No, Lana, that's how it's done. We journalists always share tips and details with the person in charge of the story. I expect Dave to reciprocate if he finds anything out about the missing chalice. Right, Dave?" I grinned politely. I had no expectations on the latter, but my sister didn't need to know that.

  "Right. Sharing is all part of making a paper great."

  Lana, who was far too clever, squinted at both of us to let us know she was on to the charade. Still, thankfully, she dropped the tense subject for a new one . . . or the more relevant one.

  "Do we have time to tour the inn corner to corner before dinner?" Lana asked. "That way Dave can see once and for all that there is nothing spooky or weird about this place."

  I laughed lightly. "Unless you count all the creaks and groans the house makes on any given day. I assure you that's all from a settling foundation and nothing out of this world."

  Dave looked more deflated than I'd ever seen him. Not only was Lana making light of his ghost obsession, she had put him in his place about his job too. I'd smoothed it over, but I was certain I'd seen a little twitch in Dave's right eyelid when she accused him of using me for research.

  Dave was looking less happy by the minute. Perhaps the lack of flying oranges and paranormal activity, in general, was disheartening. I decided some warm cornbread was just the thing to revive my disillusioned dinner guest.

  "You know what?" I stood up and headed to the stack of bowls and plates I'd taken out for the meal. "I think we need some fuel for our tour. Some cheddar topped chili and hot, buttery cornbread should do the trick. What do you think?" I posed the question to Dave, but Lana provided the response.

  "Yes, let's eat first. I'm starved. That way we'll have energy to fight off any angry spirits we encounter," Lana quipped. She'd sabotaged my plan with her sarcasm.

  Dave smiled weakly and seemed to be agreeing with the plan to eat first. It seemed there was trouble in romantic paradise. My sister had discarded the somewhat fake veneer of a flirty, easy going girlfriend, and her true self was showing. In more ways than one. It had been so long since my sister had been in a true relationship that I couldn't tell if she was trying to scare him off or if she was trying to let him know that the other woman, with the softer edges, was not the real Lana and that he'd better be prepared to handle the real thin
g.

  Chapter 22

  The rest of dinner had not gone as disastrously as the first few minutes predicted. Lana lightened up after filling her empty belly with chili and cornbread. She even threw in the occasional frilly laugh when Dave told a few jokes. I could only assume my musings about the relationship falling apart were all due to a hungry big sister and not to cracks in the relationship. My mom always said that Lana was an angry bear woken early from hibernation whenever she was hungry. That fitting metaphor was on full display last night. We'd also concluded the evening successfully with a long tour of the inn. Not a ghost in sight. Edward had stayed mostly clear of the whole visit, which I thanked him for before shuffling off to bed where I slept soundly until an early morning text from Ursula let me know they'd be late because they were driving to the city to pick up the molding they'd ordered.

  Prudence had not called an early staff meeting, so I had the morning to myself. I let Myrna know I was doing research and working from home. I heated myself the last chunk of cornbread. It could easily be turned into a delicious breakfast treat when filled with honey and butter. I set a cup of hot tea and the cornbread down on the table and opened up my laptop.

  The first thing I searched was local stone carvers. There were more than I expected, although the term was loosely used. One artist carved little designs into rocks and, hence, referred to themselves as a stone carver. (I supposed, technically, it worked.) Few of the artists who came up were displaying intricate, complex carvings like the artist who'd made the fake chalice. A few listed that they worked with alabaster. Lana said her owl carving was from a local artist, and there was a moon and star on the base, the artist's signature. I typed star and moon as artist's mark. I considered it a long shot that would result in all manner of entries, but the first one that came up was a grid of images of beautifully carved wild animals, each with a tiny moon and star on its base. I picked up my phone and thumbed my way to the photo of the chalice. The star and moon looked the same, a slim crescent moon tilted slightly so that it nearly circled the star. Some of the pieces were carved from marble, and a few appeared to be made out of alabaster.

  The images took me to an artist's website. The sculptor's name was Kai Rogers. From the photo he'd posted of himself working on a piece of marble, he looked to be in his forties, and while goggles blocked the top half of his face, they did not hide the wiry beard and long wavy hair. According to his website, he lived in Smithville. While it seemed he had photos of all his work, beautiful and intricate, there was no photo of a Lotus Chalice. It was possible I had the wrong artist but highly unlikely. The moon and star looked identical to the ones on the base of the chalice.

  "Where are the two dimwits this morning? The house is eerily quiet," Edward noted as he appeared on the opposite side of the table.

  I chuckled to myself.

  "What has you so amused?" he asked.

  "Just sounds funny, hearing the words eerily quiet from a—" I shook it off. "Anyway, the dim—" I paused. "Ursula and Henry had to make a trip to the city to pick up a specific molding for the upstairs bedroom. I have to admit, it is kind of nice to have a break from their usual morning breakfast routine."

  "Routine?" Edward scoffed. "Is that what you call it when a tiny, screeching woman spends the entire morning scolding a slack-jawed buffoon, who manages to eat everything in his path, long before she finishes one of her monotonous tirades?"

  I moved my head side to side. "Well, yeah, it's a routine of sorts because it's predictable, and it happens on a regular timeline. Not sure what else you would call it."

  "I can think of a few choice words—irksome, aggravating, vexatious—"

  "Yes, I get the point. Now, let me finish with my research."

  Almost instantly, Edward had vanished and reappeared behind me. As oppressive and tedious as his existence was, I envied some of the abilities that came with being a ghost. "Why are you looking for scruffy, unkempt scoundrels when you already have one. And those are the oddest looking spectacles I've ever seen."

  "They are protective eyewear. The man is carving stone, so he's wearing those goggles to keep chips from flying into his eyes. And Jackson is neither unkempt nor a scoundrel."

  "Your opinion," he quipped.

  I stood up and managed to pop right into the cool waves of air surrounding him. For a second, I passed through his image. As I glanced down it looked as if his arm was coming right out of my stomach. I shuddered and shot sideways to deconstruct whatever had just happened. "Yikes, let's not ever do that again," I said, then noticed he looked hurt. "What's wrong? I didn't hurt you did I?" I waved my hand. "Sorry, stupid question."

  His blue eyes turned a stormy gray, a color change that occurred whenever he was feeling down, which happened more than one might expect from a centuries old apparition. I wondered, briefly, if he was a particularly moody, sullen man when he was alive.

  This time the sour turn in his mood caused him to disappear completely. I waited a moment for him to reappear somewhere else in the kitchen but he was gone. I quickly went over the incident in my head. "I shuddered," I said quietly. Had he noticed? Of course he had. "Edward, it wasn't revulsion. It was just an odd sensation. I've never crossed into your—I'm not sure what to call it—your aura, your image and your arm was—" I sighed and returned to my computer.

  I decided to read through Kai Rogers' reviews to see if anything stood out. I was browsing the mostly five star reviews and effusive commentary when Edward's darkly quiet tone drifted across the room.

  "When I was a young man, women tilted their hats to watch me walk by. If I kissed a woman, I could feel her knees grow weak in my embrace. I should have cherished every moment of my life as flesh and blood, every soft hand in mine, every pair of plump lips against mine, every breathy caress of a woman's whisper."

  It seemed that one shudder had opened some new wounds. Often, Edward's longing to feel fresh air in his face or smell grass crushed beneath his boots was strong enough to throw him into a state of melancholy for days, but until now, his desires had been toward nature. It only made sense that he would still long for human touch. The tales from his past assured me that Edward Beckett had been passionate and what some might have called overly amorous when it came to the opposite sex, a trait that had led him to an early grave and restless eternity. It seemed I was slowly becoming an expert in ghost psychology.

  "Edward, don't dwell on things that can't be changed. You don't need to tell me that you were once a vibrant, attractive man who lived life to the fullest. I only need to see you as you are to imagine that every time you stepped into a ballroom or some social event that all eyes turned your direction. There are people whose mere presence attracts attention, causes a stir of excitement. Jackson is one of those people, a trait he, no doubt, inherited from you." Some of my words were having an effect. His image sharpened, and the vivid blue returned to his eyes.

  He hadn't turned the corner completely yet, but he had pulled out of the darkness, a hollow place he occasionally drifted to. I could only imagine how hard it would be not to get sucked entirely into that hollow place. The blue ribbon holding his hair in a queue rippled as he nodded, sadly, weakly.

  I shifted my laptop closer, content that I'd helped Edward avoid one of his terrible depressions. A few more clicks produced the address for Kai's workshop and store in Smithville. He welcomed visitors between the hours of ten and two. I typed the address into my phone. A visit to the stone carver's shop seemed like the next logical step in my investigation.

  I closed the laptop and got up to put away my dishes.

  "I would garner more," Edward said from his hearth perch.

  I glanced his direction as I rinsed dishes. "Garner more what?" I asked.

  "More attention. If I walked into a crowded room with Brady at my side, the attention and admiration would fall mostly to me."

  I dried my hands and rolled my eyes. "You're incorrigible." I hung up the dishtowel and went in to change. It seemed my morning was g
oing to be spent perusing stone sculptures.

  Chapter 23

  Kai Rogers' workshop and store was a rustic cabin set off the road and down a dirt path. It was actually just as I expected, an artsy little retreat where a sculptor could work quietly and bond with nature and his artwork. A yellow sedan was parked in the three space lot. I pulled my jeep next to the sedan.

  Tires ground the gritty dirt on the pathway as I stepped out of the jeep. I glanced back down the path and discovered that I had beat Detective Jackson to the shop by mere seconds.

  I leaned against the jeep and smiled smugly as he parked his car in the next spot. As he climbed out, I glanced at my watch. "It's about time you got here, Detective."

  Jackson pushed his sunglasses up on his head. The black lenses got lost in the sea of thick hair. "Miss Taylor, I would tell you I'm surprised to see you here, but that would be a lie." He walked around his car and stopped in front of me. "Bluebird, you're in the wrong business. How did you find this place?"

  "Hmm, let's just say a little owl left a breadcrumb, which my sister passed on to me and then, well, there's always the old standby—Google. The artist's mark, the star and moon, led me right to this door. What do you think? Is Kai Rogers the killer?"

  "Guess we'll find out."

  Jackson opened the door and I walked inside. Three women, the customers with the yellow sedan, glanced up from the display of sculpted wildlife creatures they were admiring. They were about to refocus on the art when another piece of human art walked in behind me. Their faces snapped back up. They managed to stare brazenly for a good fifteen seconds before deciding to return their attention to the intricate sculptures. The whole awkward, humorous and slightly annoying incident reminded me of the conversation I'd had with Edward in the morning. I had not been exaggerating. Jackson sucked all the attention his way . . . always . . . and I had no doubt that his long-lost ancestor would have caused the same reaction. It seemed we women liked pretty things, and the shop was filled with them (shiny detective not included).