Once again, I didn't get much sleep and when I did, I had a horrible nightmare. Detective Logan was looming over me, his face as red as his hair, accusing me of killing Lance then masterfully rejoining the party like a cold-blooded psychopath, pretending nothing happened.
As soon as I sent the girls off to school, I dressed in my usual work clothes and walked briskly over to the museum, worrying all the way if Detective Logan thought I was being too helpful. First, by telling him about the missing book and then by agreeing to search for it with him. That was just the sort of thing a real murderer would do to keep tabs on the case! Or at least, that's what the murderers did in “Columbo,” my only reference material for profiles of murderers.
I wasn't the first to arrive at the museum, which surprised me, but I was glad to see Artie standing by the doors. He called yesterday afternoon to tell me the police hadn’t cleared the museum for opening and even if they had, the board decided we should remain closed for the rest of the week as a show of respect to Lance. He waved as I approached him and tipped the brim of his Panama hat upwards.
"I thought I'd wait for you," he said. "I told Karen to take another day off since there won't be much for her to do without any visitors to look after. She said she would keep the volunteers informed so it will only be you and me today."
"And Detective Logan," I told him as I checked my watch. "He should be here any minute."
"He didn't mention it yesterday when he called."
"Perhaps he forgot."
"I don't think that man forgets much. Let's go inside before anyone comes over to ask awkward questions. I'm sure the Calendar phone tree did its best to burn out the telecom infrastructure overnight." Artie produced the key and unlocked the door, quickly closing it behind us. He tapped the alarm code into the control panel but left the closed sign on the door. "Can you put up a temporary notice on the door? Maybe do something neat on your computer?" he asked.
"I'll print something," I agreed. It would take me all of a few minutes. Artie would spend half the day stabbing at his keyboard and even then, there wouldn't be anything to show at the end of it.
"Thank goodness. I can never get anything to print from my computer."
"That's because you unplugged your keyboard last time you tried," I laughed, remembering a very confused half hour I spent wondering why none of my keyboard prompts were working while Artie complained that typewriters never had that problem. He didn't seem to think it ironic that a typewriter was little more than a very slow printer.
"I know that now," said Artie.
I produced the card for the cleaning crew that Detective Logan had given me and offered it to my boss. "Detective Logan thought we should call these people," I said.
Artie took one look at it and grimaced. "I'm sure our emergency budget wasn't intended to hire crime scene cleaners but I don't see how anyone can complain. I sure as hell don't want to go in there," he added with a shudder as we both glanced towards the exhibition room. The plants I dragged in front of the doors on that fateful night had been pulled to either side and I could see a smudgy, black coating on the doors that I could only assume was fingerprint dust.
"I'll call them," I said.
"What is Detective Logan coming by for? Does he need to interview us again? I can't think of anything I didn't tell him the night Lance... well, you know."
"I asked him to come. Artie, I think Lance might have stolen something and I told Detective Logan."
Artie stilled. "Like what?"
"That night on the mezzanine, I saw him take a book from the bookcase and slide it into his jacket when he thought no one was watching. With all the ensuing shock, I didn't remember it until yesterday, after we had lunch. I asked Detective Logan if the book was found on Lance's person and he said no."
"Why was Lance taking a book? He had no reason to."
"I thought you might have asked him. Or perhaps he needed to photograph one for some kind of marketing purpose," I said but even as the words came out, I knew that wasn't true. Karen's claims only added to my suspicions.
Artie huffed. "No, I wouldn't ask him to do a job I could do myself. That man had no respect for the fine things of this museum. Plus, he has to run all his marketing ideas past me and he never mentioned anything about showing off our library. All his ideas lately were about throwing lavish parties and flying out to this place or another for meetings and conferences. Expenditures we just couldn't cover."
"So why would he take a book?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. Which one was it?"
"I don't know. Detective Logan and I are going to try and figure that out."
"Make sure you put it back when you find it. It's probably in his office somewhere. There's our detective now." Artie shuffled over to the doors and let the detective in before he could knock. Wearing jeans and a sweater, his badge visible on his belt, Detective Logan looked a lot more refreshed than I felt. He pushed back his red hair from where it flopped onto his forehead and nodded to us both.
"Did you catch the killer yet?" Artie demanded as he locked the door behind him.
"No sir, I have not, but please be assured we're doing everything we can to identify and locate the perpetrator. Mrs. Hernandez, do you have the list of books?"
"She's a 'Ms.'," said Artie. "I like this newfangled title for ladies. No one needs to know you're single, do they, Tess?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, they don't, Artie. Detective Logan, please call me Tess. I need to get the inventory list from my office. Lance's office is next to mine so we can look for the book while we're there. I could be wrong," I added. I almost hoped I was even if it would be embarrassing.
"Lead the way," said Detective Logan.
As we walked up, Artie prattled a steady patter of "what was the world coming to?" and "how long did it take to catch a killer anyway?" If Detective Logan got annoyed by it, he didn't show it. When we reached the offices, Artie added, "Glad you made it home in one piece, young man. Your parents were worried about you but so proud too."
"You know my parents?" asked Detective Logan.
"Knew them both. God rest your mother's soul. A fine lady. And your father is a good man. Known him for many years now. Give him my regards, won't you?"
"I will, sir."
"I'll be in my office if you need anything. I don't plan on moving except for lunch." Artie ambled off with one hand raised in a wave.
"This is Lance's office. Mine is just there," I said, pointing to the next door. "Should I get the list first?"
"Please." Detective Logan followed me inside and while I sat behind my desk and started up my computer, he turned his back to me, examining my bookshelves. When the old computer powered up, I called up the books list I painstakingly assembled years ago and printed it along with a shelf-by-shelf description. With the exception of borrowing the occasional tome to display, no one rearranged the library in all the time I worked at the museum so I was confident my list would still be accurate.
"Got it," I said, gathering the sheets the printer churned out.
"I took a look at Lance's office on the night of his murder," Detective Logan told me. "I'm not familiar with it so perhaps you can tell me if anything looks out of place?"
"I'll try but I didn't spend a lot of time in there either."
"You two weren't close?"
"You mean like friends? No, I can't say we were," I admitted. It didn't make sense to pretend Lance and I were anything other than colleagues that didn't like each other. Anyone could tell Detective Logan that.
"Anything else?"
I paused and Detective Logan widened his eyes slightly. "Oh, no! Definitely not, Detective! Lance and I were only colleagues," I said quickly as I caught his meaning.
"And you didn't get along?"
"No. I didn't like Lance and he didn't like me but that doesn't mean I'm glad he's dead. What happened to him was horrible and I hope you catch the guy who did it."
We paused outside Lance's office. "What makes you think it's a guy?" asked Detective Logan.
"It's a figure of speech. Plus, I suppose Lance was six feet tall and although he wasn't heavyset, he was broad. I can't see a woman overpowering him." I turned the handle and pushed open the door.
"You don't lock the offices?" he asked.
"No. There really isn't anything to steal in here. All our computer equipment is old and not exactly portable and we don't have any fancy gadgets."
Detective Logan moved around, examining the bookshelves and desk. As I watched, he pulled out the drawers and opened the cabinet behind the desk. "I don't see any book," he told me. "You?"
"Not anywhere obvious," I said as I followed his eyes to the bookshelves. "I don't see anything out of place either or anything missing but I'm not going to swear on that." I walked around the desk and as I glanced out the window, I noticed Lance's car, still sitting in the lot. The view always irked him. "Could he have put the book in his car?" I wondered.
"He had a set of keys in his pocket when I examined him."
"His car is the convertible down there." I pointed down from the window. "If he were stealing something, it would make more sense to stash it in his car than in the office where anyone might spot it."
Detective Logan pulled a cell phone from his pocket and made a call, asking someone to run over with the keys from the evidence box.
"Let's head to the library and see if we can work out if there really is a book missing," he said.
"I'm positive he took one," I told him but he was right; we needed to know for sure.
"Lead the way."
I took Detective Logan back downstairs through the lobby, then into the library where we held the party. Usually Karen walked around switching on lights but today everywhere was shrouded in darkness. I flicked on the overhead lights and avoided looking at the closed doors of the exhibition room where Lance died. Crime scene tape spanned the location and I tried to ignore it as I unhooked the rope barrier and ascended the stairs, the detective right behind me. We walked the length of the mezzanine and paused at the last bookcase. "It was from this section," I told him, "although I'm not sure which shelf but I think it was one of the lower ones since he was bent on one knee and reaching for it when I saw him."
"Any chance you were mistaken and he just happened to be carrying a book? He could have dropped it and stooped down to pick it up."
"Maybe but I don't think so. Plus, there's no reason for him to be on this level at all since the only things it contains are books. It's roped off and there are plenty of other routes between the lower and upper floors. Plus, I'm sure I've never seen Lance with a book," I added, feeling snarky.
"It'll be quicker if we divide the list between us."
"I agree. Why don't you start from the top and I'll start from the bottom? And if this comes to nothing, then I'm sorry I wasted your time."
Even though Detective Logan was taller than me, he still needed the ladder to reach the highest shelves and I rolled it over to him. "I've always liked these things," he said as he tested its sturdiness and seemed to find it sufficient. "Something rich people had in their mansions."
"Just like the rich people who owned the museum when it was a mansion," I said, sweeping my hand across the room. I liked that he appreciated it; the rolling ladder was a favorite of mine too.
Detective Logan chuckled and nodded as he proceeded up the ladder. I started on the very bottom shelf, working my way across it, checking off every book on the list as I found them. All the books on that shelf were accounted for. I started on the next shelf and found the same.
"Anything?" asked the detective, looking down at me.
"Not so far." I gulped, hoping I really wasn't wasting his time. I was positive I'd seen Lance with a book, but was it from this section? I couldn't be entirely certain where Lance was kneeling. I resumed my search on the third shelf, deciding that I would comb the entire library if necessary. It wouldn't be an arduous task, just time-consuming. I could always use it towards the museum's yearly audit so even if nothing were missing, the thorough check wouldn't be in vain.
At the end of the third shelf I searched, I had one title unchecked. I hesitated as I knelt, looking at the detective who was engrossed in his own search. What if I told him a book was missing only for it to be relocated on another shelf? That would be embarrassing. No, it was best to say nothing and keep on searching, just in case. So, that was what I did. I moved up a shelf, stretching as I checked off every title, then I stood and searched the fifth shelf just as Detective Logan moved to the shelf above mine. I reached the end before he did and waited while he made several check marks.
"Everything accounted for," he told me when he stepped off the ladder and slid it back to the next bookcase. "Same with you?"
"Actually, no. I have one title missing. It's this one from the third shelf. A first edition of an American classic dating from the nineteenth century."
"Did you check the other shelves?"
"Yes, on this bookcase and assuming you didn't find any extra books--" I paused and waited for Detective Logan to shake his head, which he did "--then it's missing."
"What's the possibility it was moved to another bookcase?" he asked. He nodded to the long stretch of bookcases.
"Low. The books are tightly packed so there really isn't room to stuff in any extra book. Of course, it's possible one was removed and an incorrect title returned in its place but it's still a very low probability. Very few employees require access to the mezzanine and the public aren't allowed. We have a volunteer to monitor that whenever the museum is open." Another thought pinged into my head. "I'll need to check the loan ledger, of course, in case a book was borrowed and I wasn't aware of it but I'm sure that's not the case."
Detective Logan gazed at the bookcases for a long moment before he turned to me. "Is the missing book valuable?"
"Could be. There was a valuation of all the titles when the museum was turned over to the town but not since then. At that time, there were some priceless titles that we removed for safekeeping due to the insurer’s insistence. The value often depends on the popularity of the author at any given time, or the rarity of a particular title. We don't keep track of current values because we don't have the manpower for constant monitoring, given the fluctuating market, and also because our books aren't for sale. I suppose George might have a list for the insurer because he runs the museum's accounts. There was a covenant in the family's bequest that guaranteed the museum remained intact with its contents, which is why we never considered selling any of the books."
"I don't know a lot about books but I've seen some expensive ones on eBay. Old covers, that sort of thing, retailing for a few hundred bucks."
I shook my head. "You're way off base with costs there. Some books can retail for thousands of dollars, especially if they're rare like a low-print, first edition, or a special illustrated edition; even one with misprints or something the author or publisher rejected. They can be very desirable to the right people."
Detective Logan nodded thoughtfully then returned his gaze to the bookcases. "We need to check every shelf," he decided. "Then we can determine the value of the missing book or books."
I didn't have to ask the detective what he was thinking. I could guess for myself. Was it the kind of money worth murdering for?