I faced him. “Alan, sweetie, you had two paper routes and cried when you got a B on your report card. You were a workhorse back then. If you’re still like that, I'm sure you've earned everything you have.”

  “Yeah well, I'm getting tired of paying the price to keep it. See that trio over there?”

  He pointed his chin at a group of three men in all black. “That's Todd, Aaron, and Tyler. Associates on my staff. All skilled, educated, and vying for my job. I have to spend half my time deflecting grenades thrown by my own people.”

  Alan snagged two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and gave me one. “Here drink. Don't mind me. I'm just stressed.”

  With everything he just explained, I was glad I made desserts for a living.

  He downed the alcohol and glanced at his watch. “It's almost time for Elsa to give the opening remarks, and she's nowhere to be seen. I can't find Jessica or Nia either.” Alan handed me the empty flute. “I'm gonna check for Elsa in her office. You make your way to the black ropes up there so you'll be in front when the doors open.”

  “Will do,” I said, and watched him retreat to a set of doors marked for employees only.

  I finished my drink and left the empty glass on an unoccupied table. Where was Oscar? The room had been filling up steadily. Easily one hundred people were here with more still entering through the main doors. I nabbed another hors d'oeuvre, smoked shrimp this time, and began sidestepping folks heading toward the ropes. The entire time I scanned for Oscar. He would complain non-stop if we didn't see the exhibition together, despite the fact he'd been off schmoozing.

  Finally I spotted him. Oscar was busy chatting it up with two men and a woman. He had his arm around the lady's shoulder. My employee said something and the three of them laughed. The woman shifted just enough to reveal another group conversing behind her. And that's when I saw him.

  Derek.

  I stared at his profile. A woman sauntered up and casually wrapped her arm around his waist. She was super-model tall, like a big ol' brown giraffe. Her shoulder-length glossy hair screamed for a photo shoot.

  She was the exact opposite of me. The exact opposite. Thin where I was thick. Darker skinned where I was washed out. Long relaxed hair where mine was short. Derek appeared at ease as if he was having a good time. Just as my brain concocted a string of scenarios that all painted me as the low-class joke he laughed about with friends, Derek started to glance in my general direction.

  I whipped around. Did he see me? Could he recognize my back? Why was my heart pounding? Why did I feel like I was going insane? I wasn't sure why I was turning into a melting pot of emotional goo but I did know I needed out. Out of this room. Now. I took one step, two, then three. The ladies’ bathroom. I'd go there and recoup.

  A hand grasped my shoulder, yanking me to a stop.

  Fudge!

  Panic spread tendrils along the surface of my skin. Someone shoved their head close to mine. I felt hot breath on my ear and heard a harsh whisper.

  “I need you to come with me right now.”

  I jerked away just enough to see it was Alan. Relief replaced the panic, but then I saw how his brows knit together and his mouth set in a hard firm line.

  “What's wrong?”

  He opened his lips, but then someone else was suddenly at his elbow. One look at the woman and I was reminded of little old ladies I'd seen at the supermarket, the ones dressed in a frowzy wig and wearing their best thirty-year-old wool coat in July. Except this woman was the rich version. She wore a strapless black A-line dress. The bodice of the dress was a size too small. Every inch of bare skin glittered. A draping diamond necklace rested like a tiny blanket on enhanced décolletage. It appeared as if stars had been lassoed out of the sky and affixed to her arms. A simple black draw-string purse dangled from the crook of the woman’s arm as a peculiar complement to the excessive jewelry.

  Alan's distress dropped like a mask. Or maybe a different disguise shifted into place. “Mrs. Cheighton, so glad you could make it this evening.”

  “Of course, dear. And I love your jacket, so trendy. Listen, it's fifteen to the hour and Chief Curator Elsa is nowhere in sight. And you know how much the other board members and I detest tardiness.”

  Alan grasped her hand and covered it with his own. “We are of the same mind, and we will begin on time. I give you my word. Ah, and here's your son. Hello, Lance.”

  A man in a dark gray suit jacket sidled up to Mrs. Cheighton's left. He was almost a full head and shoulders taller than his mother. I guessed he was around five-ten. He had a full head of tapered black hair and eyes so dark, the irises were almost indistinguishable from the pupils. Despite the alien-looking eyes, Lance was international spy handsome. Like Pierce Brosnan, 007 James Bond handsome.

  As they shook hands, Alan said, “I haven't seen you around lately to pick Elsa up for lunch. At one point I thought you were an employee.”

  Lance winced almost imperceptibly. His eyes flicked to one side before he responded. “I'm afraid Elsa and I are no longer an item.”

  Hold on, I thought, and made an effort for my feelings not to register on my face. An item? James Bond was dating Abby McDrabby? No way.

  Alan offered an apology for bringing it up, which Lance dismissed with a wave of a hand. “These things happen. Anyway, I heard you acquired some rare pieces for the exhibition. I'm looking forward to the show.”

  My friend glanced at his watch. “So am I. In fact I need to—”

  “And who is this fine-looking young woman?” Mrs. Cheighton interrupted, eyeing me.

  I could see Alan's jaw clench, but he was smooth. “This is Ali Daniels. She owns a gourmet bakery downtown.”

  She gave me another once-over. “I see. How lovely.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Cheighton, Lance,” I managed and wasn't sure exactly what to say next but fortunately Alan took the reins.

  “If you'll excuse us, I wanted Ali's help with something. But don't worry Mrs. Cheighton, we will be starting momentarily.”

  “Is everything okay, dear?” Mrs. Cheighton said.

  Alan flashed a dazzling smile before saying, “All is well. Just a minor kitchen mishap. Ali's expertise may be helpful.”

  And then Alan was zig-zagging through the crowd with me in tow. We ducked through the door marked for staff only. The second it closed, the noise from the party cut in half.

  It was as if we stepped back in time to a 1940's university campus. The hallway where we stood was all wood paneling and glass paneled doors. I could practically taste the orange oil wood cleaner on my tongue.

  I pulled my arm out of Alan's death grip. “Okay, what's going on?”

  He looked around as if making sure there was no one around to overhear. “I need your help.”

  “With what, Alan?”

  He bit his lip and seemed unsure all of sudden. “Just come with me.”

  My personal warning system tossed up red flags left and right. Something was off, and I should back away posthaste. But that side of me, the curious part that loved a puzzle—an adventure—was tingling.

  My friend took my silence for acquiescence, which I guess it was, and proceeded to lead me through several short hallways. We stopped in front of a set of double wood doors with frosted panes. The words ‘Chief Curator Elsa Strand’ were stenciled on the glass in neat block letters.

  “Listen, Ali. After we ran into each other, I Googled you and found that article about what you did when that woman was killed planning the Mayor's ball.”

  Already this sounded bad. I could see the whites of Alan's eyes. He was scared and was working to keep it together.

  “Just show me, Alan. Whatever it is.”

  His hand rested on the doorknob. “Maybe I shouldn't involve you.”

  Maybe he was right. But at this point, there was no way I could walk away without knowing. “Show me.”

  Alan took a jittery breath, opened the door, and walked inside.

  I followed knowing that going into that room was like jumping into the deep end of a pool. There would be a moment of falling, of complete weightlessness that would be fun but terrifying. And then the moment would come when it would be time to sink or swim.

  Chapter Four

  At first, nothing seemed wrong. We were in a large office. Recessed wood bookcases, filled with tomes, dominated the walls on either side. A drab beige two-piece dress (if I had any doubt, that dress confirmed it—this was Elsa's office) hung on an old-fashioned coat rack. An oak executive desk was easily the largest piece of furniture in the room. It was the largest desk I'd ever seen and seemed like a throwback to an earlier era, like the rest of the building. Bay windows and a loveseat were positioned directly behind the desk.

  The windows were open, which explained why it was so much cooler in here.

  Alan walked to the desk. “Over here.”

  Warning bells were going off in my head now. On full blast. I took a deep breath and went closer. As I did I noticed the desk was clean. Too clean. It didn't even have a single paper or a telephone. Just then, I saw the computer monitor upside down on the floor. Papers were scattered about like discarded flower petals.

  The desk shielded whatever Alan was peering at. Slowly, as I approached, an executive chair came into view. It was tipped over, wheels exposed like the underbelly of a car.

  Elsa was tucked in the space between the desk and loveseat. She lay on her side, one arm outstretched. A desk blotter had fallen and now rested against her torso at an angle. Little cone-shaped tubes of paint, larger paint jars, pens, more papers, thin strips of material, and what looked like tiny decorative coffins, formed an obscene outline around her body.

  I spun around to look at Alan. “Are you insane? Call 9-1-1!”

  My first instinct was to grab the phone that should’ve been on the desk. In the next instant, I realized the error and went for my cell tucked into the place I carried necessities when I didn’t want to carry a purse.

  Alan said, “Ali, look at her. She's gone.”

  “You don't know that. Let the EMTs decide!”

  He grabbed my arm. “Look.”

  I'd fished out my cell from my bra but paused with a thumb poised over the screen. My pulse was a hard, angry thing rampaging under my skin. Despite the fact that my current life events had brought me into contact with more than one deceased body, I still didn't want to look.

  But I forced myself to. Elsa's eyes were wide open and bloodshot red. I waited and the lids didn't blink. They didn't tear either.

  Alan stooped to put two fingers against her neck. Then he gently touched her wrist and waited. “I did this before and didn't find a pulse. I still don't find one.”

  “All right, but why didn't you call 9-1-1 earlier?”

  “I started to, was about to push the last digit, but then I started to really see what was here.” He threw his arms out wide.

  I took a deep breath willing myself to calm down. It didn't work much, but my mind stopped whirling enough so I could take in what I was seeing.

  The art supplies and blotter were scattered around as if she'd fallen or been pushed. Around the office, other things were disturbed. There in the corner by the bookcase, an air purifier had been kicked over. The tanks of both humidifiers, one by the door and another near the desk, had been toppled. Water still leaked onto the area rug. And the desk phone that I’d been looking for lay in a heap, like an overturned black turtle, near the office's front door.

  Oh no. I hadn't noticed them before. Crumbs. Cake crumbs littered around the desk like tiny yellow and brown ants. It was as if a plate had been flipped over, sending the last bits of dessert flying. I searched the floor while biting my lower lip.

  Fudge it! There, almost adjacent to the dead woman's outstretched hand was a half-eaten lemon-limoncello mini-cake. I peered under the desk. The first thing I saw was an inhaler, the kind asthmatics use in case of an attack. Right next to it, much to my utter dismay, an overturned Honeybun Sweets and Sandwiches paper plate.

  Fantastic.

  My eyes fell on Elsa again. Her cheekbone had a small cut along it and was slightly reddened, as if it had been the beginning of a shiner. Above her head, the pillows of the loveseat were tousled. And along the wooden edge of the seat, a stain darkened the wood.

  Something had gone very wrong here.

  “You need to start talking fast, Alan.”

  “I came looking for Elsa. Found her in here like this. I started to call 9-1-1 but then realized someone probably did this to her. And...” he said, then paused. “Listen, there's something I have to tell you.”

  There was something else? Besides the body on the floor? “What?”

  “Elsa and I had a huge fight two days ago. In front of all the staff. She accused me of helping some items from a recent delivery go missing.”

  “She accused you of stealing?”

  “Yeah, or knowing who was doing it. Which I don't. But at the time, I thought it was just another mix-up. With all her micro-managing, going back over someone else's work and changing things, without letting us know—we had issues all of the time. I got used to cleaning up her messes and taking the blame. But this time, she said something about me not having the proper breeding for this job—”

  “And you lost it.”

  “I lost it. We didn't come to blows, of course. But it got loud. Very loud. The museum's director got involved. Elsa got a slap on the hand. I got a month-long suspension that was supposed to start tomorrow after tonight's premiere.”

  I said, “Then you walked in here, saw her, saw the state of the room, and assumed you'd be blamed.”

  He nodded, “Yes. And you know they will. Heck, I'd blame me.”

  I sighed and pointed under the desk. He glanced and his face drained until it looked gray. I said, “Or me, Alan, they could blame me. Or think I'm involved.”

  “Oh, Ali, I'm sorry. I didn't see those.”

  “So what do you want me to do about this, Alan?” But I really didn't have to ask. I already knew. And the imploring look in Alan's eyes confirmed it.

  He said, “Ali, there are close to two hundred of the museum's biggest donors in the next room. Tomorrow starts our fund-raising season. The amount of money those people donate tomorrow depends on how well they are entertained tonight. Those donations keep the doors open and fund my salary. All of that rests on my shoulders.

  Plus, I'm not like the other staff here. They come from connected families. I got here by hustling and having an impeccable reputation. Any hint of scandal will ruin my career. That's why I didn't call. That's why I'm praying you'll help me figure this out before everything goes off the rails.”

  “Alan,” I started, “I can't make any promises.”

  “I know.”

  “And even if we do figure out who did this, it doesn't guarantee anyone will believe us.”

  “I know. But I'll be better off than I am right now.” He put his hands on my shoulders.

  If I was being honest, really honest, Alan didn't have to convince me for help. Even if my cakes weren't at the crime scene. There was a big, fat, doughy ball of a mind-boggler here, and I couldn't resist digging my fingers into it. But since my desserts just happened to be at the crime scene, I had more than enough incentive to get involved.

  I cringed at the thought of the food and wrappers from the HoneyBun going into police evidence bags. Again. “It would be so easy to clean up that leftover cake and stuff from the HoneyBun.”

  My friend said nothing, but I could tell he would follow my lead whatever I chose to do.

  My watch read eight minutes to nine. “And though it would feel really good not to have a cop asking me questions, we won't move anything. That's what guilty people do, and we're not guilty.” I tapped an icon on my cell. “You'll have to do the opening remarks, and we don't have much time. Take out your phone.”

  He obeyed but asked, “We're not calling the police yet, are we?”

  “In a second you're going to call 9-1-1. This has to be reported immediately. But once the ambulance people get here, they will call the cops and this office will be off limits. There may be clues here and we don't have time to sort through everything right now. So I'm going to record this room while you call. Do it now. You have to be out there in a few minutes. Oh, and tell the ambulance to come to the side entrance.”

  As Alan dialed, I started with taking video of the room, panning slowly over everything. My foot kicked something and sent it skidding across the wood floor. It slid under a table, until I heard it bounce off the wall.

  Still filming, I took a few steps toward the table and peered underneath. I'd kicked another inhaler. Why was there a second one lying around? I wanted to check it, but then decided to leave it where it was.

  The table doubled as a stand for a wireless printer, the kind where the pages come out of the top. Elsa had printed something before she died. I peeked at the top-most page. It was a letter intended for the museum's board members. The missive and point was brief. Either Alan be terminated or she was going to quit.

  I glanced over at Alan. His back was to me, but he was talking to an operator giving directions to the museum. Did he know Elsa was planning to get him fired? A niggling voice in the back of my mind said I'd better find out.

  I paced around the office taking footage of everything. If the cops confiscated my phone I was going to look very suspicious. But I knew the answer to what happened to Elsa was in this room. When I finished with the video I started taking still shots. I went about the chore systematically, starting with the windows and loveseat.

  When I got to Elsa's prone form, I went as quickly as possible. Then I moved onto the printer, side door, and bookcase.

  To one side was a credenza made of the same dark wood as the desk. On top, more of the tiny caskets lined up like wooden soldiers. About twenty of them. I bent down for a closer look and felt silly. They weren't caskets, not truly. Each was a replica of a sarcophagus. These are what Elsa was working on when she met her end.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8