Oscar sidled up next to me and whispered. “Hey, Ali, didn't you say this place was a mess?”

  I'd been paying attention to Jessica. But Oscar was right. Before, Elsa's desk had been wiped bare during a scuffle or a fall. But now everything was back in its logical place. It was as if a maid had come in and tidied up. Even the humidifiers had been righted and turned on.

  What was going on here?

  With Oscar right behind me, I marched to the desk hoping the body was gone too and we could all go home. But nope, it was still there.

  “Oh, my,” Oscar muttered looking over my shoulder.

  The body seemed untouched. However, the arts and crafts supplies had been moved. Paint jars, brushes, and the miniature sarcophagi were on top of the desk blotter as if she'd been working. Even the HoneyBun paper plate, complete with empty cupcake wrappers, had been relocated. It perched next to the blotter just like Elsa had been snacking while painting.

  Except one thing had changed. The partially eaten lemon cake, formerly just inches away from Elsa's fingers, had disappeared.

  I dropped to my knees and peered under the desk. The asthma inhaler was gone, too.

  The scene had changed. Why would Elsa's killer come and clean up? Why reset the stage?

  I shut my eyes and closed out everything for a second. When I was a kid and couldn't figure something out, my Dad encouraged me to look at the facts first. So this was just one big puzzle. I needed to sort through the facts and figure out what was missing.

  I opened my eyes and took in the scene. No, I didn't need to figure out what was missing but needed to see what had been added.

  The only paper that still littered the floor was around Elsa's printer. A single sheet had been torn into quarters. I didn't have to read the still legible print. It was Elsa's demand for Alan's termination.

  I took another look at the body. I'd been wrong, it hadn't been moved but it had been touched. The small cut I'd seen before had blossomed into a much larger and more disturbing-looking head wound. It was as if Elsa had suffered a heavy blow to the head that caused her fall.

  The torn letter. A hard blow to the head. The killer was setting Alan up as the angry employee killing his boss.

  “Ali?” Oscar touched my shoulder. I looked up to see three sets of eyes staring at me.

  This was a mess.

  “Alan...,” I started but was unsure how to sugarcoat this. “Some things are missing from this office.”

  “What?” Alan said as he stood with Jessica in the center of the room.

  I shook my head. “Never mind. Call 9-1-1. It's moot but get an ambulance here now. Tell them to send the police, too.”

  “But Ali...”

  “I know, I know,” I answered, feeling some shame that I'd let him down. “We can't get ahead of this anymore. There are too many people here and too many variables, and there's no way we're going to catch who did this without having some control over this situation.”

  Jessica pulled away from Alan. “What do you mean get ahead of this? Ahead of what? You knew she was dead? What's going on, Alan?”

  My friend's shuddered a long exhale. “I'm being set up for murder. That's what’s happening.” He pulled his cell out of his jacket's inner pocket.

  “Why would someone think you would kill Elsa?”

  “Because she was going to have me fired,” Alan answered in a monotone.

  “So you don't call the police right away? That doesn't make sense.” Jessica's face contorted. She took a step back, eyes scanning the room. Her gaze eventually fell on the desk and the pink plate with the empty wrappers. Then her eyes snapped to me, and the woman's lips curled.

  Alan put the phone to his ear while putting up a single finger giving the 'wait a second' gesture.

  Jessica muttered something under her breath. Alan reached out, as if to comfort her, but she flinched and then fled out of the office.

  He covered the phone with a hand. “Jessica, wait, let me explain!” he called, but we could hear her feet thumping down the hall.

  Oscar pulled me toward the center of the room. I think he had had his fill of the body. “I heard something about Jessica. She has some serious mental health issues in her family. No offense, Alan, but can she be trusted?”

  Alan folded his arms. “Of course she can be trusted. She's never given me any reason not to.”

  I said, “Earlier Jessica mentioned some family scandal that blacklisted her from the right circles.”

  “Scandal?” Oscar said, “Try Wuthering Heights, Flowers in the Attic, locking crazy relatives up in the attic kind of scandal.”

  What? I looked at Alan who just shrugged. “It's common knowledge. If it wasn't for me, she never would've been hired here. Which is another reason why I trust her.”

  “Just because you gave her a chance doesn't ensure loyalty,” I said, hearing the sharp tone my voice had taken on. Softening I thought aloud, “If her family reputation is that bad, then her advancing anywhere else would possibly be slim to none. Alan, if you were suddenly gone, what would her chances of promotion be?”

  Alan opened his mouth, then paused. He tilted his head to the side. “I, I don't know for sure. She's as qualified as any of the associates, maybe more so.”

  So would Jessica be willing to kill for a job promotion? And could her family genetics make her predisposed to do that sort of thing? I didn't think it was fair to assume just because of some ancient scandal.

  My friend said firmly, “She didn't do this.”

  This time I shrugged. “Maybe she just found the body like she said.”

  “Or she'd just finished cleaning up,” Oscar huffed.

  My phone beeped in my hand. The battery icon at the top had a thin red line across the bottom. Ten percent charge left. I hit the icon for the picture gallery. “Family mental illness is not a motive to kill, Oscar.”

  “Yeah,” Alan said, “Again, Jessica is the most trustworthy person I know. So forget about putting this on her.”

  Um, hmm. Alan was protesting a little too much for my liking. I scrolled to the picture I wanted and showed him. “Asthma inhalers. They were on the floor near the body before. It was like Elsa could've had an attack and used the ones she had. Now they're gone.”

  Wait a minute. I went over to the printer, checked under the table, and breathed a sigh of relief. The other inhaler was still there, partially concealed in the shadows. I told Oscar and Alan how I had accidentally kicked it earlier.

  I said, “The killer missed it. Why the inhaler was removed, I'm not 100 percent sure. The lemon cake is gone, too. Maybe they thought they'd left too much evidence behind. Before, it wasn't totally clear what happened. Maybe Elsa had an attack, or maybe there was a fight, or maybe she was poisoned. Now, it looks like Alan found the termination letter and struck out in anger. ”

  “What termination letter?” Alan said. I paused then and really searched his face. Even as I was speaking, that same voice in my head that hadn't completely ruled him out had chirped. But at the moment, he seemed genuinely perplexed.

  I answered his question with a question. “How did you know Elsa was going to have you fired?”

  “Common sense. Elsa's had it out for me since I started.” Alan sagged into a chair and pressed fingers against his temple. “It was almost like a game between us. Except she's been in hyperdrive the last few weeks.”

  Oscar said, “Um, maybe you shouldn't sit there. Right, Ali? Evidence or something.”

  Alan responded by dropping his head into his hands. “Whatever. Not that it matters anymore.”

  Outside in the hallway, something heavy thumped. The floor trembled slightly.

  “Great,” my friend sighed, “that'll be my guys moving the mummies and sarcophagi. I should go oversee it.”

  He stood. “I'll get security to bring the EMTs back here and make sure no one else barges in. Maybe that's what I should've done in the first place.”

  I started to say something, but he put up his hand in an attempt to stop me.

  Who did he think he was dealing with? I punched him in the arm. “Don't you try to shush me, Alan Wiggins. I only said we couldn't get ahead of this anymore, not that I was giving up. All we need to do is find evidence.” It was a tall order, but at this point I had one definite lead.

  He pressed his lips and raised his hands in surrender. “So what's next?”

  “Where's Nia's office?”

  Chapter Ten

  For all his bluster, Oscar was a little light in the courage department. His leg bounced non-stop as he kept lookout.

  “Someone's gonna hear all that tap dancing,” I whispered and tugged on a desk drawer.

  Fortunately, Alan's staff had fully committed to having a good time at the exhibition's premiere. They were totally sauced. As a result, they'd made a ruckus wheeling the carved sarcophagi out of the lab.

  The noise made it really easy for Alan to sneak me and Oscar into Nia's office. He left to keep his team under control. A few minutes later, the hall was quiet again, but I was still busy rifling through Nia's stuff.

  “Hurry up!” Oscar said from between clenched teeth.

  I had to admit, watching my employee's discomfort was mildly entertaining. “Oh, so Mr. Charming can't handle a little breaking and entering? I thought you wanted to be a de-tec-tive.”

  He cracked the door and peeked through the slot. “From now on, I only do information gathering. I'm good at that. All this stress is going to make my flawless skin wrinkle.”

  I held in a chuckle. We didn't risk turning the lights on, so I used my cell phone like a flashlight. This file drawer was looking as if the only thing it held was files. I had already gone through a few of the papers and guessed it was going to be a waste of time. Even if there was evidence of theft printed in black and white, I just didn't have the time to sort through and figure it out.

  Nia's office was small. There was a desk with three drawers, two chairs, a small file cabinet, and a bookcase with more knickknacks than books pushed against the wall.

  I ran my hand along the underside of a drawer. It came up clean; nothing was taped to the underside. Same as the other ones. I was hoping to find the inhaler, but I'd only found notepads, pens, and breath mints.

  Okay, the file cabinet was next. I pulled open the upper drawer only to find more hanging files. A framed photograph and a box of business cards were tossed in an empty section behind the folders. I opened the box. The cards read Nia Aleman, Executive Assistant. Judging by the clothes, the picture was twenty years old. It featured a woman and a little girl standing in front of a three-car garage. Nia and her mother?

  I returned the picture to the back of the cabinet. Why had it been shoved back there? The bottom drawer finally offered something more interesting. A pair of goggles and a respirator sat on top of white coveralls. The mask was just like the ones I'd seen earlier.

  Why were these here and not in the lab?

  During our consult for the event, Alan had mentioned that because this museum was smaller than most, the employees were required to fill multiple roles. The associates had to do everything from exhibit design to conservation. Did Elsa's executive assistant have multiple responsibilities as well?

  From the door, Oscar whispered, “You find something?”

  “Not sure.” I shut the drawer, stood, and went to the bookcase. In the next few seconds, I'd shaken out the few books, ran my hands over the glass collectibles, and checked out the undersides of the shelves. My search turned up nothing, until I spotted a blue vase with a small bouquet of silk flowers.

  On a whim, I shook the vase. Something rattled against the glass. Yes! I yanked out the flowers and dumped out the contents. A glass shard tumbled into my hand. And my excitement plummeted. It was just a broken chip from the inside of the container.

  Other than the air vents, I'd searched everything here. Unless Nia had found time to find a six-foot ladder, mount it, and unscrew the ventilation plate, looking for the inhaler there would be a waste of time.

  “Are you done yet, woman?”

  Reluctantly I said, “Okay, Oscar, we can go.”

  Oscar pressed his ear to the gap in the door. After a second, he cracked it more and peeked up and down the hall. Just as he opened the door, I yanked at his jacket.

  “Wait, wait, wait! I just thought of something.”

  He whirled around and almost tripped over his own feet backtracking into Nia's office. After closing the door, Oscar slapped a hand over his heart. “You are going to be the death of me.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” I said, “Give me another minute.” Just as I had been leaving, I'd recalled how the killer had missed the second inhaler because I'd accidentally kicked it under the table.

  I fell to my knees and aimed the light of my phone at the baseboards.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for clues. I told you that earlier.”

  Oscar growled under his breath but didn't say anything.

  I crawled around all four corners of the room. My impromptu light highlighted everything from dust bunnies to dearly deceased bugs but nothing remotely suspicious. By the time I ended up where I started, my knees ached. I dropped onto my bum, and leaned against the desk feeling defeated.

  The desk. So many things fell forgotten underneath desks. Paper clips, food, loose change. And after a quick search, I found a clue tucked neatly next to one of the legs. The red husk with black tip could've been easy to disregard in any other instance. But I recognized it almost at once.

  Just a short while ago, I'd seen ones just like it strung in a necklace around the neck of a goddess.

  And weeks before I'd also seen them sitting on coffee table of a murdered woman. A florist had explained the innocent-looking bead could ‘kill you dead’.

  I reached out for it and stopped. Maybe with the police coming, it wouldn't be a good idea to move possible evidence.

  “C'mon, let's go find Alan,” I said popping up to my feet. “I may have found something.” Though I wasn't sure how I'd explain it to the police later. But I'd make sure it was enough to implicate Nia.

  “About time,” Oscar huffed. He ducked out the door without any pretense this time, and we made our way to the exhibition hall.

  Just as we stepped into the rear atrium, a woman screamed long, and loud, and clear.

  Oscar threw his hands up. “Now what!”

  Chapter Eleven

  The noise drew a crowd like flies to sugar water. You'd think people in the upper economic brackets would exhibit a modicum of self-control. Nope, guests trotted in high heels and patent-leather shoes toward the commotion just like commuters to a fight on the subway.

  But what alarmed me more was seeing the same people who'd rushed to see what was happening, exit the gallery just as quickly.

  Something bad had happened.

  We entered the rear doors of the gallery to a chorus of shrieks and gasps. Above it all, a woman cried, “That poor girl! Poor, poor girl!”

  A throng of guests blocked my view.

  “Excuse me,” I uttered before pushing through a small sea of cocktail dresses and suit jackets.

  Then I broke through the crowd. With every step my stomach felt like it was filling with rocks.

  Behind me, Oscar whispered, “Dios mio!”

  The sarcophagi had been arranged near the end of the goddess exhibit. The museum employees had made no attempt to make the display pretty. The golden Egyptian caskets lay unadorned on metal gurneys.

  The lid of the second one was open. And inside was a small, unmoving figure.

  The first thing I saw was a splash of blue hair that had fallen over the woman's face.

  Nia.

  Then Alan was there, slamming the lid shut with a loud thump that reverberated against the walls. It sounded too much like the cement door of a crypt thundering into place to lock in the dead. And, I guess in a way, it was.

  Mrs. Cheighton huddled in a weeping heap in front of the ornate coffin. She wailed into her hands.

  Alan raised his arms ignoring the woman on the floor. “Ladies and gentleman. I apologize, someone has played a horrible prank. And now it's over. But we do have to temporarily close the gallery. If everyone could please return to the rotunda. There's still plenty of food and drink out there.” He smiled, but it was more of a grim pulling back of lips over teeth.

  The crowd appeared skeptical but slowly moved away. I saw a few faces looking quite pleased, as if that had been the best museum show ever. Alan's staff, the men dressed in black, in addition to two middle-aged men in security jackets, assisted in escorting guests out.

  Oscar and I hung back. One of the security guards attempted to get us to leave, but Alan quickly waved him off. When the last person had left the gallery, Oscar and I shut the gallery doors.

  We turned. Mrs. Cheighton had remained on the floor though her loud cries had simmered down to whimpering.

  Alan kneeled by her side. “What happened, Mrs. Cheighton?”

  She turned red eyes up to him. “I, I just wanted a peek at a mummy. I know I wasn't supposed to touch.”

  “This museum is liable for those things. You're right, you should've kept your hands to yourself,” he spat. “I'm so tired of you people thinking you can do whatever you want.”

  Mrs. Cheighton's head snapped around. The whimpering ceased immediately, and the tears evaporated as if a spigot had been turned off. She held out a hand and said curtly, “Help me off this dirty floor.”

  “Help yourself.” My friend retorted while getting to his feet. Then he sighed and reached for the sarcophagus’s lid.

  “No, don't,” Mrs. Cheighton cried in a shaky voice from the floor. “I don't want to see her again.”

  Alan ignored her. The hinges creaked until the lid reached its apex.

  Inside, Nia appeared even smaller that she had while living.

  Behind us, I could hear one of the heavy gallery doors sliding open. It thudded to a stop.

  Mrs. Cheighton craned her neck to see around us. When she caught sight of who'd entered, the woman did a lopsided lurch to her feet. She pointed at Alan and screamed, “He did it!”

 

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