The Hunt Chronicles: Volume 1 (17 page)

“And you’re sure
it’s murder?  It wasn’t an accident?  He didn’t fall or slip or
something?”  Myron took a sip of coffee and nodded.

“Not from what the
coroner tells me.  He got a massive blow to the back of the head.  At
first I thought he might have tripped in his office and hit his head on his
desk something else.  That room is cluttered with all sorts of
stuff.  Hell, I’ve seen them go cracking their skulls on a doorknob on the
way down.  Anything’s possible.”

“But
not this time?”

“Coroner says
negative.  The blow bashed in his skull, and judging by the force and
angle this was no slip and fall.  Someone had it out for Medley.”

“That’s where you
found him? 
Oh my God.”

“What, what is
it?”  I started to feel weak and shaky.  I took a deep breath and
explained to Myron how Arnold’s office was open when we left the night before.

“I offered to go
back with him, but he insisted I leave.  He said he would be fine. 
Myron, if I had gone in with him, I might have been able to-“

“What time was
this?  What time did you leave?”  He asked.

“It was eleven,
almost exactly.  We talked in his office for a few minutes,
then
walked out together.  If only I had-“

“Cut that out right
now, Professor.  You couldn’t have helped him at all.”

“But how do you
know?”

“Medley was killed a
little after midnight according to the coroner.” 

“That can’t be
right,” I said, rubbing my temples with my fingers.  “He said he was
leaving right after us.  He just needed to lock his office.  What was
he doing in there for more than an hour?  All of the party guests were
gone.  We were the last to leave.”

Myron took another
sip from his cup and held it on his saucer.  He looked at me and spoke
words that sent a shiver down my spine.  “You were the last to leave,
Professor, but someone else came back.”

It was 10 a.m. when
the pounding woke me up that morning.  By 11:30, I was in the back seat of
a police cruiser on my way to the Pendleton Museum of Science.

“I appreciate you
doing this, Professor.”  Myron shouted back at me.  “Dennis
Trago
found the body this morning.  I tried to get him
to stay but he just cracked. 
Wasn’t much help at all.”

“I don’t mind
helping out, but I don’t see what bringing me to the crime scene can do for
you,” I shouted up at him.  “I was only in his office a few minutes.”

“Exactly.
  I need to know if anything looks weird or out
of place.  If anything is missing, it might mean that Medley surprised a
thief.  I know you were only in there a few times, but right now you’re
the only suspect I can talk to who doesn’t start crying like a little girl.”

“Did you just call
me a suspect?”  I asked, leaning forward.

“Witness!
  I meant witness, Professor.  Of course I
don’t think that you-“

“It’s alright,
Myron,” I said, falling back into my seat. 
“Just doing
your job.
  I appreciate you getting rid of those reporters this
morning, by the way.  I still think you should have fired a few shots into
the air.”  Myron laughed a big booming laugh.

“No dice!  They
get scared and run, but they always come back, like ducks or pigeons.  Of
course, none of this would be necessary if the museum had working security
cameras.”  I sat up again.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, before Ms.
Tilson
lost it, I asked her if the museum had a security
system.  She told me that Medley had just invested in a new system a few
weeks ago.  The old equipment was removed last Saturday after the museum
closed, and the new equipment was supposed to be installed today.  I shut
down the museum for the next week so my guys can do their thing, and I told
Dolores I would let her know when we were finished so she could have the new
cameras installed before re-opening the museum.”

“Day late and a
dollar short,” I mumbled.

“
Ain’t
that the
truth.
”

“Who else knew the
security system was out of commission this week?”  I asked.

“All of the
employees, of course.  They had to temporarily re-arrange their exhibits
to give the contractor room to work.  I don’t see how anyone else would
know.”

“Actually, I guess
anyone could know, Myron.  The city has to bid out a job like that before
the work can be done.  That’s all public information after the job is
awarded, including the schedule for the work.  Anyone could have asked to
see the bid submittals and an installation timeline.”

“No dice,
Professor.  That job was never bid out.  Dolores told me Medley was
paying for everything himself.”

“What? 
An entire security system?
  There was no stopping that
guy,” I said with surprise.

“What do you
mean?”  Myron asked.  I explained that Arnold not only
payed
for the fountain and the chandelier in the great
room, but he also financed his own retirement party.  “I didn’t know
that,” Myron said.  “He must’ve been well-off before he came here. 
The Curator job is cushy, but it doesn’t pay that kind of money.”

A few minutes later
we were pulling into the parking lot at the museum, except there wasn’t any
yellow tape or news vans there the night before.  Myron opened the door
for me as shouting started from across the lot.  People holding notepads
and microphones were screaming my name and snapping pictures.  “Oh,
Myron…when will these fifteen minutes of fame end?”  He shut the cruiser
door and laughed as we made our way up the walk.

“The cart is
missing,” I said almost immediately when I reached the doorway to Arnold’s
office.

“What cart?” 
Myron asked.

“The
dessert cart.
  We unloaded it
in the boardroom after dinner and I personally pushed the empty cart back in
here.  Arnold was going to return it to the caterers today, I think. 
It’s gone now.”  Myron said nothing, but pulled a small pad out of his
breast pocket and jotted something down.

I looked around the
room some more.  Several people were still in it, dusting for fingerprints
and bagging what they hoped was evidence.  Besides the dessert cart, I
didn’t see anything out of place.  The office was just as tidy as it was
when I left it the night before, though what I saw as culture Myron had earlier
described as clutter.  The guest chairs were in the same place, the photo
on Arnold’s desk was untouched,
the
art on the walls
was still there.  “Are we done on the carpet yet, Dean?”

The man dusting
behind Arnold’s desk turned around, gave
a thumbs
up,
then returned to his work.  “Depending on the carpet,” Myron explained,
“sometimes we can get shoeprints out of the plush.  We vacuum it too for
any other evidence.  You can step in here, but don’t touch anything.”

I stepped inside and
was filled with an intense feeling of nausea.  The room, once cozy and
welcoming, now reeked of death and decomposition.  I’m sure my heightened
sense of anxiety was exaggerating the odor, but it was nevertheless
unbearable.  Arnold’s body was gone, but a white tape outline lay on the
carpet.  An obvious puddle of blood had once occupied the space near the
tape man’s head, but now the carpet there was dark and disgusting.  I
rubbed my temples and stepped around it.  When I found a spot in the
office that gave me a good field of vision, I stopped moving.  “How was he
found, Myron?”

“Just like you see
there,” he answered, pointing to the outline on the floor.
“On
his stomach, facing the door.
 
Might have been
running from his attacker.”

“Could be,” I
mumbled, and continued to peruse the room.

I stood in silence a
few minutes hoping that the answer to this tragedy would jump out at me. 
Myron was talking to Dean and then walked over to another man working behind
the office door.  “Hey Professor, do you remember these?” He asked, closing
the office door, then bending down and pointing to its base.  Several
scratches and scuffs adorned it.

“No, I didn’t notice
the back of the door at all.  Arnold held the door open for me when…we…” I
trailed off.

“Professor, what is
it?”  My eyes had left the door and happened on the coat rack behind it. A
long black overcoat hung solemnly in the corner’s fading shadows.

“What was he wearing
when you took the body?”

“What?”  Myron
asked, then confused.

“Was he wearing a
blue sweater?”  I asked.  I saw Myron shoot a glance to Dean, who
looked at me and nodded yes.

“What is it?” 
Myron asked again.  “Wasn’t he wearing it last night?  How else would
you know?”

“He was wearing it,
yes” I replied, “but he took it off.  Before we said goodnight, we came in
here.  I saw him take off his sweater and hang it there before he put on
that coat!”  I pointed to the black overcoat.

“Because
he was planning on leaving with you.”
 
Myron added.

“Right, but then he
came back here, and a little over an hour later, someone kills him.”

“So why did he take
off his coat and put the sweater back on?”  Myron asked the room.

“I think I know
why.  I bet if you ask the employees they’ll tell you he kept that sweater
here all the time.  He complained about his office being like an icebox,
so he probably wore it whenever he was planning on working in here.”

“So why did he want
to make himself comfortable if he was leaving, Professor?  Why would he
take off his coat and hang it up if he told you he was going home too?”

“Don’t you see,
Myron?  You thought he may have surprised an intruder, but how many people
stop to change their clothes when they’re being robbed.  No, someone
surprised
him
before he could leave.  He must have been doing
something in here before he was killed.  That would explain why he stayed
here so long after I left, and that would explain why he took his coat off and
put the sweater back on.”

“But who would come
to the museum so late at night?”  Myron asked
,
his pen poised over the pad.

“Answer that
question and you’ve got your killer.”

“But what about the
dessert cart.  You said this wasn’t a robbery.  Who the hell would
steal a dessert cart with all of this artsy-fartsy stuff hanging on the
walls?”  I didn’t have an answer, and I didn’t have time to come up with
one.

“Sheriff, take a
look.” Dean said.  Myron hastened to Arnold’s desk and in my excitement I
did as well.    I stood between the desk and the guest chairs
and leaned over.  Dean pointed a gloved finger at an empty space of desk
next to the golden giraffe.  The desk was dusty, but only slightly, yet
there was a round space to the left of the giraffe that was perfectly
clean.  “Something’s missing.”  The giraffe stood there staring at
the empty space with the rest of us, seeming to miss his golden companion.

“Rhino.”
  I said, flatly.

“What rhino?” Myron
asked.

“There was a
matching rhino sitting here; gold, like the giraffe.  It was heavy
too.  Arnold let me hold it.”

“Heavy
enough to kill someone?”

“God, I don’t
know.  Maybe, if the person were strong enough.”

“So where is it
now?  I thought you said this wasn’t a robbery.”  We stood in silence
for what seemed like forever.

“I’m not a
detective, Myron.  I’m shooting in the dark here.  Okay, say an
intruder came in and tried to fill his pockets.  He grabbed the rhino, but
Arnold walked in after he remembered he left something behind.  The
intruder bashes Arnold on the head, panics and runs. 
How’s
that?”

“That makes sense to
me,” Myron said, taking more notes.

“But not to me,” I
mumbled, arguing with myself.  “When did Arnold take off his coat in that
scenario, Myron?  Until you find out who was here after we left, you can’t
be sure if this was a robbery, a murder or both.”  I backed away from
Arnold’s desk and looked down at my shoes. 

My heart was
pounding since my mind brain acknowledged the fact that this was the second
murder investigation to which I have been a party.  Wilson McCune’s death
was ghastly enough. 
You’re cursed
my little voice exclaimed. 
Everyone that met Angela Lansbury on Murder She Wrote ended up dead. 
You’re cursed, like Angela Lansbury’s character.  You should lock yourself
in your house before more people die
.  I shut my eyes in an attempt to
smother the thought out of existence.  When I opened them again, they caught
something under the right guest chair.  “Myron, what is that?”  I
pointed to a little yellow object with the number 3 printed on it.

“Oh, that’s an
evidence marker.  One of the guys must have found something of interest
there.  They put down a marker, then bag the evidence and label it.”