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Cassie thought she caught disappointment on Jason’s face, but it was replaced with his trademark smile. “Any time, Cassie. I mean that.”
Cassie retreated to her workstation. With a big cup of coffee and a protein bar, she sat down intending to stay so busy she wouldn’t be able to think of anything other than what was right in front of her. Nothing else would exist for at least the next eight hours. No detectives. No murders. No ghosts.
Less than an hour later, however, there was a knock on her office door. Cassie’s head snapped up so quickly she felt her neck crack. For a split second, she was terrified she might see Detective Harris standing there again. Or worse—the woman from this morning.
Instead, the collections manager, Jane Livingston, stood there with her head cocked to one side and an eyebrow raised in question. She was over six feet tall with short blond hair and red-rimmed glasses. She was a cookie-cutter replica of what Cassie always believed a female executive powerhouse would look like, but her warmth and professionalism were unlike anything Cassie had ever experienced. She didn’t look down on her subordinates and always did the most to make everyone feel welcome and supported.
Jane’s voice hinted at a British upbringing. “You all right? Didn’t scare you, did I?”
“A bit.” Cassie rubbed the back of her neck and laughed. “Sorry, I was in the zone.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Jane leaned against the door and offered a charming smile. “You’ve done a great job cataloging the new Vera shipment. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. We received a lot of exceptional pieces in this time.”
“I know, right?” Jane’s whole face lit up. “A friend of a friend works at the Met and we got first dibs on the pieces they were looking to pass along. Might’ve gone over the budget, but it was worth it.”
“Magdalena said it’s one of our most popular exhibits, so I’m sure everyone will be excited that we’ve got something new to look at.”
“I suppose I should thank you for that.”
It was Cassie’s turn to cock her head to one side. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve done an incredible job organizing some of our modern pieces and making sure they get the attention they deserve. You have an eye for presentation, and I appreciate how diligent you’ve been about keeping everything neat and clean.”
“Oh.” Cassie was at a loss for words. “You know, it wasn’t just me. The exhibition team—”
“—has all done a fantastic job, yes. And I’ve told them as much. But every one of them have sung your praises. Take the compliment, Cassandra.”
“Thank you.”
“You sound apprehensive.”
Cassie blushed. “I’m either about to get a raise or a larger workload, and I don’t think it’s the former.”
Jane threw her head back and laughed. It was loud and raucous and contagious. It seemed too big for her lean figure, and for that, Cassie loved it more.
“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.” Jane’s eyes sparkled. “You’ve done such a fantastic job with the modern art that I’m hoping I might have you switch gears for a few months. We’re about to get a truckload of new pieces in for our 19th- and 20th-century photography collection, and I want to overhaul the whole exhibit. Do you think you could spend the next day or two familiarizing yourself with our current collection and get back to me in about a week with some ideas of how we can incorporate a couple hundred more photos?”
Cassie knew Jane wasn’t asking. So, with absolute dread already filling the pit of her stomach, Cassie gave her boss the answer Jane was looking for.
“Yes, I can do that.”
Eight
Cassie had been standing outside the 19th- and 20th- Century Photography exhibit for a good ten minutes when George Schafer, the museum’s curator, walked up to her with ease.
“Ms. Quinn.” He greeted Cassie with a smile.
“Dr. Schafer.”
“Did you know this is one of my favorite exhibits in the museum?”
Cassie turned to face him. He was in his 60s, with watery blue eyes and wire-rimmed glasses that made him look both ancient and eternal. He was still in excellent shape, but his wide array of sweaters and a tendency to always carry a book in one hand made him look more at home in a cottage smoking a pipe than the modern atrium of the museum.
“No, I
didn’t,” Cassie said. “I thought you weren’t supposed to pick favorites?”
