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“Yes, my lord.” Emerson’s distress nearly matched his own.
Simon muttered a curse under his breath as a mix of frustration and anger swelled within him. One step forward and two steps back.
“Show me,” he told Emerson and hurried after him with Stockton trailing behind.
The statue Emerson mentioned was a solid gold figurine six inches in height with an elaborate fanned headdress and simple clothing. It was one of the centerpieces of the pre-Columbian exhibit, which meant its loss was a major blow to both Simon and the museum.
That statue had been one of his uncle’s prized possessions. When his cousin, Anna, heard of this, she would be furious. Never mind that he’d offered that she take her choice of any of the items her father had in his collection.
Guilt filled him. He should’ve kept watch over the museum the last two nights rather than staring in Stockton’s windows and meeting Norah. Apparently, he needed to hire guards to patrol the museum at night to make certain nothing else was taken. Or had someone managed to steal the figurine during the day when no one was looking?
“I don’t know how this could’ve happened.” Emerson led them to the display. A lamp shone on the empty shelf in the glass case where the statue should be. No glass was broken, and, at a glance, the lock seemed intact.
A crushing weight descended on Simon, threatening to squeeze the air from his lungs. Once again, he was at a loss as to how to proceed. What more could he do to uncover who was behind the thefts and stop them from taking more?
*
Late that night,Simon sank into the chair at his desk in his study, propped his elbows on the surface, and dropped his head into his hands, filled with despair. The time had come to admit defeat.
Four more artifacts had been discovered missing from the museum. That meant five artifacts had been taken in the last twenty-four hours, several of them quite valuable. No doors had been broken, nor any locks damaged. The police had been called, and Simon had personally spoken with each employee. None had seen anything or had any helpful comments.
The items seemed random with no connection that Simon could see. The statue Emerson had found missing in the pre-Columbian exhibit. A hammered, hand-forged medieval shield. A gold and ruby Egyptian pendant. An ancient clay tablet from the Bronze Age. A beaded copper bracelet from the Viking era.
Some large. Some small. Some expensive. Others only valuable to a collector. They’d come from different eras, different floors, different exhibits. Only one had been part of his uncle’s original collection. The rest had arrived later, at various times from a wide range of sources.
Simon sat back with eyes closed, exhausted from the turmoil of the day. He and the employees, Stockton included, had searched the museum from top to bottom with the hope of finding the items stashed somewhere only to come up empty-handed. He felt sickened by the losses.
“My lord?”
Simon opened his eyes to see Fletcher hovering in the doorway. He knew the butler had noted his upset upon returning home. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Fletcher is wondering if you’d like your dinner now.”
“No, thank you.” He had no appetite. The thought of food made him ill.
Fletcher took a few steps closer, his brow furrowed with concern. “Have you received bad news, my lord?”
“You could say that.”
Fletcher nodded solemnly and moved to the side table with the decanters and glasses. “Then, it’s a drink you need.”
“I don’t think—”
Fletcher shook his head even as he poured amber liquid into a glass. “I know liquor won’t solve the problem. But it won’t hurt either. Spirits have been known to ease a troubled mind. Perhaps a drink will provide some relief.”
He sat the glass before Simon and backed away.
“Thank you.” Simon took a sip, but when Fletcher frowned, he took a deeper drink. The whiskey burned down his throat, but the warmth was welcome and released some of the tension in his chest.
Miles appeared in the doorway. Fletcher must’ve advised him that Simon was upset.
Simon heaved a sigh, oddly grateful for their presence. “I’m going to close the museum.”
“What’s happened?” Miles asked as he walked forward to join Fletcher.
Simon explained the additional thefts they’d discovered and the lack of clues.
“What about employing security?” Miles asked. “I could assist, as I’d certainly like to help catch whoever is doing this.”
