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“You’re right. This is a serious situation.” I glance down at the placard again detailing everything about thisdeerskeleton. “I mean, oldest in the Northwestern hemisphere, that’s… an accomplishment.”
“Yes, it is.”
I glance around the room. The building looks old from the outside, probably turn of the century, but is surprisingly well-ventilated. “You have any cameras?” I ask, not able to immediately spy a god’s eye anywhere.
Constance folds her hands in front of her. “No, I’m afraid installing cameras was a stretch goal for this year, should donations be sufficient.”
“Okay, that’s fine.” I wonder how this museum stays in business if they don’t feel the need to have a camera system to keep eyes on the artifacts. “What about an electronic security system?”
Constance shakes her head softly.
I scoff. Gotta cool it on the laughter. “Seriously, no sort of logs that would indicate who is coming and going?”
“We have a guest book,” she says, gesturing to a book on a table near the exit.
“Yeah, because I’m sure the culprit took the time to sign his name,” I say under my breath.
Constance scrunches her nose. “Listen, I’m trying to help.” She goes and grabs the book. “Maybe it was someone who cased the place yesterday. Maybe they wrote a note or left a clue…” She pages through the book to yesterday’s date and tries not to look downtrodden when there is only one entry. “Here, it could have been Greg and Mary Ellen from Peoria,” she says, shoving the book toward me.
I read the entry aloud, “‘What a great way to spend a fiftieth anniversary.’ Geez, that’s a…” Off Constance’s look, I change my tune, “a wonderful way to spend a fiftieth anniversary.”
Constance snaps the book shut in my face. “My sentiments exactly.”
I shake my head. We’re getting off topic. “Okay, so you have no security system, no cameras. You have a guest book which, unless Greg and Mary Ellen are spry bone thieves, doesn’t seem like it would be helpful.”
“They were very spry,” she mumbles under her breath.
“Does anyone else have access to the museum? Staff or?—”
“There’s no staff.”
I nearly have to take a step back. “Sorry?”
“There’s no staff. It’s just me,” Constance says.
This is all making a lot of sense. An eccentric museum curator, a bone theft, a small town called Horace with exactly one traffic light—what have I gotten myself into? “Okay… no staff,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I mean, I don’t do it all alone. I have volunteers who come in on our busy days or when I have personal business to take care of. And I outsource things, of course, I can’t do thisallby myself.”
“So does anyone have a key or not, Dr. Chaplin?” I ask, edgier than I’d like. I don’t need to be so harsh; I know I don’t have to be. I’m not dealing with a humongous case load or the pressure to hit quotas like I was back in the city. But I haven’t been here long enough yet to shake off the feeling that I’m being squeezed by the vise of the system every moment I don’t have results.
Constance takes a tight breath through her nose. “My best friend and my dad. But that’s it.”
“Your best friend and your dad have keys to the museum,” I say. Is this a joke?
“In case I lose mine. Although I never lose my keys. That would be ridiculous.”
“Yeah,thatwould be ridiculous,” I say dryly. “Would your friend or your dad have any reason to —”
“No!” Constance interjects. “Kate would have no reason to get in my way like this and my dad—” She falters. “Let’s just say he’s indisposed. It would be a near impossibility.”
At the mention of her dad, I see something behind her cold exterior. A glimmer of humanity. Perhaps she’s not a robot after all. I can work with that.
“Sheriff McEvoy, none of this makes sense,” Constance says with a gesture toward the skeleton. “The bones are worthless without the rest of the skeleton.”
I sigh. I’m not here to untangle some ridiculous mystery about bones. It’s my job to serve and protect, certainly, but I’ve been in the business long enough to know when a case is dead in the water. “Look, I’m just going to be straight with you, Dr. Chaplin. Without any sort of security system, without any sort of motive, and without anyclues, I don’t think we’re going to find the answers you’re looking for.”
Constance stares at me. “You mean… you’re not even going to try?”
