Harmony 03 After Glow (26 page)

“These two guys decided to contribute the entire amount of their hunter benefits to charity?” Emmett shook his head once. “I’m not buying that.”

“It is a little odd, I must admit,” Perkins said. “But that appears to be the case.”

“What’s the name of this charity?”

“I made a note.” Perkins pulled out a small notebook and opened it. “Here it is. The Order of the Acolytes of Amatheon.”

“The Greenies?” Emmett straightened slowly, unable to believe what he had just heard. “Those two signed over their monthly retirement benefits to a cult?”

“Apparently that would be the case, sir,” Perkins said.

“It may not be as strange as it sounds, Boss.” Verwood rubbed the back of his neck. “I finally got a couple of leads on those two guys. They both disappeared into the cult a couple of months after that formal inquiry at the university.”

“What does
disappeared
mean?” Emmett asked evenly.

“Well, seems like when you enter the Inner Circle of the Order you leave behind all the stuff that ties you to your old life.” Verwood shrugged. “You ditch your friends, relatives, personal possessions, that kind of thing. You know how cults work.”

Emmett set his back teeth. “And in this case, you sign over all of your assets to the organization.”

“You got it.” Verwood snorted in disgust. “Not a bad racket if you’re the one running the cult. I did some checking. The Greenies opened up for business about three years ago. They’ve been growing steadily in numbers ever since. Got a couple of thousand members here in Cadence. Same in the other cities.”

“Who the hell is running the cult?” Emmett asked.

“Guy named Herbert J. Slattery. Leastways that used to be his name. Now calls himself Master Herbert. Claims to channel some old alien philosopher named Amatheon.”

“Got an address for Slattery?”

“Just the cult’s office downtown. But Perkins, here, could get Slattery’s personal address pretty damn quick if you want it. He’s good at that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Verwood,” Perkins said, pleased by the praise.

A lot of things were suddenly starting to resonate in what might prove to be a pattern, Emmett thought. He glanced at his watch. It was almost 6:30. Lydia was probably still at Shrimpton’s. She had left a message earlier today telling him that she had a special after-hours tour scheduled for that afternoon. With luck she would be finishing up right about now. He leaned over his desk and grabbed the phone.

“Sir?” Verwood’s broad features tightened in a frown of bewilderment. “I don’t get it. What do those screwball Greenies have to do with this?”

“Maybe everything.”

He punched out Lydia’s number. There was no answer. He cut the connection and called her on the little phone she carried in her purse. When he got no response, he tried the town house. Then he dialed her apartment number.
Too damn many phones these days.

Out of options, he pulled out the short list of phone numbers he carried in his wallet and dialed Melanie’s home number. She answered on the first ring.

“I left the museum just as she was getting ready to conduct the special tour,” Melanie said. “She should have finished by now. Why? Something wrong?”

“I can’t get hold of her at any of the usual numbers.”

“She’s probably in a place where the signal won’t resonate. Give her a few minutes and try again.” Melanie chuckled. “Don’t worry, I doubt that she ran off to join the Greenies.”

He went cold. “What made you say that, Mel?”

“Hey, it’s just a joke. Sorry.”

“I’m serious. Why the joke about Greenies?”

“I guess it popped into my head because that special tour she escorted after hours today was for half a dozen Greenies. I told her they’d probably be interested in the Tomb Wing, just like the Hunter-Scout troops.”

“Sonofa . . . Mel, listen to me, I need the number of the guard’s office there at Shrimpton’s. Do you have it?”

“Hang on, I’ll get it for you.” Melanie was starting to sound worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Just get me the number.”

“Here it is.” She rattled off a string of numbers. “The new guy’s name is Benny Fellows.”

“Thanks.”

“Emmett, you’re starting to scare me. What is this all about?”

“Later.”

He severed the connection and tried the guard’s number. When he got no answer he tossed down the phone and headed for the door.

“Let’s go, Verwood.”

Emmett drove, piloting the car through the busy streets with an intensity of purpose that other drivers noticed. Vehicles melted out of the Slider’s path.

Night had fallen, the darkness complicated by a gathering fog. The streetlights created small circles of glare but not much in the way of useful illumination.

He parked in front of the entrance to Shrimpton’s a short time later. Pounding on the front door brought no response. There was no sign of the guard.

Emmett led Verwood around the side of the building, found the window he wanted, and smashed it open with the heel of his boot. Glass fractured, shattered, and then rained down in tiny shards.

Verwood glanced nervously over his shoulder. “Uh, Boss, that’s bound to set off an alarm. Cops will be here any minute.”

“You hear any alarm?” Emmett reached through the busted window and unlocked it.

“Uh, no.” Verwood’s brows rose. “Now that you mention it, I don’t hear any alarm. Seems kinda strange for a museum.”

“Yes, it does.” The lack of clanging bells and sirens was a real bad sign, Emmett thought.

“You’d think a place like this would have a security system.”

“It does.” Emmett went through the window.

Verwood scrambled after him. “I gotta tell you, Boss, it might not look too good in the papers if you get arrested breaking into a museum. Know what I mean?”

“Relax. The owner owes the Guild a couple of favors,” Emmett said, thinking of the dreamstone arrangements.

Verwood brightened. “Oh, well, in that case.” He wedged his large frame through the open window.

Emmett did a quick survey of the surroundings. The shelves full of journals, books, and gallery catalogs looked familiar. This was Lydia’s office, all right. In the gloom he could see a massive object on top of her desk.

“What the hell?” He crossed the room, flipped on the light, and scowled at the sight of the huge bouquet. “Some bastard sent my wife flowers.”

“Uh, Boss, maybe you could worry about the flowers later?”

“I’ll bet it was Hepscott.” Emmett spotted the card lying on top of the desk and picked it up. “If it was, I’m going to have his head on a platter.” He ripped the card out of the envelope. “
Your devoted slave
. Charles.” Emmett tossed the card on the desk. “Charles.
Charles.
Rings a bell but I can’t place it. You know anyone named Charles, Verwood?”

“Know a coupla guys named Chuck,” Verwood said. “And one who goes by the name of Chase. Don’t think I know anyone who calls himself Charles, though.”

“When this is over, I want you to find this Charles.”

“No problem, Boss.”

Emmett went through the desk drawers quickly. “Her purse is gone.”

“Probably means she left for the day and everything’s okay.”

“Optimism is not a desirable quality in a security expert, Verwood.”

Verwood exhaled heavily. “Yeah, Mr. Wyatt told me that once or twice, too.”

They went down the hall, past the other offices, and then turned into the corridor that led to the museum lobby. A single fluo-rez tube burned in the empty office used by the museum’s tiny security staff.

“Evening-shift guy is probably making his rounds,” Verwood offered. “Maybe he doesn’t know the alarm system isn’t working.”

Emmett went back out into the hall. “Or maybe he had something to do with the malfunction.”

“You know, you and Mr. Wyatt sure do think alike when it comes to figuring out what folks might be getting up to,” Verwood said admiringly. “It’s like you both zero right in on the worst-case scenario. Guess that’s why you both made Guild boss, huh?”

Emmett decided to ignore that. The observation struck a little too close to home. It was, after all, Mercer Wyatt who had taught him how to analyze the motives and ambitions of others.

“Melanie said the Greenies would be interested in the Tomb Wing relics.” Emmett turned in that direction. “We’ll start there.”

Halfway along the hall, he realized that there was something different about the Tomb Wing. Instead of being darkened entirely for the night or dimly lit with the creepy green lighting used for daytime display, all of the overhead fluo-rez tubes were ablaze.

He halted at the entrance. The guard was inside the gallery, his back to Emmett and Verwood. He was busily sweeping up a lot of broken glass. The headphones he wore explained why he had not heard anyone approach.

“Hell of a way to stand guard,” Verwood growled. “We could empty out the place before he even realized there was anyone else around.”

“Wonder how he knew that glass display case was broken,” Emmett said.

“Maybe he accidentally broke it himself.”

Emmett went down the long gallery and tapped the guard on the shoulder.

The man started violently. “What? What?”

He dropped the industrial-sized broom and grabbed at the headphones, yanking them off his ears. Simultaneously he twisted around and tried to back away.

The awkward movement brought him up against a low, wide green quartz bowl that looked as if it had been designed as a wading pool. Emmett had seen it on an earlier tour of the gallery and knew that Shrimpton billed it as an alien embalming tub.

The guard tripped, cried out, flailing, and then toppled backward into the shallow pool. He landed on his back in an awkward sprawl.

Emmett braced one foot on the edge of the quartz pool. “Benny, I presume?”

“Yeah, I’m Benny. What’s going on here?” Benny levered himself up to a sitting position and glanced nervously at Verwood. Then he switched his attention back to Emmett. “Who are you? What are you doing here? Wait, I recognize you. Emmett London, right? The new Guild boss? I saw your picture in the papers.”

“Then we can skip the formalities. I’m looking for my wife.”

Benny’s jaw sagged. For a few seconds he seemed truly bereft of speech. Then he swallowed visibly.

“Your . . . your wife? Miss Smith?”

“She’s Mrs. London now, Benny.”

Benny froze. “Yes, sir. But what makes you think I know where she is?”

“She had a tour at five o’clock. A bunch of Greenies.”

“Sure. Right. The special tour. I remember.”

“When did she leave?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Benny spoke quickly. “I was busy supervising the loading of the sarcophagus, you see. That’s why the alarm system is shut down. Had to turn it off so that I could open the loading-dock doors.”

“My wife left a message at my office telling me that the sarcophagus wasn’t going to be moved until Monday and that she had the Greenie tour instead.”

“There was some sort of mix-up,” Benny said, talking a little more steadily now as if he was on more certain ground. “Miss Smith, I mean, Mrs. London was busy with the tour group when the moving van arrived. So I handled the transfer. I figured Mr. Shrimpton would appreciate me showing initiative.”

“Is that what you call it?”

Benny looked offended. “All the paperwork was in order. I’ve got it in my office. See for yourself.”

Emmett looked at the broken glass on the floor. “What happened in here, Benny?”

Benny followed his gaze with a jerky movement of his head. “The movers are responsible, sir. When they picked up the coffin and its lid, they accidentally banged one corner into that display case. Nothing’s missing, though. I checked.”

Emmett took his foot down off the rim of the pool and crossed to the broken display case. Several tomb mirrors were clustered inside.

“I told you, nothing was stolen.” Benny grabbed the edge of the pool and hauled himself to his feet. He started to put one foot over the side but stopped when Verwood moved toward him. “The sarcophagus was an authorized transfer. The museum got a lot of money for it.”

Emmett glanced down at the pile of glittering glass shards that Benny had succeeded in assembling with his broom. Here and there in the sparkling slivers he caught the unmistakable gleam of polished amber.

He took one of the tomb mirrors out of the display case and used the handle to stir the chunks of glass. Two oval-shaped beads appeared. He picked them up and examined them in the light.

“They were made for a necklace,” he said to Verwood.

“Whoever busted the case must have broken a string of beads at the same time.” Verwood pointed toward the foot of a nearby pedestal. “There’s another one. And I see a couple more over there by that table.”

“That’s one possible explanation.” Emmett rose to his feet and turned toward Benny. “The other is that the necklace was broken in the course of a struggle.”

Benny blanched. “No,” he whispered. “Nothing like that happened, I swear it.”

Verwood picked up the headphones that the guard had ripped off a few minutes earlier. A long cord connected them to an audio player. He held the right phone up to his ear.

Emmett watched him. “Music?”

“Nope.” Verwood lowered the headphones, his expression grim. “Don’t think you’re gonna like this, Boss. It sounds like one of those Thirteen Steps to Bliss lectures. Lot of stuff about that Amatheon guy.”

“No.”
Benny gave a choked cry and leaped out of the quartz pool.

He dashed toward the entrance of the gallery.

Emmett stuck out a foot and grabbed his arm as he went flying past. Benny stumbled and went down heavily. Verwood moved in to anchor him to the floor.

Benny thrashed violently. Verwood was obliged to use some force. In the course of the struggle, the buttons of the guard’s uniform gave way.

A string of amber beads gleamed on Benny’s hairy chest.

Emmett walked forward and stood looking down at him. “Let’s try this again from the top, Benny. I’ll run through it. You tell me if I get anything wrong. Those Greenies kidnapped Lydia this evening, didn’t they? Took her out of here in that damn sarcophagus.”