How to Crash a Killer Bash (20 page)

“No need. Sailor’s honor. If you have a key to your dock, that’s all you need.”

He ducked inside, and I followed him into the small, dimly lit interior. I gave the place a quick glance and spotted several built-ins—cabinets, seats, and a table. In contrast to the exterior, the inside was cluttered with a variety of artifacts—sculptures, objets d’art, totems, pottery, masks, ceremonial tools, and several dozen weapons. Jason Cosetti could have supplied an army with the number of scythes, swords, scabbards, spears, and stilettos he’d amassed. The treasures would have been impressive if they’d been mounted or framed, but most of them were jumbled together in a heap or stacked, one on top of another. The rest appeared to be in the half dozen cardboard boxes that were strewn on every surface and most of the floor.

“Wow. Did you know your father had all these things?” I asked Corbin, who had cleared off a built-in shelf and sat perched on it.

“Yeah, he never stopped trying to make a name for himself as an art dealer.”

I picked up a random sword and felt the blade. Sharp enough to make a major dent in a human being. “Was he successful at all?”

“Not really. He kept trying to sell stuff to the de Young and other museums, but I don’t think he had much luck. He couldn’t even get Mom interested.”

“How did he come by the boat?”

“Friend of his let him watch it while he’s gone.”

“I heard you’re not allowed to live on the boats here.”

“Yeah, well, Dad did a lot of things you’re not supposed to do.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if Jason hated his ex-wife enough to kill her. She’d made a success of her life, while his seemed to go nowhere. Maybe it was revenge. Or maybe he had something to gain by her death. Was he mentioned in her will? Of course the point was moot, due to the fact that the suspect had also been murdered. So if he did kill Mary Lee, why did he end up dead?

I glanced at Corbin, who was dangling his feet like a bored schoolchild and staring down at his shoes as if they were fascinating. While he was in his trance, I looked around, in cupboards and boxes, hoping to find a telltale note, a cryptic phone number, a clue that would tell me something about his death. The place was such a mess, it would have been difficult to tell if someone had broken in and taken something of value. Hopefully the locked gate would keep intruders out. Except me.

“Are any of these things worth money?”

He looked up from his swinging shoes. “I dunno. Probably not. A few years ago Dad tried to sell something that turned out to be a fake. Kinda ruined his reputation in the business. He asked Mother to take a look at his stuff, but she blew him off.”

I ducked into what looked like the bedroom. It housed two small built-in bunk beds, one covered with stacks of artifacts, the other with a rumpled sleeping bag. I peered inside a mini-closet that was built into the wall. A raincoat and several flannel shirts hung on wire hangers. Glancing down, I found a pair of well-worn work boots—Sears DieHards. I guessed they were secondhand. Next to the boots I spotted some wadded-up clothes and bent down to examine them. I lifted what looked like a gray houndstooth cape. Hidden underneath were a deerstalker cap and a meerschaum pipe.

Sherlock Holmes.

I picked up the costume parts and looked them over. In the pocket of the cape was a tiny magnifying glass—the kind I’d used to decorate for the Murder Mystery Party.

Jason Cosetti had been at that party. In disguise.

I returned to the main room, costume in hand. “Corbin, did you see your dad at the party?”

“Nah. He wouldn’t come to a thing like that.”

I held up the cape in one hand, the hat and pipe in the other. “I found this Sherlock Holmes costume in his closet. Any idea why he might have had it?”

Corbin’s eyes narrowed. “Not a clue. Maybe it’s not his.”

“I found a party favor in the pocket. I’m pretty sure he was at the event. Do you remember seeing a Sherlock Holmes there?

“Yeah”—he snorted—“a bunch of them.”

Corbin was right. Detective Holmes had been one of the most popular characters at the party. Note to self: View Berk’s videotape of the party and see if I could tell which Sherlock Jason might have been. I glanced around for a recent photograph of Jason and found one of him with Corbin, posing on the deck of the boat.

“May I borrow this?” I asked Corbin.

He answered in his usual manner: with an automatic shrug.

“I think I’m done here. I’m going to hang on to the costume and see if I can match it to a costume in one of the party videotapes.” If I could tie the costume to Jason, it would prove he’d been at the event—and could have murdered Mary Lee. Since the costume had been returned to his closet sometime after the party, he must have come home and changed. That meant he was killed sometime after Mary Lee died.

And that meant Delicia would be off the hook.

Corbin hopped off his perch and followed me out without a glance back at his father’s nautical home. We exited the gate, which slammed shut behind us.

I tried the handle.

Locked up tight.

 

“Hey, would you mind swinging by the museum?” Corbin asked as I started the car. “I need some stuff from my locker. Taking the bus is a drag.”

Surprised, I asked, “You have a locker at the de Young?”

“Yeah. Art supplies and junk like that. I don’t think I’ll be spending much time there anymore.”

Lockers. At the de Young.

Maybe Mary Lee had a locker there too.

“Sure,” I said, looking over my shoulder for a chance to merge into traffic.

We zipped along toward Golden Gate Park, me jabbering about whatever came to mind, Corbin saying very little. Once again I parked easily in the underground garage, and we headed into the museum.

“Where are the lockers?” I asked Corbin as he started for the elevators.

“Fifth floor.”

“Don’t you need a passkey for the elevator?”

He pulled out his wallet, opened it, retrieved a plastic card, and showed it to me.

“Your mother got it for you?” I said, stating the obvious. “Does she have a locker too?”

He nodded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Mary Lee did have a locker here! I thought about going with him, then decided I didn’t want him to know that I planned to check it out.

I called after him, “If I’m not here, wait for me at the front desk.”

He waved without looking back and disappeared.

I went over to the desk and asked them to page Sam Wo. He appeared five minutes later in his spiffy uniform.

“Back again, Ms. Parker? We’ll have to get you a season pass.” He laughed at his own joke. “I suppose you have more questions for me—”

“I do, but I don’t have time right now. I wondered if you could do me a favor? I need you to open one of the lockers on the fifth floor.”

Sam pulled me aside. “What? No way! You really do want to get me fired.”

“Sam, Corbin said Mary Lee had a locker here at the museum. I need to see if there’s anything important in it. Don’t you have a master key?”

“Nope. They use combination locks, not keys. The only way to get in would be to cut it. And if the cops coming looking, they’d know someone broke in. Too risky.”

I pulled a slip of paper from my purse. “I think I have the combination.”

He looked at me, surprised. “Where did you get that?”

I ignored his question. “All you have to do is find out which locker is hers, then try the combination. No one will know.”

Sam shook his head in defeat. “You’re not going to stop until I’m on the unemployment line, are you.”

I smiled devilishly at him. “By the way, my mother says hi. I think she’s looking forward to hearing from you.”

With a sigh, Sam said, “Follow me.”

He led me to the elevators, but instead of riding up to the fifth floor, he punched the basement button.

“What are you doing?”

He said nothing as the doors opened and he stepped out. I followed him to the security office. He unlocked the door and went inside. “Come on,” he said.

I stepped into what would have been a spacious office if it weren’t for all the equipment. A guard sat at a computer console while another faced a wall of security cameras. The ambient light was dim, making the screens easier to monitor.

“Wait here,” Sam said; then he entered his own office in the back and closed the door behind him.

“This is fascinating,” I said, watching people move past the camera lenses in various rooms of the museum. “You can see everything from here.”

“Just about,” the man at the console said. “There are a couple of blind spots—hallways and the like—but we’ve got the important stuff covered.”

One of the dark screens lit up as a young couple neared an exhibit. I remembered Sam telling me about the motion sensors. I glanced at the other screens, and one caught my eye. The dagger we’d copied for the mystery play. It was amazing how well the art department had replicated it.

Where was the missing blade that had been used on Mary Lee?

“Stay here,” Sam said, holding a ring of keys. “I’ll be right back.”

“I can’t go with you?” I whispered.

“Not a chance.”

“Okay, but watch out for Corbin. He may be up there, and I don’t want him to know I’m looting his mother’s locker.”

“Be right back, guys,” he said to the two other guards. “Hold down the fort, will you? Don’t let any art thieves steal my lunch.” Sam seemed to have a natural camaraderie with nearly everyone.

Sam closed the door on his way out. I returned to the computer screens and watched the crowd shuffle by.

“Is there any way someone could sneak around without being caught on camera?” I asked the guard.

“Nope. Not unless the system broke down. And it never has.”

“Could someone cut one of the wires?”

The guard turned to me with a grin. “I suppose that’s possible, but the system is so protected, I can’t even turn off a camera without it being documented. Why? You planning to steal something?”

I laughed, too loudly. The other surly guard shot me a concerned look. I recognized him from my attempt to get Delicia’s purse. Ed something.

I sat down in a nearby chair and watched the screens, wondering how Sam was making out. He appeared ten minutes later, empty-handed. I couldn’t hide the disappointment I felt. He waved me back to his private office and closed the door.

“Nothing?”

He opened his jacket, pulled out some papers, and set them on his desk.

I leaned over and flipped through them. There were five pages of alphabetized names with numbers alongside them.

I looked at Sam. “What do you think this is?”

“I don’t know, but that’s all that was in there, except for some makeup and dog treats. I have to return them, of course.”

“Can you make copies?”

“I suppose.” He stood up and set the papers on a copy machine. Seconds later I had copies of the five pages in my hand. “You think they’re important?”

“I don’t know. I need time to look them over. Thanks. I owe you.”

“About that. I was thinking of asking your mother to dinner some night.”

“I’m sure she would love that.” Oh boy. There I went again, pimping out my mother for information.

Sam smiled, baring his crooked teeth. I think he may have even blushed. “Well, whatever you do, just keep me out of it. With those two murders, I’m not feeling particularly secure in this job.”

I gave his shoulder a pat. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect my source, even if they send me to Alcatraz.”

I rode the elevator back to the main floor and spotted Corbin waiting for me by the front desk. In his hand he held a backpack about the size of a turkey.

What was inside his locker—and now the bag—that he needed so badly?

And what was the significance of those papers from Mary Lee’s locker?

Glancing in the reflective glass I passed on the way to the front desk, I caught myself frowning so intensely, I’d need Botox before my next birthday.

I walked over to the front desk. “Sorry, Corbin. Hope you haven’t been waiting long. Did you get your stuff?”

He pulled the cord on the bag and hoisted it over his shoulder.

“Yeah. Just some art junk. I figured with Mom gone, I might lose my access privileges. Art supplies aren’t cheap, you know.”

I headed for the doors with Corbin lagging behind. As we approached the museum gift shop, I turned to him. “Can you wait a second? I want to pick up something from the shop.”