Murder Actually (24 page)

“I thought I had a candy bar in...uh, my desk–”

“Just coif the do, and I'll be right back.”

By the time I had stroked a comb through my unnaturally blond hair and twisted it into a stylish updo worthy of a television commercial for a miracle hair clip, Brenda returned with a tin of Harrods' cocoa and a spoon. She pried the metal lid off and scooped out a heaping portion of the posh British blend. “Go ahead. You know you've done worse.” She forced the spoon into my hand, and I downed the dry cocoa like an obedient child.

The instant the rich powder hit my tongue I felt a warm, steady rush invade my body like an electrical current moving in slow motion towards my extremities. The body shudders subsided, and my hands steadied. When I returned to Planet Earth, I stepped towards Brenda to give her a hug, but she backed away and raised her hand.

“Don't mistake my actions for some kind of team effort. Now get the hell out of here.” She cracked a sliver of a smile, grabbed the backs of my shoulders and sent me flying out the door. “And don't you dare tell anyone about what I just did for you. It would ruin my reputation around here as a hard-nose.”

“I signed a confidentiality agreement when I was hired, didn't I?

“Right.”

“Hey, do you know anything about those opals that were stolen from the Museum?”

“There's no time for chitchat.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, God, that was like decades ago. It happened during the staging of a special exhibition. The cops never caught the thief, but the opals turned up years later in a market in Hong Kong. Now get your ass upstairs.”

Brenda was right. There was no time to lose, and I broke the land speed record hightailing it to Stewart's office in the executive's suite on the third floor. As I was about to tap on the doorframe, Stewart spotted me.

“Come in, come in.” Stewart's prematurely silver beard and hair gave him a bit of a jolly Santa vibe. He was a gentle giant who probably could have been an awesome football player had it not been for the total lack of aggression in any cell of his body.

“Welcome back, Stewart.” I suddenly sounded raspy. Damn. Some of the cocoa I had knocked back was lodged at the top of my esophagus.

“Thank you. It's good to have my land legs for a while.”

My eyes darted around the room. “I see you've rotated your art again. Just how big is that, heh, African collection of yours?” I counted on a few more coughs to clear my obstructed throat.

“According to that lovely wife of mine, too big.”

A giggle got trapped in my throat and came out as a cough.

“Are you all right? Shall I get you some water?” said Stewart.

I gestured no with my hand. “Richard will be here any second…and I have a confession. I had a bit of an ugly encounter with him at the staff entrance. He brings out the worst in me,” I said like a Janis Joplin sound-alike.

“He does have that effect on people. But you have to learn to separate the persona from the position. He is, after all, a senior manager. And this meeting we're about to have, if Richard ever makes an appearance, is at Carson's request.”

Odd, I thought. Rumour had it that the Director and Richard were on the outs lately. Richard must have grovelled his way back into Carson's good graces. Before I had a chance to speak further, a thundering knock startled both of us.

“Hello.” Richard wriggled his thick form through the partially open doorway. “I took the liberty of inviting someone else to join us.” He forced the door wide open to expose Veronique Bouvier, Richard's embarrassingly inept sidekick and head of Exhibits. She was the personification of a French Poodle. Tall with lanky limbs, she always wore Nehru-collared suit jackets with faux-fur cuffs. To this kooky wardrobe staple she regularly paired an Hermés scarf snugly wrapped around her head as if attempting to hold in her melting brain. Her mousy brown locks erupted into curls above the designer bandana.

“Bonjour,” Veronique said.

“Is there anyone else hiding out there?” Stewart said.

“Mais, non. But where's Brenda?”

“She's working to deadline on a study for a planetarium in Lisbon,” said Stewart.

“But…” spluttered Richard.

“I can't afford to pull her away for anything right now. Luckily we have Kalena on our team.”

Richard and Veronique shifted their scrutiny towards me just as I declined my chin, hoping to dislodge the cocoa from my throat.

Veronique spoke up. “But we need someone with Brenda's–”

“Veronique, let's get on with this. I'm meeting with the Director in fifteen. And your tardiness has already cost us some time,” Stewart said.

Veronique withdrew into pout mode, and Richard seized the lead. “Veronique and I have been approached by the San Francisco Museum of Art and Science to host Treasures of the Maya. The last venue on its tour pulled out at the eleventh hour, and they're seeking another institution to round out the tour in this part of the continent.”

Aware that the Museum had not presented a blockbuster of this magnitude for several years, my jaw almost unhinged. The sudden intake of air resulted in a silent burp, and a powdery brown vapour escaped, forming a small dark cloud in front of my face. I fanned the cocoa haze as unobtrusively as possible, but detected Stewart peering at me from the corners of his eyes. He abruptly clapped, spooking us all and attracting the full attention of Richard and Veronique. “Yes. Treasures of the Maya….currently packing in huge crowds across the States.”

I massaged my irritated throat. “But what does this have to do with Museum Consulting? Why aren't you taking this to the exhibits planning committee?”

Richard white-knuckled the arms of his chair. “It would be impossible to mount this exhibition through normal protocols given the time constraints. But Carson's keen to bring the show here at any cost, and your operation can bypass the Museum's bureaucratic encumbrances.”

“Clever.” Stewart inhaled deeply. “And what about admissions revenues?”

“The profits will cover all your expenses, and a percentage of the net will go into your coffers for future endeavours. It's a win-win situation for everyone.”

Stewart drew his palms together in prayer position and rested his bearded chin on his fingertips. I knew he was analyzing the scheme faster than a team of consultants and had likely worked out some rough profit margins.

“Exactement.” Veronique's penchant for haphazardly tossing in French phrases as a way of reminding everyone she was the daughter of French diplomats annoyed me to the nth degree.

“One of the exhibit's signature artifacts is the oldest piece of chocolate in the world,” said Richard.

My eyes expanded to saucer proportions. The oldest piece of chocolate – how cool was that?

“But the big ticket item is a magnificent gold jaguar mask,” said Richard.

Big ticket item? Wasn't that the phrase Marco had used earlier?

“You've piqued my interest.” Stewart sank back into his chair. “And I presume the SFMA knows nothing of our recent security breach? Otherwise they would demand extraordinary insurance coverage negating all profits.”

“The Tang horse? No,” said Richard. “The incident has been fully cloaked. It's one of the advantages of having a Director who was a former media mogul. He's managed to gag the papers, and with no insurance claim having been filed, there's no public record of the pilfering. As far as those who know anything about it, it was a temporary displacement.”

The activity I witnessed in the security control room was making more and more sense. Cover-up was the operative word.

“But we need an experienced person to manage mounting the exhibit. If Brenda is occupé, perhaps–”

“Kalena will direct the project,” said Stewart.

“Who?” Did I hear him right?

“This is no time for modesty, Kalena. Your administrative experience in Exhibits combined with your history background will be invaluable. And you do share a love for chocolate with the Maya.” Stewart winked. “More importantly you have a record of expediting difficult tasks.”

“Kalena?” Richard was a ghostly beige.

“You can count on me.” I sensed beads of sweat forming in my armpits, but Richard had pressed the wrong buttons, and I wasn't about to back off.

“I must cut this short now,” said Stewart. “Carson is booked with back-to-back meetings, and I can't keep him waiting.”

Richard and Veronique leapt from their chairs like school children who had been dismissed from class. The two exited the office, and Stewart closed the door behind them. “It's time for you to spread those wings of yours.”

“Yes, sir, but I'm not sure I –”

“We'll talk about this further after I've cleared up some critical matters. Geoffrey's flying in tomorrow, and I have some major number crunching to perform before his arrival.”

“Geoffrey's coming to town?” I felt a tingling in my sacral chakra. The debonair Geoffrey Ogden, Stewart's former school chum, ran our London office.

“He's just met with the Lisbon clients and is coming to meet with Brenda and me.” Stewart reached into his desk drawer and gently flipped a bag of Thornton's chocolate-smothered toffee into my palm.

“Thanks, Stewart.” I clutched the foil pouch to my breast.

“You're welcome. I hope this keeps you out of the cocoa provisions.”

I felt my cheeks turning pomegranate. “Won't happen again.”

“I've never seen anyone exhale a cloud of chocolate vapour before.”

“I have a reasonable explanation – sort of.”

“You'll have to tell me about it another time.” Stewart thrust the door open. “Grab that copy of The Guide to Travelling Exhibitions – second bookcase on the right, third shelf down. And get any relevant literature from the library as soon as you can.” Stewart vanished into the hallway before I could draw another breath.

I snatched the book and a dog-eared photo of Stewart and Geoffrey slipped out. Stewart looked quite the nerd in head-to-toe Tilley gear. He was voluminous and pasty in comparison to the trim and sun-kissed Geoffrey as they stood in front of the cliff-embedded Treasury of Petra in Jordan. They were The Odd Couple of business partners. Stewart had grown up in a small farming community outside of Toronto while Geoffrey hailed from upper-crust Brit stock. Last I heard, Geoffrey was dating a super-model, or was it the Parisian architect of the moment?

I tipped the photo inside another book and decamped with the Thornton's toffee in hand. But I wondered why Richard had approached Stewart with Treasures of the Maya. His explanation seemed prefabricated, and I wasn't buying it, especially since Richard had made no secret of his opinion that our department was doomed to failure. As I cruised back to the office, the phrase “big ticket item” kept playing in my head like a bad song you couldn't forget.

 

 

 

 

 

“Why are you walking like that?” Brenda said standing outside the office door gawking at me as I waddled duck-like towards her.

“I went for a run last night. Guess I overdid it,” I said.

“You're becoming OC when it comes to this fitness crap. Have you thought about clipping your chocolate intake instead?”

“I'm not obsessive-compulsive. Besides, the jog wasn't a guilt workout.”

“Uh-huh,” said Brenda.

“I was in serious need of some stress relief after yesterday's turn of events.”

“Do you think bringing Treasures of the Maya to the Museum is out of your league?”

“Uh, yes.”

“I think you're right,” said Brenda.

I deflated like a balloon that had been pin-holed.

“Let's be realistic. It's a huge job.”

“I know. I know,” I said.

“And I can't help out. The Lisbon project's fucking draining me.” Brenda checked her watch. “Shit. I have to meet with the resident astronomer before someone realizes we closed down our planetarium five years ago, and we no longer need an astronomer on staff.”

Brenda darted off with the verve of a sprightly young hare while I trundled into the office like an octogenarian on Valium making it to my desk just in time to pick up an incoming phone call.

“Museum Consulting Services,” I said.

“Good morning, Kalena.”

“Stewart?” I was a little puzzled as the phone's display indicated the call was coming from the Museum's front desk.”

“I'm at the main entrance with Carson and the contingent from Hong Kong. They're a day early, and I'm booked with the Museum's lawyer, and Carson can't stay either…I'm counting on you to give them a tour.”

“Uh, okay.”

“If you could meet them in the main Rotunda in about ten, Carson will be eternally grateful.”

“Sure thing,” I said.

“Most excellent. You can let me know how it goes later. Good luck.”

I hung up and whimpered as I took another step. How on Earth was I going to navigate the Museum without looking as though I had just had both hips replaced? Some chocolate might diminish the pain, I reasoned most illogically. I ransacked my desk and hit upon the foil package of Thornton's. There was one last stone-sized piece of the chocolate-covered toffee remaining, and I tossed it into my mouth. As soon as I bit into it, every tooth became embedded in the sugary mass, and my mandibles locked tighter than a shark's grip on a freshly caught seal. Oh, lord, this candy had better melt before I rendezvoused with the Director.

I doddered through a long atrium that took me into our Earth Gallery. Tucked beside a colossal reproduction of a volcano, I clocked two silhouettes resembling a giant ruler and an over-sized pear on legs – Veronique and Richard. With a few minutes to spare, I thought I might ask them for further details on the exhibit. But as I shuffled closer and became mindful that my jaws were still clamped shut, I reconsidered and decided to save the conversation for a time when I could actually communicate. Instead of forging towards the pair, I detoured behind the volcano, back around the deep folds of the artfully painted pyramid of light-weight concrete and metal mesh.

“Peut-être it will be better with Kalena on the project.”

My ears radared in on Veronique's voice like a bat that had caught the scrambling of a mouse.

“You always said she had a tête de linotte,” continued Veronique.

“How could I ‘always say that' if I don't even know what that means?” barked Richard.

“Sorry, I thought you knew that expression – bird brain. You always said she was a bird brain.”

“She is. But she'll be watching me like a hawk, looking for any irregularities. And the whole Museum is already on high alert because that imbecile construction worker decided to decorate his living room with one of our Chinese artifacts. Things are going to be tighter around here than after the last major theft at the Museum.”

“That was long before you started working here,” said Veronique. “How do you know how things were then?

“Trust me. I know.”

I felt as though the breath had been vacuum-sucked from my lungs. Were they talking about the opal theft? Unexpectedly one of my thighs cramped, and I inadvertently slid my foot forward, stubbing the point of my shoe on a section of the artificial lava flow.

“What was that?” said Richard in a hushed tone.

“Je ne sais pas.”

“Welcome to the Canadian National Museum's Dynamic Earth Gallery…” suddenly boomed a familiar voice from the mini-theatre located within the volcano.”

“Damn that ridiculous auto-timer,” said Richard. “I thought it was reset to begin after the Museum opens.”

“The beginnings of the planet date back millions of years…” resumed the video.

“Let's get out of here,” said Richard. “And contact the AV technicians immediately and have them correct that timer. It's a complete waste of energy.”

“Oui, oui, oui.”

Relief flooded my body. Who knew that one day I would be saved by Christopher Plummer? He still made me weak-kneed every time I watched The Sound of Music. The voice-over narrative from the volcano's theatre continued to chronicle the formation of the planet and when the sound of Richard's and Veronique's footsteps waned in the distance, I boogied down the narrow atrium. Up ahead I spotted Carson surrounded by a small contingent of people.

“We have more than ten million objects in our collections,” I could hear Carson say as I approached the guests from Hong Kong. He noticed me and motioned to me to move closer. “Isn't that right, Kalena?”

“Mm-huh,” I mumbled. Are you kidding me? The toffee had still not softened enough for me to speak. Carson introduced me to the director of the Hong Kong Museum of Natural History and, in turn, to the rest of his courteous associates.

“Our colleagues from Hong Kong are very interested in our science collections and, in particular, the gem rooms.” Carson articulated every word very slowly.

“O–” I said. The toffee was finally liquefying, and I succeeded in making a small round shape with my mouth.

“After you've toured the gem rooms, please escort the group to Mineralogy. I can meet them there, and we'll proceed to lunch.”

“Shertainly, shir. Leave it with me.” Carson was a tad hard of hearing and too vain to wear an aid, so I prayed he hadn't detected the toffee slur.

Like a well-trained Border Collie, Carson herded the group into the main hall. As they stood mesmerized by the monumental cases filled with some of the Museum's most magnificent treasures, Carson took me aside and murmured, “They're considering hiring us to consult on their new gem gallery. So, impress, impress.”

“I'll do my best to dazzle, sir.” The toffee garble had dissipated just in time.

“Good, good…You know, I'd never noticed you walked with such a pronounced turnout. You must have studied ballet in your youth.”

“Uh, yes, sir.” Hip hop and rock jazz were more like it, but that was in recent years, and I was not about to confess that my penguin stance was the consequence of overly zealous exercise.

“Well, you and Richard have something in common then,” Carson said.

“Richard Pritchard?”

“He's still very active in promoting the National Ballet.”

“Richard Pritchard?” An image of the butterball in spandex and on point gave me the heebee jeebees.

“I'll catch up with you later.” Carson bowed his head and departed. His salt-and-peppered hair and grey worsted suit dissolved into the stone of the Museum's walls and floors.

I wobbled in front of the group and guided them towards our acclaimed gem rooms which, although a fraction of the size of the Smithsonian, were still quite magnificent.

As we slowly journeyed in the direction of the rooms designed to simulate vaults, the director of the Hong Kong Museum inched towards me and spoke with a muzzled tone, “We are most grateful, Mrs. Kalena, especially considering the history between our museums.”

“History?” What the hell was he talking about?

“I assure you our museum's purchase of your opals occurred only after authorities cleared all matters. Everything was, as you say here, on the up-and-up.”

“I'm sure it was.” ‘Clueless' was branded on my forehead.

“But let us forget about these unfortunate events and move forward.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “We're very enthusiastic about working with your museum and moving forward.”