Shadows at the Spring Show (16 page)

Maggie’s van was steamy from the noon sun as she left the Somerset College campus. She first headed for home, but then changed direction and drove toward the offices of Our World Our Children. Gussie and Ben weren’t due to arrive until at least two. She had to know more about Jackson’s murder. And Carole Drummond would know more than any other person outside the Sloane family. Or the police department.

Only a few people were at their desks at the agency. “Good afternoon, Maggie,” said Priscilla, Carole’s secretary. “She should be off the telephone in a minute. Why don’t you sit down. I’m afraid we’re a bit understaffed just now. Three of the
social workers are out making home visits, and everyone else is on their lunch hour.”

Lunch. Of course. She’d been so focused on Abdullah’s news that she hadn’t bothered to think of the time. “I wanted to talk with Carole about the Sloanes.” She hesitated. “And the antiques show.”

“Such a horrible situation,” said Priscilla. “She should be free in just a few moments.”

Maggie couldn’t relax enough to sit down. She paced the reception area, pausing occasionally to look at the photographs on the wall. Some were of adoptive families; couples and single parents proudly posing with their children. One picture was of the Sloanes, posed in front of their house, perhaps two years ago. Maggie identified a younger-looking Eric. The boy next to him had to be Jackson. He looked like a normal teenage boy, with short hair and glasses. Somehow she hadn’t pictured him wearing glasses. As she looked, she suddenly remembered him in another context. He had taken her United States History to the Civil War class during the fall, but hadn’t registered for the second semester.

There was also a picture she guessed was Hal Hanson and his parents. She’d met them once, she remembered, at a prospective-parents meeting last December. In the picture Hal was slouching, but smiling, between his mother and father. He looked about ten, and, like most ten-year-old boys, not thrilled at having his picture taken. Now his parents were gone, and he was alone again.

Near Priscilla’s desk was a large bulletin board labeled “Waiting Children.” Maggie looked carefully at each face. They ranged from infants to young teenagers of various races and backgrounds. Some were in the United States, some in Asia, some in Latin America, and some in Europe. Children who needed families. She looked carefully at the pictures again. Was one of those children her son or daughter? A week ago she would have said “Yes!” eagerly. Today she wasn’t as sure.

“Maggie.” Carole was standing in the door of her office. “Come on in.”

“I just heard,” said Maggie. “About Jackson. I’m so sorry. I’m new to the OWOC family, and I was only beginning to know the Sloanes, but I had to tell someone how sorry I was.”

“We all are.” The left side of Carole’s usually sleek hair was standing up at an angle, and makeup wasn’t hiding the dark circles under her eyes. “At least Holly was able to go home this morning. But it wasn’t exactly a joyous family reunion.”

“I heard on the news last night that the police had found a body. I didn’t know until this morning that it was Jackson.”

“Some children chasing their dog found him in the back of a wooded lot just outside of Somerville.”

Maggie shuddered. “And the police are sure he was murdered?”

“Rob called me as soon as he’d identified Jackson. He asked me to call other people at OWOC to let them know. That was late last night. I left you a message this morning.”

“I was at the college. I didn’t know until one of the students told me during the volunteers meeting. He’d heard it on the radio.”

“According to Rob, there’ll be an autopsy. But the police said it looked like Jackson had been shot.”

The walls of Carole’s usually bright office seemed to darken. “They’re sure it wasn’t suicide?” Anything, Maggie thought. Anything other than murder.

“They didn’t find a gun.”

They both sat quietly for a moment. Maggie spoke first. “What a horrible reason for Jackson not to come home. And to have people blaming him for Holly’s shooting, when he was shot, too!”

“I guess it’s still an open question as to whether he shot Holly. But it’s obvious that at least one other person was involved. I don’t know what the police are considering now. All I know is that two people connected to OWOC were shot. And someone out there still has a gun, unless they’ve somehow gotten rid of it.”
Carole leaned against the wall slightly. “I think we need to talk.”

Maggie nodded. “That’s why I’m here. We’ll be starting the setup for the antiques show tomorrow morning.” Will and Gussie and Ben would be arriving in a few hours. Everything was happening so fast.

Carole looked defeated. “I’ll admit I’m tired. And scared. I don’t want anyone else hurt.” She hesitated only a moment. “Maggie, I’m seriously thinking we should call off the show.”

Maggie sat back in her chair. “I know you want to do the right thing. The safe thing. But stopping the show now would be incredibly complicated. Dealers are already on the road, heading for New Jersey. The contractors would still have to be paid. The agency would end up losing money instead of making it. Besides, if we cancel the show, we’re letting some bully win. We’re giving in to demands from someone we don’t even know.”

“I don’t want anyone else to be hurt,” Carole repeated.

“Have there been any more threatening letters?”

Carole’s fingers gripped the yellow pencil she was holding tightly. “Not yet.”

Maggie hesitated. “This may not be the right time to tell you, but I got a threatening telephone call Monday. I told the police yesterday.”

Carole shook her head and walked across to the window before turning to Maggie. “This can’t continue. I can’t put anyone else in a dangerous situation. Holly and Jackson have already suffered enough for everyone.”

“But if we give in,” Maggie pointed out, “we’ll be leaving the agency open to more intimidation.”

“Then I’m chicken. If it were just you and I in danger, and we decided to risk it, then all right. But we have literally hundreds of people involved in this show now! Even ignoring the major issue of personal safety, what kind of public relations would there be for the agency if we let the show go forward, knowing we’ve been warned, if there’s any kind of trouble! Not to speak of the possibility of a disaster! How would the public feel about
Our World Our Children then? And what about the parents and prospective parents and children we work with every day? We were founded to help children. To help families find each other, and stay together. To continue the show now could be encouraging violence. That’s the very opposite of what we stand for.”

Maggie was silent. “If we only knew why this person or people are upset about OWOC. Maybe there’s a middle road. A way the show can go forward, and we can meet the needs of whoever is causing the problem.”

“We’re beyond that now, Maggie. I have to believe the two shootings are part of all of this. Jackson Sloane is dead. That shows what these—terrorists—are willing to do. And I don’t want to play their games.” Carole sat down at her desk and put her head in her hands for a moment. Then she looked up. “You told the police about the call you got?”

Maggie nodded. “They agreed to keep patrols close to the gym, starting when we begin setting up, tomorrow morning. Al Stivali, who used to be a detective and is now head of security at Somerset College, is on board. He’s going to do a walk-through tomorrow morning before anyone gets there, and then stay available. He’s even going to sleep in the gym Friday and Saturday nights.”

“That all sounds good. I’m not questioning that you’ve done your job, Maggie. I’m questioning whether anyone can stop whatever this group or person has planned. And I’m afraid. No matter what we decide to do, it could be wrong. Very wrong.” Carole looked at her with desperation in her eyes.

Maggie nodded. “I know. I’m scared, too.”

“We need to share the decision making. I’m going to call an emergency meeting of the board of Our World Our Children tonight. I’ll ask someone from the local police force to come. Can you be here? Maybe bring the security guy from Somerset College, too.”

“I’ll come. And I’ll see if Al is free. But we have to find out who is threatening OWOC and stop him or them. Canceling the show won’t do that. It will just encourage more demands.”

“I’ll need time to contact everyone, and some people on the board work in New York, or live in Pennsylvania. So—eight thirty tonight. Here.” Carole gestured at the meeting room next to her office.

“At least then everyone involved will be making the decision,” agreed Maggie. “And if the decision is to cancel the show, then we’ll all have to start making calls.”

“Let’s just hope nothing worse happens in the meantime,” said Carole. “I want to do what’s right. For everyone. I just don’t know what ‘right’ is.”

Chapter 22

The True Old English Pit or Warrior Game.
Drab brown hen and dramatic red and green and black cock, drawn and lithographed by Harrison Weir, 1901, for
The Poultry Book,
1903. 7 x 9.5 inches. Price: $50.

There were too many things to think about; too many possibilities.

Much as Maggie wanted to see Gussie and Ben and, especially, Will right now, she didn’t feel like playing hostess. She headed for home anyway.

Jackson was dead. Carole was seriously thinking of canceling the show.

Maggie changed Winslow’s water, gave him a little canned chicken, and cleaned his litter box. Routines on a nonroutine day.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost one thirty. Gussie and Ben could arrive at any moment.

She put clean sheets on all the beds, the only task she hadn’t done Sunday night. Doing housework helped her avoid her answering machine. Carole’s message about Jackson would be on it, and probably other people asking her to accomplish
things. Right now she didn’t want to do anything. If she didn’t know what she’d been asked to do, she wouldn’t feel guilty for not having done it. Shaky logic, but right now it made perfect sense.

She couldn’t stop thinking of Jackson, shot and lying in the woods. She wondered how Holly and Rob were coping with the death of one of their children. She didn’t want to imagine how they felt.

And people had been blaming Jackson for shooting Holly! His body could have been lying there since last Sunday.

No more excuses. Maggie looked toward her portfolios, but walked to her chair, removed Winslow, who had claimed it, and picked up paper and pencil. She had to face those answering machine messages before Gussie and Ben arrived. She didn’t want them hearing the news from a machine. And she needed to call Al to see if he was free for tonight’s meeting.

“Maggie? This is Carole. It’s Wednesday morning and you should know the police have identified Jackson Sloane’s body. It looks as though he was shot. Call me when you can.”

Two hang-ups.

Wrong numbers? Something more? But she’d rather have people hang up than leave nasty or threatening messages.

“Professor Summer? Maggie? Eric Sloane. I need to talk with you. Don’t call me at home; I’ll call you later.”

Eric’s voice was shaky. He must be taking his brother’s death hard. Maybe he had just called to say he was going to miss this morning’s meeting. Or . . . did he have something else on his mind? Maggie swallowed and listened to the next message.

“Ms. Summer? I’m Alice Cleary, the head librarian at the Park Glen Library. I’ve heard you’re a real expert on early natural history prints, and wondered if you’d be willing to do a little talk at the library next fall. We’re finalizing our speaking schedule, so do try to get back to me as soon as possible.”

Maggie shook her head. She’d get back to Alice Cleary another day.

“Professor Summer? This is Jim Hunter. You don’t know me, and I know this sounds strange, but I’m worried about one of your students, and he doesn’t have any family to talk with. He once mentioned your name, so I thought maybe you’d be able to help. He doesn’t know I’ve called you. Please call me when you get a chance.”

One of her students? Maggie frowned. The semester was over; she wouldn’t be seeing her students. But she would get back to him. Jim Hunter. She wrote down the name and number. It didn’t sound like the kind of emergency she was coping with right now. Mr. Hunter could also wait.

“Maggie, this is Al Stivali, over at security. I heard they found that young man’s body. I figured he was the one you were worried about. If I can do anything to help, you be sure to let me know.”

Al was a good man, Maggie thought. She had been much less worried about security for the show since she’d talked with him. And now she needed his help with the meeting tonight. At least she wouldn’t have to tell him about Jackson; he already knew and no doubt had some thoughts on how the death might influence the show. As soon as she’d heard all the messages, she’d call Al.

“Maggie? Mike Blanchard here. Something’s come up, and I won’t be able to do your show this weekend. Sorry. Send me the refund when you can.”

Maggie underlined Mike’s name three times. Another cancellation. Not even an attempt at an excuse. She should have made the deposit nonrefundable, as it was at most shows. Mike Blanchard had a great collection of Belleek and Staffordshire and majolica, all interesting, and very different, types of china. She’d never get anyone else with merchandise that good this close to the show date.