The Hunt Chronicles: Volume 1 (24 page)

Carol grabbed my
right hand and turned my palm up.  She dropped three doggy biscuits in
it.  “It’ll calm them down.  They don’t know whether or not to like
you yet.”  I looked at the dogs,
who
were looking
at me, and I smiled.  They sat like huge furry soldiers, and all of a
sudden I felt very uncomfortable holding their food in my bare hand.  I
tossed the three biscuits in front of the pooches, but none of them moved a
paw.  They watched as the cookies landed in the carpet, and then they all
turned their heads towards Carol.  “It’s okay,” Carol said, and they
pounced.  The biscuits were gone in a flash.  “Now lay down,” Carol
said, and the three soldiers did so without hesitation, still rolling their
eyes to the tops of their heads to keep a watchful eye on me.

Carol looked at me
and had water in her eyes.  “When did you know?”  She asked.

“At the party,” I
said.  “I saw the way you looked at him, and the way you touched
him.  I’ve had that look myself.”  I put my hand on her shoulder and
she broke into tears, crying into her hands.  “Carol, how do you know Ida
Scribbs
?”

 “What do you
mean?” She asked, surprised. 

“I know you knew her
before the party.  Remember?  She called out your name when she came
in.  When was the first time you met her?”  Carol slid across the
sofa to a little table in the corner.  She reached for the box of tissues
and brought it back with her.

“Well,” she said as
she blew her nose, “I met her once about four or five years ago.  Yeah,
it’s been about five years.  I took Arnold out to dinner because he was so
depressed about losing his wife Janet a few weeks before.  She walked in
and saw us sitting at a table and made a beeline straight for us.  She
said she had heard about his wife and wanted to stop by and give her condolences. 
That’s when Arnold introduced us, but…”

“But
what?”

“But you know
,
that wasn’t really the first time I had met her.  I
guess she didn’t remember the first time.  It was fleeting.  I was
coming and she was going.  You know how it is.”

“Where was
this?”  I asked.  Carol wiped her nose again and then pulled another
tissue from the box.

“Well, it was at her
museum.  Oh, wait, her
science center
,” she added sarcastically.

“What were you doing
there?”

“Dennis and I went
once when the center first opened.  You know, to get a look at the
competition.”

“So Dennis
introduced you to her before that night at the restaurant?”

“Yeah, but like I
said, I was going in, she was coming out, you know.”

“I don’t understand,
Carol.  Why would Dennis introduce you to the Curator of the
Boyhan
Science Center?”  Carol
snickered
a little sinister snicker.

“I see there
is
still one personnel file you haven’t gone through yet,
Mr. Hunt.”  I looked at her the way Niki looks at me when I say the word s
ausage
. 
“Dennis
Trago
used to work at the
Boyhan
Science Center, Mr. Hunt.  Ida was his boss.”

After a long pause
and ponder, the silence was finally broken by none other than Carol’s colorful
bird.  “Dennis killed him!  Dennis killed him!  Fat
bastard! 
Fat bastard!”
  Then he whistled
and fluttered his wings.  All of a sudden I had
a real
problem breathing.  Jokes aside, I think I may have had an actual stroke
because the room started to spin.  Carol grabbed my arm.  She was
laughing.  Her face was red.

“I’m sorry, Mr.
Hunt.  He picks up everything I say.  I think that one came from my
last phone conversation with my sister.”

“Thank God,” I said,
taking in a deep breath.  “That would have been my third stroke
today.”  She laughed, and handed me a tissue.  I didn’t know why at
first, but then I realized a tear was dripping down my face.  “You know
the weirdest part of all of this?” I asked.  “How did you and Dennis
Trago
manage an entire car ride across the county to
Boyhan
without killing each other that day?”  Carol
laughed again and nodded.

“I know it’s hard to
believe,” she said, “but there was a time when we got along fine.  Then
things between Arnold and I got serious.  Word got out and, well, the
pettiness got worse and worse until we couldn’t even look at each other
anymore.  I think he sees me as a threat to his promotion, which he
should.”

“Oh?”  I asked
with a smirk on my face.  “Are you that good of an employee?”  She
smiled back and leaned in close.

“They don’t come any
better than me.”

Carol walked me to
my car as her three sentinels followed us out.  I got in and started the
car, but then rolled down the window.  Carol bent down and stuck her head
inside.  “Carol, did Arnold ever tell you who he was going to recommend for
his position when he left?”

“Of course,” she
said.  “He told me everything.”  She stood there as my old engine
hummed along with just a smile on her face.  “Please don’t be a stranger
around the museum, Mr. Hunt,” she finally said, standing up.  “I have some
very big plans.”

Thoughts bombarded
my brain as I drove back to the library.  To name a few:  Who else
knew that, according to Carol, she was going to get the promotion?  Why
did Dennis
Trago
want that job so badly, besides the
obvious Napoleon complex?  Why would two boys conspire to kill a harmless
man and take nothing from his office besides gaudy rhino statue?  Who
found out about Carol and Arnold and spread the word?  What the hell did
all of that have to do with Arnold Medley?

I arrived back at the
library and walked slowly into the small hot room where I had last seen my
young helper.  The room was empty when I got there and I panicked for a
moment, fearing my personal research assistant had abandoned me for a younger,
more handsome, more useless man.  “Excuse me!” A man called out from
behind me.  I turned to see a very tall man in big-rimmed glasses waving
to me.  I walked over and asked for the young woman who was around
earlier.  “I thought it was you.  Sarah had to go, but she finished
pulling the information you wanted.  She asked me to keep an eye out for,
how did she put it? 
‘A very sarcastic man in a brown
jacket’.”
  I looked down at my jacket, which was indeed brown, and
was still confused.

“How did you know I
was sarcastic?”

“We’re public
servants, sir.  We get so much sarcasm we can smell it on you when you
walk in.”  I stared up at him and then burst into laughter.

“That’s very good,”
I said.  “I guess you knew I could take a joke, too, huh?”

“We’re public
servants, sir.  We don’t care how anyone takes anything, as long as they
take it and go.”  With that, he reached under the counter and pulled out a
small stack of photo copies.  He dropped them on the counter top and asked
“Anything else?”  I stepped forward and fumbled through the few pages that
were there.  There wasn’t much.  “Is there anything else, sir?” 
He asked again, a little louder.

“No, thank you,” I
replied, concentrating on the papers. “What do I owe you for the copies?” 
As I asked, my eyes fell upon a copy of a newspaper article that was a little
more than ten years old.  The headline read:

LOCAL MUSEUM VANDALIZED

CURATOR VOWS TO FIND
STOLEN ART

“It’s a steal at
five cents a copy,” he said sarcastically.  At that moment, that very
moment, the neurons started to fire.  The lights went on upstairs, the
elevator went all the way up, I was cooking with gas, I was on fire, I was off
like a shoot pick a metaphor and run with it just try to keep up with
Reevan,
Leon, Carol, Dennis, Tommy, Simon, Arnold, Ida, caterers, music, fountain,
chandelier, botanist florist what’s the difference, white orchid, It is Carol
isn’t it, bank statements, Drop it off on my way to work, I didn’t do
nothin
, out for dinner,
Gotta
love public records, retirement, What’s he done, he’s Reevan, he’s the one you
want, oh can I talk now, vandalized, I sat on them, parasitic plant, The End of
Eden, who the hell is Arnie, they prefer to look at the homeland, assistant for
over seven years, Dennis killed him the fat bastard, who the hell do you think
you are, twenty-five big ones, it’s a steal, didn’t do
nothin
,
anger management, nice deposit, Janet, out for dinner, is that my orchid, call
Bruce
Chancey
, succeed despite their efforts, bank
statements, yeah five years, what good are you, sir, messy afternoon, departed
wife, sir, missing art, yeah five years, Sir?, It’s a steal, bank statements,
Sir? 
Sir?
 
“Sir!
 
Are you in there?

“
Wh
-
what?” I said, my heart
pounding in my throat.

“I said five cents a
copy.”

“Where’s the phone?”

“Excuse me?”

“The
phone!
  The phone! 
Where’s
the goddamn phone!
”  The library came to a halt.  The shuffling
feet, the rustling pages, the clicking keys all disappeared.  There was
nothing except me, a tall man in black rimmed glasses, and a library full of
eyes staring at us both.

The weenie behind
the counter reached under it again and put an ancient taupe telephone on the
counter.  “Now get lost!” I barked.  He jumped, and walked
away.  I dialed and then peered around the open room as the phone
rang.  As my eyes met those of the people around me, they quickly
jump-started themselves into carrying on again.  “Come on…come on…pick
up…Myron!”

“Professor?
  What’s wrong?  You sound ups-”

“Shut up Myron, for
God’s sake, shut up!  Do you have the statements Myron?”

“You mean Medley’s
bank statements?  Yeah, but I already went through them.  There’s
nothing in
th
-”

“Look again,
Myron.  Look again.  You said Arnold had a few deposits every month,
didn’t you?  You said he had one ‘nice deposit’.  Remember?”

“Yeah, I did, but I
told you it was just the usual stuff.”

“Did you follow up
like you said?  Did you call Bruce?”

“Well, no, but
why?  We got the kids
alrea
-”

“She died five years
ago?”  I blurted out.

“What? Who? 
Who died?”

“Janet Medley.”

“Okay, so what.”

“Carol
Sykora
told me that she and Arnold Medley went out to
dinner about five years ago
just after his wife died
!”

“So, she was a bit
overeager, what’s your point?”

“Don’t you
see
!
  You told me that Arnold was getting
a
nice deposit
for the past
seven years!
  You said you thought it
was his wife’s insurance policy payouts, but it can’t be because she-”

“Only died five
years ago,” he muttered.

“Yes!”  I
screamed, and the library came to another screeching halt.  The tall dweeb
started towards me, and I shot him a look that must have turned his blood
cold.  He stopped in his tracks and backed up, nearly tripping over a book
cart.  I looked around at the other patrons, who all began to examine
their shoes or their watches.

“Professor?
  Professor!  So where is the money coming
from? 
Investments of some kind?”

“I doubt it,
Myron.  I pulled Arnold’s personnel file and Curators don’t make as much
as you might think in this county, or probably any county for that matter, but
especially
this county!
”

“Professor, you’re
rambling!  What are you talking about?  Do you know where the money
is coming from?”

“I think I do, but
there’s no time to explain.  I need you to confirm it all. Call Bruce
Chancey
, Myron.  Confirm where all of those deposits
were coming from,
then
get everyone to the
museum!  I’ll meet you there!  Hurry, we’ll only get one shot at
this, Myron!”

“Professor,
wait! 
The museum?
 
Everyone?
Why?”  But I was gone. I was charging towards the door and before I knew
it, I was in the car racing home.  I had to get the files, had to get the
proof.  To cram one more metaphor into this synopsis:  Stick a fork
in it, this case was done.

LOCAL MUSEUM VANDALIZED

CURATOR VOWS TO FIND
STOLEN ART

Over one hundred
thousand dollars…that’s how much the taxpayers of the City of Beaumont are
going to have to pay to get their Art Museum back to normal.

According
to the Beaumont P.D., an unidentified individual or individuals broke into the
Beaumont Museum of Art two nights ago.  So far, three pieces have been
reported stolen and countless others damaged during the break-in.  Damaged
art and exhibits can often be restored by competent professionals, but the
service doesn’t come cheap.  Local Art Restorer Peter
Deleuth
stated that “the damaged sculptures could easily cost the City $10,000 to
restore, which pales in comparison to the $40,000 needed to restore various
paintings and damage to the museum structure itself.”