Dead Hunt

of Milo Lorenzo’s goals for the museum. I will not let all we have accomplished be sabotaged by rumors.’’ Diane wondered if her face looked as hot as it felt.
‘‘Where did the newspaper get the information in the first place?’’ asked Harvey Phelps. He had been fingering a copy of the newspaper tucked away on his lap. Diane noticed that he had looked sheepish the entire meeting. Another friend who felt guilty confronting her.
Most of the members had remained quiet, perhaps letting Barclay be the bad guy, a role he seemed to relish. Diane supposed they hadn’t said anything because all the words they had for her were of reproof and they hadn’t wanted to scold her. But they had wanted answers.
‘‘I don’t know who the original source was,’’ said Diane. ‘‘But I will find out. Someone set out to do us harm. And I will find out who they are.’’
Harvey smiled at Diane. He tried making it the avuncular smile he usually had for her, but it came up a little short. ‘‘What are we doing about the problem?’’ he asked.
‘‘I’ve told the registrar’s office . . . ’’ Diane noticed a puzzled look from the newer members. ‘‘That’s where we review provenances,’’ she explained. ‘‘I told them to start reviewing the provenance for the Egyptian artifacts immediately. My best detective has agreed to cut short his vacation and find the source of this attack on us.’’
‘‘Our bank uses a good detective agency I can recommend,’’ offered Barclay.
Diane supposed he wanted to purchase back some of the ground he had lost by now being helpful. She really wanted to ask him what a bank needed with a detective agency.
‘‘David will do an excellent job,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Professionals in the field will do a better job than museum people,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m sure your people are good at researching artifacts, but this investigation needs to be out in the real world.’’
Diane didn’t believe that he meant to be insulting. He was just one of those people who was out of touch with anything that wasn’t in his world. She folded her arms and looked at him for a moment.
‘‘I think you’re forgetting that Diane’s also director of the crime lab over in the west wing,’’ said Kenneth Meyerson. ‘‘Her people are pretty professional in the real world.’’
‘‘Yes. Well, I suppose I must have forgotten. One doesn’t think of that in a museum,’’ he said.
‘‘How is Kendel?’’ interrupted Vanessa.
Vanessa liked Kendel—well enough to let the assistant director talk her out of a ten-thousand-dollar diamond to put in the gemstone reference collection.
‘‘Not well at the moment. As you can imagine, this has been devastating,’’ said Diane.
Madge looked up suddenly from somewhere deep in her thoughts. ‘‘You don’t think she will sue me, do you?’’ she asked.
‘‘I would,’’ said Diane.
Madge sucked in her breath and her eyes grew large and round. She looked frightened. Diane hoped she would think before she spoke from now on.
‘‘But what should I have said?’’ asked Madge. ‘‘The woman said Kendel was guilty.’’
‘‘You say you have no comment, and then refer them to me,’’ said Diane. ‘‘That would be good for all of you. The charter specifies the director as the official spokesperson for the museum. I’m the one with the most up-to-date information. And we do have policies in place to handle these matters.’’
They nodded, muttering among themselves in agreement. Barclay sat looking at his glasses. Diane noticed he no longer looked as if he were going to make her explain herself.
The room was tense and Diane wanted to leave it that way. The mission of the board was advisory, and they had offered only recriminations. However, her friend Laura sat smiling brightly. Laura liked to end things upbeat. Diane supposed it was the psychiatrist in her. Diane started to adjourn when she heard the phone ringing in the adjacent office.
‘‘I have to take this call,’’ said Diane. Ignoring the frown Barclay gave her, she left the table and entered the small, bare, little-used office off the boardroom. It had a large window that allowed her to watch the boardroom.
She picked up the phone. ‘‘This is Diane Fallon. Is this Grace Noel Tully?’’

Chapter 9
    ‘‘Yes, I’m Mrs. Grace Tully,’’ said the voice on the other end of the phone. ‘‘The girl said something about your being the director of the