Dead Past

career in museums.”
    “You mean you won’t fire me?” said Darcy. She looked stunned.
    “No, I’m not firing you. You can work as a docent. If you choose to quit, you won’t get a letter of recommendation.”
    “Does everyone have to know?” asked Darcy. She looked around at all the flowers.
    “No, you can tell them you want to work with kids, if you want.”
    Darcy looked at both her parents. They smiled at her.
    “Thank you,” she said to Diane. “I appreciate a second chance, I really do. Why are you giving me one?”
    “There has been enough tragedy in the last couple of weeks. It needs to stop.”
    Diane bid Darcy good-bye and left her room. Her parents followed her out.
    Her father hitched up his pants by the belt and put his hands on his hips. Her mother laced her arm through his.
    “You’ve been more than fair with Darcy,” said her father. “Her mother and I thank you for that. She really is a good girl—I don’t understand how she could fall for that guy.” He shook his head.
    “Guys like Blake Stanton are good at conning people,” said Diane.
    “He certainly did a number on my little girl,” he said.
    “I hope Darcy continues to recover,” said Diane.
    “The doctors said she’s doing well. We’re real grateful for that. We’d like to take her home to convalesce when she’s released. Will that affect her job?” he asked.
    “No. She doesn’t have to come back until she’s well.”
    Diane left the hospital and drove to the museum. It was a relief to have the talk with Darcy over with. She had been dreading it ever since she found out that Darcy was Blake’s girlfriend. It had been a welcome surprise that she wanted to confess and showed true remorse. That made Diane’s job easier—and made it easier to give her a break. Now, if the other stolen items could just be recovered.
    The museum was opening for the day when she arrived. There were two big tour buses sitting in the parking lot. Diane liked seeing that, especially in this weather. Inside there was a long line at the ticket counter. Chaperoning a line of schoolchildren were several teachers and parents whom she recognized as having visited many times. And there were others who were vaguely familiar. She was glad to see so many repeat visitors.
    She crossed the lobby and headed for Aquatics. She wanted to tell Juliet that she had spoken with her grandmother.

Chapter 39

    “Dr. Fallon.”
    The voice was one of the chaperones standing in line with a group of children. Damn. She didn’t want to be delayed right now. She smiled and walked over to him.
    “Dr. Thormond.”
    Diane held out her hand to the man standing with twenty or so third graders. Martin Thormond was a history professor she’d met on campus at one of her presentations for the museum. She knew he was angling to be one of the curators she recruited from the university, but his area of expertise wasn’t represented in the museum. The closest museum area to his expertise would be archaeology, and she already had an archaeology curator in Jonas Briggs.
    It was odd. When she first presented the idea of university professors serving as curators in exchange for providing them office and research space, it was met with a great deal of skepticism and downright snobbery in some cases. Now, apparently, curator at the RiverTrail museum had become a plum assignment.
    “It’s good to see you again,” said Diane. “I see you’ve been tagged for chaperone duty. One of these yours?”
    “Michael over there.”
    He pointed to a blond-headed kid making faces at two little girls, apparently seeing how wide he could stretch his mouth with his fingers.
    “Yep, that’s my pride and joy,” he said.
    He laughed and, at the same time trying to keep the rest of his wards in a straight line, caught a dark-headed boy about to make a break for it.
    “I tell you, I now have much more respect for a mother duck.”
    Diane laughed and muttered some comment about their energy. The level of noise was getting louder as more children arrived. Diane wondered where the docents were.
    Some girls in another line were saying tongue twisters to each other.
    “Say this,” one said. “She sells seashells at the seashore.”
    It was answered by another little girl with perfect pronunciation.
    “Now say it real fast.”
    That was harder and ended in a fit of laughter.
    “Try this real fast. Black bugs blood, black bugs blood.”
    That twister erupted in a tangle of words and