One Grave Too Many

were the original renovations?” He looked at Diane.
    Laura frowned; so did Kenneth. His numbers did look good, but Diane had no doubt he’d fudged some of them. Only Vanessa’s eyes twinkled as she fanned herself with the budget.
    “I have a question,” said Diane.
    “All right,” answered Mark.
    “I don’t see any mention of the museum’s one hundred million dollars’ worth of assets in paintings reflected in these figures. Nor do I see how you plan to accommodate them in the new building. You know, of course, I would expect to remove them before this building is sold to your investors.”
    Everyone except Vanessa and Mark looked, bewildered, at Diane. Vanessa still fanned herself. Mark had turned several shades of red.
    “What’s she talking about, Mark?” Craig Amberson frowned as he looked at Mark across the table.
    “A hundred million dollars?” said Gordon Atwell. “Mark, do you know what she means?”
    “Well, I don’t know,” said Kenneth Myers and Harvey Phelps together.
    Madge Stewart kept flipping through the pages of the budget. “I don’t understand. There’s nothing here about paintings. Isn’t that a lot of money for paintings?”
    Donald, sitting by Madge at the end of the long table, looked relieved. Diane supposed it was because in the end he’d chosen his side correctly.
    “You didn’t tell them, Mark?” said Diane. “You weren’t going to share all that profit, were you?”
    “Shut up, you fucking bitch,” Mark exploded, standing up, red-faced, staring down at Diane, looking like he wanted to strangle her.
    Madge audibly sucked in her breath.
    “Here, here,” said Kenneth. “Mark, I think you have some explaining to do.”
    Diane didn’t take her eyes from Mark. “In case you were wondering, Signy wasn’t incompetent the night of the reception. She successfully slipped me the glass with the—was it Rohypnol?—but someone saw her and switched the glasses back.” She looked at the group. “That was what that strange episode was about at the last board meeting. Signy got the drink meant to make me look like a drunken fool in front of all the contributors.”
    “I didn’t sign on for that,” said Craig Amberson, rising to face Mark.
    Gordon Atwell nervously tapped his fingers on the table.
    Mark took another look at Diane. She saw in the depths of his gray eyes that she’d made an enemy for life. They were so filled with hate that she wondered if it could have been him behind her attacks—just diverting attention to the skeleton because it was a handy red herring.
    “Do you have anything to add to your report before we vote?” she said, not unlocking her gaze from his.
    He turned and left the room.
    “I’ll take that as a no,” said Diane after the door slammed behind him.
    The remaining board members seemed to be stunned into silence.
    She turned her attention to the other conspirators. “What I want to know, Mr. Atwell, is was it you or someone else who requested ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’ at the reception?”
    He said nothing, but she could hear the labor of his breathing.
    “You have grandchildren. So do you, Craig. You know how cruel that was. Is this the kind of men you are? If so, I want your resignations from the board.”
    “I told Mark that was perhaps unwise,” Atwell said finally.
    “Perhaps unwise. Yes. Perhaps it was.”
    “Will someone tell me what’s going on?” said Harvey Phelps.
    “The paintings on the wall in the Pleistocene and dinosaur rooms are remarkably valuable. We had an expert from the Metropolitan Museum of Art come in today and appraise them.”
    “The ones with the unicorns?” said Madge.
    “Yes. Mark apparently had them appraised several weeks ago by someone at the Heron Museum of Art. He knew their value. That’s when he got the idea of buying the museum building and the paintings and moving us out to that second-rate Vista Building.”
    She hoped she was sufficiently rubbing Craig’s and Gordon’s noses in it.
    “Korey and Dr. Allison Onfroi from the Metropolitan Museum of Art are working on protecting them,” she added.
    Craig Amberson and Gordon Atwell looked defeated. Apparently, Mark Grayson hadn’t told them about the paintings.
    “I think this meeting is adjourned. We aren’t selling the museum. For our next board meeting we need to get down to the business of the museum, and put this mess behind us.”
    Diane sat back in her chair, exhausted. Just as soon as she talked to Jonas