Ming Tea Murder Page 11

  “What about the dome light?” said Max. “Won’t it come on when I open the door?”

  Theodosia hit a button. “Not anymore.”

  They sat there, the engine purring softly, both of them feeling a sense of nervous anticipation.

  “Well?” said Theodosia. “It’s now or never.”

  Max bent over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Now,” he said, then slipped quietly out the passenger door. He cut directly in front of her, and then crossed the back patio where, in warmer weather, outdoor receptions were often held.

  Theodosia watched him carefully. Max wove his way through the statue garden, past a small fountain, and was closing in fast on the museum’s back door. So far so good.

  She saw him reach the door and stand there for a moment, as if assessing the situation. Then his hand reached out and punched his code into the keypad.

  Good. He’ll be inside in about two seconds flat.

  But two seconds passed and Max was still fussing with the keypad.

  What?

  Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. She watched him, frustration building as Max continued to punch in numbers. Finally, in a gesture of exasperation, he threw his hands in the air and headed back toward her.

  “What?” Theodosia said once Max had climbed back inside her Jeep.

  “Crap!” said Max. He was practically shaking with anger.

  “What?”

  “They changed the code on the keypad.”

  “All because of you?”

  “That snake Kern probably did it,” said Max. “There’s no way I’m going to get inside now.”

  Theodosia mulled this over. “How many numbers is the code usually?”

  “Four.”

  “How hard can that be?” said Theodosia. “To come up with the correct sequence, I mean. Wait a minute.” She made a few quick calculations and frowned. “Hmm, could there really be nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine possible combinations? Could that even be right?”

  “I’m no math genius, but I’ll bet it’s something like that,” said Max. “And if we enter too many false tries, it could trip a warning.”

  “Plan B then,” said Theodosia.

  “What exactly is plan B?”

  Theodosia gripped the steering wheel. “I’m thinking.”

  “Jeez, Theo,” said Max. “I thought you had this all figured out. You’re always so good at this sleuthing thing.”

  “Chill. Please.”

  They sat there for a couple more minutes.

  “Okay, I’ve got another idea,” said Theodosia.

  Max still looked defeated. “What now?”

  “I ran into Percy Capers this morning, and he was kind enough to offer his help. He basically said he was in your corner one hundred percent.”

  “He really said that?” Max blinked rapidly and his voice suddenly sounded hoarse. “That’s really something. I guess he is one of the good guys.”

  “I think we should call him,” said Theodosia.

  “I’d feel funny doing that,” said Max.

  “I wouldn’t,” said Theodosia.

  • • •

  The phone call took less than sixty seconds, and Percy Capers was there in under five minutes.

  He came rolling down the dark alley and pulled up behind them, the engine of his bottle-green Jaguar XJ thrumming quietly.

  “He’s here,” Theodosia whispered.

  “What a guy,” said Max. He sounded surprised. “Especially since he could be putting his job in jeopardy.”

  “I think I’ve got this worked out,” said Theodosia. “Give me your office key.”

  “What?”

  “If you go pussyfooting around inside the museum and get caught, it’ll be your head on a platter. But if I go, no problem.” She pushed an errant fluff of hair away from her darting eyes. “You don’t think they changed the lock on your office, do you?”

  “Probably not,” said Max.

  “Then give me your key.”

  “No way are you going in there,” said Max.

  “Sure I am. Where’s your guest list stashed?”

  “Top drawer on the left. But what if you get caught?”

  “I told you, if I get caught, it’s no big deal.”

  “Sure it is,” said Max. “If they catch you, you’ll be charged with breaking and entering.”

  “Not really,” said Theodosia. “Because I won’t be breaking anything.”

  Reluctantly, Max handed over his office key. “Only the law.”

  • • •

  “Thank you for coming,” Theodosia whispered to Capers. They were crouched between the two vehicles, whispering. It was so dark in the alley, she could barely see him.

  “I never could stand a damsel in distress,” Capers said. Then, “You want me to come with you? I assume you’re making a foray into Max’s office.”

  “I’m trying to retrieve the guest list.”

  “Ah.”

  “I really just need the code for the keypad,” said Theodosia.

  “The director changed it yesterday afternoon,” said Capers. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to her. “Here. Good luck.” A smile flickered across his face. “If you get caught, chew it up and swallow it or something. Anyway, don’t get caught.”

  “I don’t plan to,” said Theodosia.

  • • •

  The code was one nine zero three. Theodosia was pretty sure it was the year the museum had been founded. Some code. If a thief really wanted to get inside and load up a pillowcase full of priceless artifacts, wouldn’t he run through all the logical four-digit numbers that related to the museum? Sure, he would. In fact, that’s what she would have done if she’d had more time.

  As it was, the scenario was a simple open sesame all the way. Theodosia eased her way through the back door, tiptoed down a dimly lit hallway, then hooked a right down another hallway that led to the wing that housed the offices for the curators, administration, and support staff.

  Max’s office was the third door on the left.

  She slipped the key into the lock, heard a click, and then turned it slowly. The heavy wooden door swung open and, just like that—bim, bam, boom—she was inside his office.

  Theodosia closed the door and stood with her back pressed up against the cool wood. She waited a couple of minutes for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then headed straight for Max’s desk. He told her he’d stuck the guest list in the top left drawer, so that’s where she looked first.

  Sliding the drawer open slowly, so there were no telltale creaks or squeaks, Theodosia peered in. And saw a jumble of papers. Hmm, Max wasn’t as neat as she thought he was. She pulled out a handful of loose paper and piled it on top of his desk. Then—slowly, carefully—she turned on the small desk lamp.

  The flash of light jolted her at first. It felt so bright, like a signal flare that would betray her presence at any moment. But when Theodosia didn’t hear the clatter of footsteps running toward her, and when no armed guards appeared to haul her off to jail, she inched up her nerve and began to pour through the unruly nest of papers. There were press releases, expense reports, office memos, and dozens of other papers. She really hadn’t realized that Max was such a pack rat. Not only that, he seemed to like to print out pages from his computer, whereas she was content to let her e-mails and memos reside on her computer in digital form for all eternity.

  Still, she kept sorting and searching until, finally, there at the bottom of the pile was the guest list.

  Eureka.

  Theodosia folded up the single page and jammed it into her jacket pocket. Then she snapped off the lamp.

  Retracing her steps, she put a hand on the doorknob, drew a hesitant breath, and turned it. When she was standing back outside in the ha
llway, she inserted the key and locked the door.

  There. Done and done. Now to get out of here.

  She glanced down the long, dark corridor and noticed a faint spill of light.

  Unless . . .

  Someone besides her was in the museum. Sitting in their office, late at night, all by themselves.

  And they were doing . . . what?

  Curiosity burned brightly within her. She knew she probably shouldn’t risk it. On the other hand, she wondered if there might be some information to be gained.

  Putting one hand against the wall to steady herself, Theodosia reached down and slipped off her loafers. Clutching them, she tiptoed soundlessly down the corridor in her stocking feet.

  The light was on in Elliot Kern’s office. For some reason, this didn’t surprise her. Her meeting with him today had set off some low-level warning vibe, some sixth sense, as if the man knew more than he was letting on.

  On the other hand, the culprit tonight could be his secretary, Mary Monica. Snarfing up the last bit of scone? Tidying up?

  No, it wasn’t Mary Monica, because as Theodosia crept down the hallway, one shoulder gently brushing the wall, she could hear a low voice, a masculine growl.

  She reached the outer office and peered in. The room was dark and shadowy, Mary Monica’s desk looming like a barrier in front of the door that led to Kern’s office. The office that glowed with faint light. Where a voice could definitely be heard.

  Up until just that second, Theodosia had been fairly certain that she wanted to satisfy her curiosity. Now she wasn’t so sure. Sneaking into Max’s office had been dangerous enough, but this might be pushing the envelope.

  Still, she wondered what Kern was doing here all by his lonesome and so late at night. Reviewing the budget? Doubtful. Planning next year’s exhibitions? Maybe. Trying to cover something up? Possibly.

  Barely breathing, walking on tiptoe now, Theodosia moved closer to the door of Kern’s office. It was half open, a V of yellow light spilling out into the dark outer office. And he was still talking on the phone, mumbling to someone.

  What is he saying?

  Throwing caution to the wind, Theodosia moved closer and put a hand up to cup her ear, just like she’d seen robbers and jewel thieves do in movies. She was vaguely aware that, should she get caught, she would probably be prosecuted in much the same manner as a jewel thief, her only consolation being that Burt Tidwell headed the Robbery and Homicide Division and might show her a sliver of mercy. Maybe.

  Barely breathing and practically undulating toward the doorway, Theodosia crept forward. She’d determined that Kern was alone and talking on the phone, since the faint grunts and words she’d been hearing definitely sounded like a one-sided conversation.

  She was closer now and could hear Kern’s words a little more clearly. He was saying something about “a great deal of money.” Then there was a pause, and he mumbled something that sounded like “probably in the clear.”

  A great deal of money for what? she wondered. And who was probably in the clear? Kern? Webster’s killer?

  The words struck Theodosia as being so ominous that suddenly all she wanted to do was get out of there. Holding her breath, she backed out of the office. When she hit the dark hallway, she spun around and ran soundlessly, as fast as her legs could carry her.

  And when she burst through the back door and felt the cool night air brush across her face, all she could think was Thank heavens!

  12

  Back home at her cottage, Theodosia finally worked up the courage to tell Max about her very strange detour.

  “Excuse me—you snuck down to Kern’s office?” Max was flabbergasted. His face turned red, his voice grew strident, and his eyes fairly popped. “And he was actually there?”

  Theodosia nodded. “All I did was tiptoe down the hallway and eavesdrop on his conversation. I didn’t do anything else. I didn’t want to risk it.”

  “Risk it? What you did was bad enough. Jeez, I wondered what took you so long. I was almost frantic, thinking the worst.”

  “Listen . . . Max.” She clutched his arm. “What if Kern had something to do with Edgar Webster’s death?”

  Max looked stunned for a second time. “Why would you even say that? Yes, he’s been harsh with me, but . . . Wait a minute, what exactly did you overhear tonight?”

  “I heard Kern talking on the phone, mumbling something about money,” said Theodosia. “I think his exact words were ‘a great deal of money.’ And then he said something about being ‘probably in the clear.’”

  “But what does that mean?” said Max. “Taken out of context, it just sounds like a bunch of gibberish. It could be anything.”

  But Theodosia’s eyes glowed hot with excitement. “Bear with me for a minute, because I have a theory. What if . . . what if this has something to do with Webster’s company? With Datrex?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I think I told you—Webster’s partner, Roger Greaves, was chomping at the bit to take the company public. That would have brought in a huge infusion of cash.”

  Max gazed at her. “Okay.” He lifted a hand and waggled his fingers, making a “gimme more” gesture.

  “But Webster was in a huge flap over the IPO,” Theodosia continued. “He didn’t want it to go through. But now that Webster’s dead, that IPO will undoubtedly happen.”

  Max still wasn’t following her completely. “Okay.”

  “So maybe there’s some kind of slick deal going on. Maybe Kern is buying shares that will skyrocket once the IPO is announced.”

  “Isn’t that what they call insider trading?” said Max.

  “That’s exactly right,” said Theodosia.

  “That would mean that Kern and Greaves are buddies.”

  “We don’t know that they are,” said Theodosia. “And they wouldn’t have to be friendly buddies, but they could be in collusion.”

  “Okay,” said Max, “and I am following your line of thought, albeit tenuously. What I think you’re saying is that Kern could have . . . um . . . helped facilitate this deal by murdering Webster?”

  “See?” said Theodosia. “You’re becoming just as suspicious as I am.”

  “Maybe,” said Max. “But if your theory is correct, that would be the craziest thing I’ve heard yet.”

  “But think about it,” said Theodosia. “It tracks. You have to admit that it tracks.”

  “Somewhat.”

  “And Elliot Kern was in the perfect position to set you up. To frame you.”

  “Do you think Kern really believes I’ll go down for the murder?” said Max.

  “Maybe not. Probably not. But in the meantime, he’s blown up a huge smokescreen around it. He’s shunted the investigation away from him and put it squarely onto your shoulders.”

  “So Kern is a possible suspect,” said Max. He said it slowly, almost as if he could taste the words forming in his mouth.

  “In a kind of far-fetched way, I’d have to say yes,” said Theodosia. “Yes, he is.”

  Max backed up against one of the dining room chairs and sat down heavily. “Cripes.” Shoulders slumped, he gazed at her. “So what do we do now?”

  Theodosia slid into the chair across from him and pulled the guest list from her pocket. “For one thing, we stick to our immediate plan. We keep an eye on Kern as a possible suspect, and we take a good, hard look at this guest list.”

  “The guest list,” said Max, finally glancing at it. “With everything you’ve been laying on me, I almost forgot it was our original objective.”

  Theodosia smoothed out the wrinkled sheet of paper. “There must be fifty names here.” She turned the list around and slid it across the table to Max.

  “Sixty-two to be exact,” said Max. “Not counting museum staff members who were also present.”

  “
That’s way too many people for us to investigate. What we need to do is eliminate as many names as possible. The ones who feel illogical anyway. You know, like interns, wives of board members, people who probably wouldn’t have had anything to do with Webster.”

  “Okay,” said Max. “Let’s get out a red pen and try to do that.”

  • • •

  Fifteen minutes later, they’d pared the list down to a more manageable twenty names. They crossed out names of people who were deemed far too mild-mannered to even consider committing murder, a few older ladies, several museum interns, and some people who just didn’t seem logical or didn’t fit the profile of a potential killer.

  “Better,” said Max.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Theodosia. She ran her index finger down the list and hesitated when she came to Cecily’s name. “Cecily Conrad,” she said. “She’s still one of our main suspects. And we know she had motive.”

  “Sure, but could she kill?” asked Max.

  “You saw her the other night, when she turned her wrath on you. What do you think?”

  “I feel like if she’d had a gun, she might have pulled the trigger.”

  “Well, there you go,” said Theodosia. “So, from the looks of things, we have four main suspects—Cecily, Charlotte Webster, Roger Greaves, and now Elliot Kern. That’s our A-list.”

  “And our B-list?”

  “The other sixteen or so people.”

  “Whew,” said Max. “A lot to think about.” He ran the back of his hand across his mouth. “Makes me feel kind of shaky.”

  “Do you want something to eat?” said Theodosia. “Are you having a protein drop? You never really finished your dinner.”

  “I think maybe I’ve done enough eating, theorizing, and breaking and entering for the evening. Maybe I should just take off. Do something to calm my nerves.”

  Theodosia walked him to the entryway and watched him shrug into his suede jacket.

  “Where are you off to?” She put her arms around him and gave him a squeeze. She hated the idea of Max just wandering around, fretting about his lost job and all the unfair accusations that went along with it.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go home and change and then go for a late run. Blow out the carbon. Or maybe I’ll head over to that cigar bar on Wentworth Street and hang out for a while.”