A Gala Event by Sheila Connolly

without him. You aren’t going to drag him away to the big city, are you?”
    â€œNo way,” Meg said, laughing. “He’d probably wither away and die. Can you imagine him getting up and putting on a suit every morning? Besides, I like it here.”
    They arrived at the Historical Society building in five minutes. No crime scene tape across the door, Meg noted. But then, nobody was sure if there was a crime involved. Maybe the poor guy had had a projectile nosebleed, if there was such a thing. “Art says it’s okay to go back in?”
    â€œHe told me he’s collected whatever evidence there was, which wasn’t much. And I don’t think the guy ever touched anything, so there’s no point in taking fingerprints.” Gail took a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”
    She climbed quickly out of the car, and Meg followed. When Gail reached the door and pulled out her key, Meg saw that her hand was trembling, but in the end Gail managed to get the door open. Inside it was surprisingly warm. “Drat,” Gail said. “Usually I turn the heat down when I leave—no sense in wasting the power. I guess I was a little distracted last night.”
    â€œYou might say that,” Meg said. At least Gail could joke about this.
    Gail squared her shoulders and marched into the main room, then stopped, her eyes roaming over the site. To Meg’s eyes, nothing seemed out of place, or at least, nothing had been moved since the night before. The kitchen exhibit had borne the brunt of the . . . incident, and the well-worn wooden table was covered with blood spatter, as was the cardboard box Gail had been unpacking when she was interrupted. A few blood drops were visible, leading from the kitchen corner to the front door. There was no sign of damage.
    â€œWhat we need now is some hot soapy water and sponges, I think,” Gail said, her voice a little shaky. “We’ve got those in the storage closet, and thanks to Seth we now have hot water in the bathroom. Can you get me a bucket and fill it, while I clear away this stuff?”
    â€œSure, no problem.” Meg found the items Gail had requested, and took the bucket into the small new bathroom to fill it. Despite the space limitations, it was well designed—kudos to Seth. It gave her hope for her own anticipated bathroom. She filled the bucket, added cleaner, found a couple of pairs of rubber gloves, and brought it all out to Gail. Gailhad removed the box of kitchen utensils and the other articles that had been on the table—including, Meg was amused to see, the hypothetical vertical apple peeler she’d mentioned to Seth. Her subconscious mind must have noticed it the day before. For a moment she wondered how it might work, but Gail called her back to the task at hand. “Clean!” She held out a sponge, and Meg took it.
    An hour later the room was sparkling, and cleaner than it had been before last night. Meg and Gail stood side by side and admired their work. “Looks good, Gail,” Meg said.
    â€œThat it does. I think I’ll finish unpacking that box and play around with the kitchen display—that’s always popular. Shoot! I think we used up all the paper towels. We’ve got plenty more, but there isn’t room to store them in this building, so we stuck them all in the shed behind the house across the street.”
    â€œThat’s right—you own that property.”
    â€œWe do. It’s rented out, to a really nice older couple, and we said they could use one parking space in the shed. But the Historical Society reserved the right to store some of our less-fragile collections at the far end, and at the moment that includes bulk cleaning supplies. Do you mind running out and retrieving a couple of rolls while I sort through this stuff?”
    â€œSure. I won’t startle the residents, will I?”
    â€œI’m not sure they’re around this