Dead Guilty by Beverly Connor

adults
at each end came into the museum.
‘‘We’re from the Rosewood Summer Library Pro
gram,’’ one of the adults announced to Jennifer and
then turned and cautioned the children—five girls and
three boys—to stay together. They weren’t listening.
Their attention had immediately focused on the coffin.
‘‘Is there a real mummy inside there?’’ asked a lit
tle girl.
That’s what I’d like to know, thought Diane.
Jennifer, dressed in black slacks and a museum teeshirt, stepped from the booth and greeted them. She
nodded her head vigorously.
‘‘Yes, there is. It just arrived, and it will be going
up to our conservation lab. We’re all very excited. We
believe
it’s from
the
twelfth dynasty
in Egypt.
That
was about four thousand years ago.’’
Jennifer was more forthcoming to the children than
to Diane. That seemed to be one of her characteristics.
She
was
good
with
children,
somewhat
absent
with
adults.
‘‘Can we see him?’’ asked a blond curly-haired boy
of about eight.
The docent arrived before Jennifer had to answer,
taking
charge
of
the
group
in
a
way
that
was
both
firm and kind. The herd of children, pulling the adults
behind them, skipped and bounced out of sight on the
first leg of their tour.
Diane turned back to Jennifer. ‘‘What’s this?’’ she
began, just as Kendel Williams came through the dou
ble doors leading from the administrative offices.
Kendel had fine brown hair turned under in a 1940s
style, cut to a length just above the padded shoulders
of her gray tailored suit. She had brown eyes, straight
posture,
and
a
soft
voice.
Ladylike
was
how
Andie
had described her to Diane when Kendel had come
to interview for the position of assistant director.
In
looks
and
manner
Kendel was
the
opposite
of
Diane—soft where Diane was hard. One of the things
she had liked about Kendel was that her looks were
deceptive.
Like
all
the
applicants,
she
had
several
years’ of experience in upper museum administration.
What Diane had discovered in the interview and from
the people she called for references was that Kendal
was tough when it came to championing her museum
and
acquiring
holdings.
What’s
more,
Kendel
knew
museum culture.
That was a strength Diane didn’t have. She under
stood the museum’s structure and administration, but
she was also an outsider among those career museum
people
who
had
come
up
through
the
ranks.
Diane
had been plucked from the technical field of forensic
anthropology
and
hired
as
director.
She
knew
that
some people inside the museum culture resented that.
The relationships among museums were a mixture
of intense competition and helpful collaboration. Kendel was familiar with most of the major museums and
how they worked and who she could work with. Diane
liked
her.
She’d
never
asked
Kendel
how
she
felt
about snakes.
‘‘Dr.
Fallon,’’
she
said
breathlessly,
‘‘I’m
so
sorry
about yesterday morning. I don’t usually go off like
that.’’
‘‘It’s all right. I understand that you didn’t expect
to
find
a
snake
coiled
up
in
your
desk
drawer
the
second day on the job.’’
The
elusive
museum
snake
had
made
a
rare
appearance—unfortunately,
in
Kendel’s
desk
drawer—
giving Diane another opportunity to rue the day she
had told the herpetologists they could create a terrar
ium for live snakes.
‘‘Only
nonpoisonous
snakes,’’
she
had
told
them.
‘‘And make sure the terrarium is escape proof.’’
At least they were able to keep one of her condi
tions. It was a harmless black snake that escaped. The
only
ones
who
ever
ran
across
it
were
people
who
wouldn’t think of trying to catch it. The herpetologist
and his assistants hadn’t even caught a glimpse of it.
Kendel was quickly followed by Andie Layne, Di
ane’s assistant; Jonas Briggs, staff archaeologist; and
Korey Jordan, head conservator. They gathered with
Diane around the mummy case.
Diane looked at Andie. ‘‘I seem to remember