Dead Guilty by Beverly Connor

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 saying something about not wanting to see any orders for mummies come across my desk.’’
Andie’s Orphan Annie curly brown-red hair bounced as she laughed. ‘‘And you won’t. This is a donation.’’
‘‘Nice,’’ said Korey. He placed a gloved hand on the case. ‘‘This is in good condition. Can’t wait to see inside it.’’ His white teeth were bright against his brown skin.
‘‘It’s from a James Lionel-Kirk,’’ said Kendel.