Dead Hunt by Beverly Connor Page B

nervous about what they were going to say to her, but because she was angry—angry with the reporter, with Madge, and with all of them for insisting on a board meeting. Before the meeting was over, she intended to wipe that what-do-you-have-to-say-for-yourself look off Barclay’s face.
    Diane went to her place at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, unrolled the newspaper, smoothed it down on the shiny surface, and sat down. She looked at Madge, then at the others.
    ‘‘This article has created a problem for the museum,’’ she said in an even tone.
‘‘It looks to me like Miss Williams has created the problem,’’ interrupted Barclay. ‘‘Has she been suspended?’’
Diane looked over at him. ‘‘Mr. Barclay, you are trying to apply solutions when you don’t know what the problem is.’’
She turned her attention back to the rest of the board. They looked startled. Were they surprised she hadn’t come hat in hand? They were all frowning except Kenneth Meyerson, who winked at her. Don’t make me smile , she thought.
    ‘‘The museum’s reputation is seriously threatened,’’ continued Barclay.
He said that for Vanessa’s sake, thought Diane. He knew what phrases would get to her. Diane also knew that Vanessa would listen to what she had to say . . . and Vanessa was no fool. She came from a family of centenarians and supercentenarians and had more than sixty years’ learning from their experiences.
‘‘Mr. Barclay, a museum’s
danger. That’s the reality of
reputation is always in an enterprise that depends on acquiring objects in a field fraught with looters, smugglers, forgers, grave robbers, and sharks. That’s why we have procedures and a code of ethics for dealing with acquisitions.’’
‘‘Well, it looks like your procedures and ethics don’t work.’’ He tapped the table with his middle finger, reaching toward the newspaper in front of her.
‘‘How do you know?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘What?’’ he said, clearly surprised by her question.
‘‘How do you know the procedures didn’t work?’’ repeated Diane.
‘‘Look at the news.’’ This time his tapping was more of a hammering. ‘‘The newspapers . . . then television...now that damn radio talk show...’’
‘‘You accept that as authoritative? And where did the newspaper get its information?’’ she interrupted.
He hesitated, glanced at Madge beside him and then at the others.
‘‘Where there’s smoke there’s usually fire,’’ he said, still giving her his you-don’t-get-the-loan look.
Diane saw Laura wince. She knew how Diane hated bad analogies.
‘‘No, Mr. Barclay. Often there’s just someone lobbing smoke bombs.’’
His eyebrows parted as he looked at her for a moment.
Diane didn’t wait for a response. ‘‘When Dr. Williams finds an object for the museum, she researches the provenance before authorizing a purchase. If she needs to, she hires independent appraisers. Once the item is here, its provenance is audited by our staff. If Dr. Williams’ research is in error, the second check will find it. When the Egyptian artifacts came to us they were stored in the conservation lab, where they remain, unopened, awaiting the audit of their provenance. No one yet knows if there is a problem with them.’’ Diane cast her gaze around the table at all of them.
‘‘Let me explain to you what this article did.’’ She laid her hand flat on the newspaper. ‘‘It reports that a board member, Madge Stewart, admits that Dr. Williams knowingly purchased looted artifacts and that RiverTrail Museum possesses stolen antiquities.’’ Diane stopped to let that sink in. ‘‘And the story has been picked up by other news outlets.
‘‘The consequences to Dr. Williams have been severe. She’s getting hate mail calling her a thief and worse. The University of Pennsylvania canceled her lecture series. Out of the blue, her reputation is in tatters with no proof whatsoever of wrongdoing. As for the