Diane talked a long time about the caves she’d explored. She told Juliet about Mike’s-the curator of the geology collection-extremophiles research. Their conversation was awkward and a little strained and certainly one-sided, but Diane felt it was probably normal for Juliet.
“They have terrific chocolate cake here,” said Diane.
The waitress came and Diane ordered a piece. So did Juliet.
“I like chocolate,” said Juliet. “The chocolate shaped shells in the gift basket were wonderful. I was going to buy some more but then I found out that Andie made them herself.”
Diane didn’t mention the gift basket event-and Juliet’s screaming terror over a mermaid doll. Some things were better left unmentioned. But she was curious.
“I know Darcy Kincaid a little,” said Juliet. “She’s working on another exhibit for the shells. She thinks the fossil shell exhibit can stand some improving. I hope she’s going to be all right.”
“So do I,” said Diane.
“Do you know how she’s doing?”
“The doctors don’t know anything yet. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Darcy has lots of plans-graduate school, getting her boyfriend to propose. I’ve met him, too. He’s a charming guy,” she said.
The way she said charming, Diane wondered if she meant just the opposite. But there was nothing in her clear blue eyes that suggested that she meant anything other than what she said.
Dessert came-a moist triple layer chocolate cake with chunks of chocolate chips and iced with fudge frosting. Juliet raised her brow after she took her first bite.
“This is delicious.”
The waitress refilled their coffee. As Juliet raised the cup to her lips, the sleeve of her sweater slipped up enough for Diane to notice several scars on her arm. She wondered if Juliet was a cutter. At the end of dessert, Diane took a card out of her purse.
“I don’t intend to interfere in your business, and this is the only time I’ll mention it. I have a friend. Her name is Laura Hillard and she is a psychiatrist. If you ever want to talk to her, even if it is just to learn coping strategies to deal with people like Whitney Lester, give her a call. She won’t report to me, and I won’t ask you if you called her. This is just for your information if you need it.” Diane put the card on the table and pushed it forward.
Juliet picked up the card and turned it over in her hand. She stared at it for a long time before she spoke.
“I’ve been having dreams again,” she said, still staring at the card. “They stopped for several years and now they’ve started again. That’s why I couldn’t cope with Ms. Lester tonight.” She looked up at Diane. “I don’t remember much about my early childhood. I only know what I’ve been told and what I looked up in the newspapers. I was kidnapped when I was seven and left for dead in a culvert. I think all my problems stem from that-even if I don’t remember it.” She put the card in her purse.
Diane was stunned. It was several moments before she could speak. “Juliet,” she said finally, “I don’t know what to say. Was your kidnapper caught?”
Juliet shook her head. “No.”
“You only saw a therapist in college? Not sooner?”
“Since I couldn’t remember, my parents didn’t want the memories dredged up. They thought it best if the experience remained buried. My mother died a year later and my father remarried. My father and my grandmother told me I had nightmares because I felt guilty for being disobedient and ‘got myself snatched,’ as my grandmother used to say. She told me that if I was obedient, the dreams would stop. My stepmother thought the cure was summer camp. A benign cure, but I was never able to pull off being a happy camper.”
No wonder she’s skittish and prefers solitude, thought Diane. I would be too if I had been through that as a child. The knowledge made Whitney Lester’s behavior all the more appalling.
“I’m sorry,” said Diane. “Life must be very difficult for you. If I can help, I will.”
“You gave me a job. Do you know how many times I lost jobs in the interview stage? That’s why this job is so important to me. I’d never jeopardize it by stealing. I’ve never stolen anything. I’m not a thief.”
Diane was glad they had dinner. It helped her understand a lot of things about Juliet. She offered her a lift home, but Juliet said she drove to the museum and her car was parked in the lot. Diane left a tip on the table and the two of them walked out together. The hostess nodded to Diane on the way out. She knew to send the tab to Diane’s office. Diane found that arrangement easier than arguing with the few guests who insisted on paying their own way. The matter was a nonissue if they weren’t presented with a bill.
The restaurant was about to close and there were few cars in the parking lot. Diane noticed that one of the streetlights was out. It was the one near her car. She stopped, wary. Juliet apparently sensed the change in Diane’s demeanor, for she slowed and stiffened. Diane reached for Juliet’s arm.
“Let’s go back in,” she whispered.
Juliet didn’t ask why, she turned on her heel, but as Diane reached for her phone to speed dial the security desk in the museum she saw a man stand up from behind her car. He had a baseball bat and he was walking toward her. Diane turned to run, but another man was coming up behind. Juliet gave a cry and sank to the ground.
Chapter 17
Diane wanted to run-she thought she could make it to the museum-but she couldn’t leave Juliet crumpled on the ground. She hurriedly dialed museum Security as the men approached. She frantically tried to think of some defense. As with Blake Stanton, the young carjacker with the gun, she had only words with which to defend herself. These men weren’t going to be as easy as Blake was.
“Stop where you are and back off,” she said.
She must have sounded pathetic to the huge men wielding baseball bats. Her thumb pressed the keys on her phone and she heard Security answer. As she brought it to her mouth she yelled.
“Front parking lot now!”
The men advanced, bats ready to strike. Before they got to her, the headlights from an approaching car shone on all of them. The two men stopped for only a moment; then one started to take a swing at Diane. She ducked when the car’s siren blasted and the blue light flashed. It was a police car. Thank God, she thought, as the men took off running across the parking lot, the police car in pursuit. Just then three of her security guards came running out of the building, their hands on their guns ready to pull.
“We need to help Dr. Price inside,” said Diane when they reached her. She and one of the security guards helped Juliet to her feet.
“I’m sorry,” Juliet whispered.
“It’s all right,” said Diane.
As she spoke, she watched the police car cut one of the runners off so that he slammed into the side of the car. The other man ran past the car and into the woods.
With the help of a guard, and flanked by the two other guards, Diane helped Juliet inside.
“Thanks for coming so fast,” said Diane when they were safely inside the building.
“Sure thing, Dr. Fallon. What was that about?”
“I don’t know. Can you take Dr. Price to my office and let her lie down on my sofa? And get her some water, or whatever she wants from my fridge.”
The security guard nodded and walked with Juliet across the granite foyer and through the double doors that led to the offices. The other two guards stayed with Diane.
“Go outside and see that the restaurant personnel and patrons get to their cars safely. Don’t make an issue of it. Just keep an eye out. Call for someone to keep a lookout on the terrace side of the restaurant.”
“Yes, ma’am.” As the two guards left the museum to go to the parking lot, one was on his radio.