“Then it doesn't sound like there's too much danger of Derek being appointed director," Shelley said. "Who else is on the board?"
“Jumper, Babs, Georgia Snellen — do you know her?"
“We do," Shelley said curtly. "We saw her at the Festival. With Derek.”
Lisa looked for a minute like she was going to question Shelley, but went on instead. "Then there's an accountant Jumper recommended a few years ago when Miss Snellen died and we suddenly had a large endowment. He's in Alaska right now, visiting his brother who's a park ranger or something."
“Is that all?" Jane asked.
“No, there's a history professor from the local junior college, but he's traveling in Europe this summer, doing research for a paper. Then there are a half-dozen honorary board members. They aren't voting directors, but they're community leaders whose support is important, and their opinions are pretty highly valued."
“So right now, the appointment of a new director lies with Jumper, Babs, and Georgia."
“Only Jumper and Georgia, theoretically. Babs is the president of the board and votes only in case of a tie."
“Let me guess," Shelley said. "Jumper would probably vote against Derek's appointment. Georgia would probably vote for it. And Babs would break the tie.”
Lisa thought for a moment. "Yes, but. . I think parliamentary procedure allows the president to break a tie, but doesn't require it. So Babs might refuse to cast the deciding vote and make everybody wait until the other two board members return or can be reached to cast a vote bymail. I imagine they'll just appoint him acting director while they search for a new person entirely. Unless—”
The word hung in the air for a moment until Jane asked, "Unless what?"
“Unless Derek's arrested for murdering Regina," Lisa said.
Eight
"Do you think he killed her?" Shelley asked Lisa seemed to suddenly realize that she'd gone too far. "No, no. Not at all. I shouldn't have even thought that, much less said it. I'm really sorry.”
Shelley brushed aside her objections. "It's natural to wonder when something so terrible happens to someone you love. Do you believe the shooting was deliberate?"
“It had to be, didn't it?" Lisa said, her voice catching. "The police said the gun came from the museum. That had to be deliberate, stealing the gun. And it's hard to imagine why anybody would take it on purpose, then shoot someone with it by accident."
“Who could have taken it?”
Lisa shrugged helplessly. "Anybody, I guess. Well, anybody who knows where the keys to the cases are kept, and that's anyone who's ever worked here. Regina was awfully trusting of everyone and wasn't concerned with theft. In fact, the board had to overrule her objections to updating and improving the security system."
“I suppose the police fingerprinted the display case," Jane said.
“I guess they must have," Lisa said. "But they might have found a ton of prints or none at all. The kids who come here love that display. They all lean on it and touch it. Besides, we had a leak from the sink in the upstairs rest room last week that made a big stain on the wall behind the case. We had to wrestle it out into the middle of the room. It took half the staff to move it out, then move it back when the painting was finished. And in the meantime, it was in the traffic path, and I imagine many people who visited the room touched the display as they squeezed past. But if the — the person who did this awful thing had any sense at all, he cleaned off all the prints."
“And you think that person was Derek Delano?" Shelley asked.
“No. No, I really don't." Lisa obviously regretted her earlier remark about him. She put down her fork and fiddled around pulling her hair back and reclipping a tortoiseshell barrette while she thought. Finally she said, "Derek is ambitious and nasty and has an ego the size of Texas, but I don't think he's truly mean-spirited. And he's very bright and well educated. I believe if it had gotten through to him that he probably wasn't ever going to be director of the Snellen, he'd have just altered his plan and gone somewhere else to move his career along. I don't think he especially liked or disliked Regina, either. I'm not sure he can like or dislike people. I think he categorizes them as useful or not useful."
“And Georgia Snellen is useful?" Shelley asked.
“Oh, you've seen her hanging on him? I guess either she's convinced him she is or — well, to be vulgar — she's useful, and handy, in other ways.”
Jane had been working her way through her salad, which was very good, while Shelley and Lisa talked. Now she closed the clear plastic container and started tidying up the table. "Was there anyone who did dislike Ms. Palmer?" she asked.
“Well, Caspar Snellen never bothered to disguise his feelings, but other than that, I don't know. Anybody else who found fault with her would be unlikely to tell me about it."
“And why did Caspar Snellen dislike her?" Jane asked.
“Money. His aunt's money, which he counted on getting and didn't. And the fact that he's a miserable person who goes around imagining that everybody's conspiring against him." Lisa shuddered a little and suddenly said, "I really appreciate you two letting me blow off steam. I'm sorry — I probably ruined your lunch and said a lot of dumb things I shouldn't have."
“Not in the least," Jane assured her.
“You know, I've realized since Saturday that when someone close to you dies, people tend to think the kind, polite thing to do is try to take your mind off it. As if it's somehow ghoulish or tasteless to even mention the person's name in polite company."
“It's well meant," Shelley said.
“I know. But it can make you feel that everybody just wants to forget they existed at all. Thanks again for listening. It helps. And thanks for picking up lunch, Shelley. I think this is the first time in days that I just sat down for this long. Oh, give me your receipt and I'll make sure Sharlene reimburses you.”
When Lisa had gone, Jane gave the stuffed cat a preoccupied pet and went right back to work so she could push away the thought that was troubling her. To lose a best friend must be an awful thing. If Shelley were suddenly taken out of her life, Jane couldn't imagine how she'd, cope. Nobody could fill that empty space. And it must be worse for Lisa Quigley, who had no husband or children and, given her work schedule, probably no other close friends.
Jane forced herself to concentrate on cataloging a collection of turn-of-the-century corsets and petticoats.
By two-thirty, Jane was more than ready for a break. She used her computer a lot at home: she'd been working — or rather playing — at a story that she hoped would someday miraculously turn into a novel. But at home she was always up and down, throwing in a load of laundry, letting the dog in and out of the backyard, running errands. She seldom sat in front of the screen for such long, intense periods. And the strain was getting to her neck and eyes. She moved over to the board table, sat down, gingerly rested her heels on the very edge of the table, and slouched into the chair. The change in posture hurt, but in a good, stretchy way.
When the door opened, she hastily sat up.
“Taking a break?" Babs McDonald said. "Put your feet back up. You can't do that table any harm. I did a little nursing during World War Two and the head nurse always told us that if we put our feet up every single chance we got, we'd add at least five years to our lives. You're Jane, right?"
“Jane Jeffry, yes."
“I'm Babs McDonald. I hope everybody's fawned over you and your friend Shelley for helping us out. We're really enormously grateful."