Treasure Hunt (Part IV)

The cool, questing pressure was just below my jaw when I came around. My feeling of terror returned. I gasped, and with a desperate wrench tried to move away. The waves of pain that crashed through my head brought tears to my eyes.

“It's all right, Katie,” came a quiet voice. I heard Andy's sigh of relief and felt his fingers move to wipe the salty wetness that trickled down my cheeks.

“Did you see who it was?” I asked feebly. “Did he get away?”

“No, and yes. I was in the next room when I heard a crash in here. It sounded as though you'd dropped something.”

“My flashlight. He knocked it out of my hand.”

“Anyway, when after a few seconds you didn't appear, I started for the door to investigate, calling your name. Of course, announcing my presence that way gave him a chance to escape. By now he must be halfway across town.”

Though my head was throbbing, I quickly grasped how the intruder had escaped. It only added to my pain. “The side door. I didn't reset the alarm.” It was my fault, I realized miserably, that the thief had gained entrance to steal again. My only thought was to try to make amends.

Dancing lights flashed before my eyes as I struggled to sit up. I winced at the pain. Swiftly, strong arms went around me, and I was lifted up and carried to the padded visitors' bench a few feet away. My cheek rested against the soft cashmere of Andy's sweater, and I sat quietly, gathering comfort from his warmth. Finally my weakness subsided, and I was able to voice my concern. Though I was reluctant to move, I raised my head. “We'd better check to see what's missing. Bruce is going to want a full account. I'll have to think of some way to explain”

“Perhaps not. It would seem you've foiled our resident thief again. I found an empty pillowcase on the floor. Apparently, he hadn't had time to load up his booty before you interrupted him.”

“Then he hasn't made away with any more of the museum's treasures?”

“Assuming that's why he was here. Personally, I think his return is a reinforcement of our original theory—that he wasn't able to smuggle out the Estatua and left it here in the museum.”

“So he came back tonight to retrieve it.”

“And was foiled again.”

“That means it's still here.”

“I'm convinced that it is,” Andy answered.

“Then we've got to keep looking.”

I made an attempt to stand and promptly felt Andy's gently restraining hand. “We can resume the hunt tomorrow. Right now, I'm taking you home.” From the authority in his tone, argument was useless, I knew.

With Andy's supporting arm and his constant stream of banter distracting me from my misery, we made our way back through the silent halls.

“Do you think you'll be all right if I leave you just outside while I go back to reset the alarm?” he asked. “I really don't think, after that knock on the head, you're in any condition for the ten-second dash from the switch to the door.”

Still concerned with the possibility that my attacker had not left the grounds, I waited well within the circle of light for Andy to join me. The breeze that had sprung up was cool and soothing against the bruise on my temple. I leaned my head on the wall, letting the soft, refreshing current of air wash over me. When Andy reappeared, I was able to summon a reassuring smile.

Even so, my protests that I could drive home by myself were ignored, and I found myself being installed in the passenger side of Andy's blue Toyota . “But how will I get to work in the morning without my car?” I wailed.

“Not to sorry. Hunt's Hackney will be at your doorstep promptly at eight tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks. I might have known you'd have an answer. Though it doesn't solve the problem of finding the Estatua.”

“I have a feeling we're zeroing in. Tonight's episode has me convinced we're on the right track.”

“But we still haven't a clue as to the thief's identity.”

“No,” Andy admitted, “but now he knows ours. And he knows we're after him.”

“Which makes our job harder.”

“And also more dangerous.” Andy braked for a traffic light, and his glance turned in my direction. “I think, Princess, it's time for you to bow out.”

Twenty minutes before, I might have agreed. That towering black hulk coming at me in the darkness had given me the fright of my life. Now, however, I was in control of my emotions. If Andy's deductions were correct, I reasoned, and the Estatua were hidden inside, my knowledge of the museum could be invaluable in finding it. We had to continue the hunt.

My arguments had little impact. When we pulled to a stop in front of my house, Andy was still unconvinced. I sat numbly in my corner while he, hands gripping the wheel, stared straight ahead.

“Katie, listen to me,” he said. “When we started this caper, I calculated there might be a few risks, but I didn't expect you to be in any physical danger.”

“But now I'll be prepared,” I argued. “I can protect myself.” The sight of Tom's stooped figure silhouetted against the light of his upstairs window next door wrenched my heart. “We can't give up now.”

“We aren't. I'm not dropping the investigation.” For a moment a glimmer of his usual humor reappeared. “Let's just say that from here on, Hunt plans to hunt alone.”

“I got you into this,” I said firmly. “You can't shut me out now. Besides, two heads are better than one.”

“And he travels fastest who travels alone. I want you out of this from now on.”

“I think I'm capable to making my own decisions.”

“Not when you've just been followed, accosted, and hit on the head.”

“I wasn't hit. I fell.”

“That bit of non-logic only proves my point. My advice is that you take two aspirin and go to bed. In the morning, when you're feeling better, you'll see that I'm right.”

My head was beginning to pound again, but it certainly didn't keep me from seeing that Andrew Hunt was being shortsighted, dictatorial, and just plain unreasonable. Before he could move to help me, I grabbed the door handle and got out of the car. “There seems to be nothing more to say.” My mouth was stiff. “Thank you for a most interesting evening.”

“Katie! Wait!” I heard him following me up the walk. My anger and frustration at a fever pitch, I reached the front door and was inside in time to have the satisfaction of slamming it in Andy's face.

My throbbing head kept me from sleeping. I filled the hours alternately worrying about Tom and ranting over Andy's chauvinistic treatment of me. Once it was light, I took considerable pleasure in thwarting his high-handedness by calling a taxi to take me to work.

It took an hour or two of cold reflection before I became objective enough to realize that some of Andy's arguments made sense. Of course, I still wasn't ready to capitulate. I had been far too upset the night before to present my case rationally. This morning I would win him over with calm, unemotional logic. That in mind, I walked into Andy's office at ten o'clock with a smile on my face.

He wasn't there. The clerk on duty in the library said Mr. Hunt had left word that he would be away on museum business for the day. Reluctantly, I turned away, telling myself that my depression stemmed from last night's fall and the knowledge that Bruce would be none too pleased if he learned I had misused the key he had entrusted to me.

Luckily, I wasn't required just then to face Bruce with that guilty knowledge. The committee on arrangements for the reception had asked me to join them in the docents' room to discuss last-minute preparations.

I got back to my office at twenty to twelve, my thoughts once more on winning Andy to my way of thinking. That problem, it seemed, was not going to be as difficult as I had imagined, for on my desk was a telephoned message that Andy would be waiting for me at the House of Chen at noon . I felt almost lighthearted as I headed for my car.

The lunchtime traffic was heavy. By the time I arrived at the restaurant, it was already a few minutes past twelve and the parking lot was filled. I found an empty space on down the street and pulled in. I shut off the motor and slid out of the car on the driver's side, dropping my keys in my purse and groping for my lipstick in its capacious bottom as I started across the street.

I didn't hear the approaching car until it was almost on me. Immobilized by shock, I watched the sleek, low-slung hood, its wide grill leering like a tiger after prey, aim itself at the spot where I was rooted. Only at the last minute did I summon the will to move. In a desperate bid for survival, I twisted out of the way. The machine's headlight grazed my arm as I turned, knocking away my handbag and throwing me to the pavement. Then, with a snarl of the powerful engine, the driver sped away.

Dazed though I was, I recognized the sound of running feet as I tried to struggle to my own. “Miss Gilliam!” an excited Jimmy Chen exclaimed. “I saw that car pull out as you started across, but there was no way I could warn you.”

Outside of a bruised hand and scraped knees, I'd been lucky. “I'm okay,” I assured him. “If I could just go inside and clean up a bit…”

“Of course. Sukie can bring you anything you need. Here, let me help you.” Jimmy reached out his hand. “It's a miracle you weren't killed, Miss Gilliam. I wish I had been able to get the car's license number. Never have I seen such reckless driving. Whoever it was ought not to be allowed behind the wheel!”

I silently agreed, ruefully surveying the tear in my stocking. I'd have to count on my calf-length skirt to hide it through lunch with Andy. With a start, I realized he was nowhere in sight. He should have been here by now.

Jimmy appeared puzzled when I asked about him. “I haven't seen Andy,” he answered, “nor was I expecting him. He made no reservation.”

But the message had said he would be at the restaurant at twelve. With a sudden, horrifying insight, I realized that Andy hadn't sent the message. Someone had used his name to lure me into danger. My “accident” had been deliberate.

I needed time to think. Using my torn hose and the black mark on my skirt as an excuse, I declined Jimmy's invitation to stay for lunch, promising to return one day soon for his special meat cake soup.

Considerably shaken, I returned to my car. Andy had been right. These men were ruthless. Twice I had been physically threatened. And as long as he continued his investigation, Andy was in danger, too. I had gotten him into this. Now I had to try to get him to stop.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I knew my pleas would be useless. I'd learned there was more behind that lighthearted façade than Andy generally revealed. For one thing, he wasn't a quitter. He'd keep his commitment to Tom.

Then I would keep mine, too. If misery shared was cut in half, I reasoned, then so should be the danger.

My lunch hour was nearly at an end. There wouldn't be time to stop at the house and change. I turned the car toward the museum, thankful for the extra pair of pantyhose in my desk. That and a candy bar to munch on would get me through the afternoon.

It was three o'clock when I reached for the last of the papers that had accumulated in my basket—a reminder that the local high school would be expecting me to discuss jobs in anthropology and archaeology at their annual Career Day three weeks hence. Perhaps my words would give direction to some young person's life, I thought, dropping the request into the tickler file. Just as Tom had influenced mine.

How long ago those Saturday mornings in Tom's big, old-fashioned kitchen seemed. I had sat entranced as he wove his tales of ancient peoples whose treasures he guarded at the museum. The pictures he had painted on the canvas of my mind remained with me still. When I closed my eyes, I could see the cliff-dwelling Anasazi as they went about their daily tasks, the men gathering plants by a fast-running stream, and women supervising the noonday meal. Through Tom, I had learned the ways of the Hohokam, who had wrested a living from the land by digging canals that were still in use today. It was Tom who had taught me to appreciate the artistry of the Maya and the Aztec.

Now, one of the treasures in which he took such pride was missing, and he was being blamed. All the anxiety I had managed to suppress came flooding back. Only with the return of the statue would the old man be vindicated.

I pushed my chair back and stood up. Andy and I had yet to investigate the theory that the thief had escaped through the service exit. Certainly a trip to the receiving area was in order.

Without the air conditioning that cooled the galleries and offices, the receiving room, despite its high ceiling, was oppressively hot. The blast of air that hit me as I opened the inside door was stifling.

At first I thought no one was about. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the glare of the overhead lights, I spotted a solitary worker, shirt open and a sweat-streaked band around his head. He was wrestling with a crate. “Sylvester,” I called. “You shouldn't be trying to move that by yourself. Where's your helper?”

“Had to send him home, Miss Gilliam,” he answered, fumbling with his shirt buttons in an attempt to cover his lanky frame. “Heat got him.”

“I don't wonder, with no windows and all the dock doors locked. I should think you'd want to keep them open.”

“Yes, ma'am, and that's what we used to do before Mr. Poindexter issued the new security orders. The dock doors are to be kept closed except when there's a truck unloadin'.”

“But the place is like an oven! I'm sure when the rules were made, Mr. Poindexter wasn't aware of these conditions.”

“Maybe not, but he's been down here since. What he said was that this way, no one could get in or out without us noticin'.”

After the loss of the statue, I could understand Bruce's concern, but the health and safety of museum employees had to be considered, as well. “I'll talk to him about it, Sylvester. In the meantime, let's open the door. If anyone asks, you can refer him to me.”

“If you say so, ma'am,” the man answered, heading for the operating switch. The stir of air as the huge double door glided upward was a welcome relief. I waited for Sylvester to return, his craggy face still wearing a broad grin. "It feels better already, don't it, Miss Gilliam? I did tell Mr. Poindexter that it wasn't likely anyone could get in or out without us seein'. We have a record book for all the truckers to sign in, and anyways, I know most of them. Any stranger comes through the door, I'd be sure to notice.”

“Then you could tell me the names of all the people who come?”

“Well, not exactly. But I know where they're from.”

“Really?” My tone remained casual. “What about, say, last Thursday afternoon?” The day the statue was stolen.

“Sure. There was a man come to repair the dock where one of the truckers slammed into it last week, and a kid who was lookin' for a job, and the catering crew.”

“What about the job hunter?” I asked, my pulse quickening. “Did he do or say anything unusual?”

“Why, no, not that I remember.” A frown creased his brow. “Come to think of it, that young fella from the catering outfit acted funnier.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I remember he was real nervous-like.”

“The truck arrived rather late. Perhaps being off schedule upset him.”

“Maybe. He did seem in a tearin' hurry. And he kept lookin' around all the time he was reloading, like he thought somebody was watchin' him.”

“Reloading? But the truck was here to make a delivery.”

“Yeah. But when the crew brought back the empty boxes, the one who was doin' the driving piled them back in the truck.”

“I see. Do you happen to know his name?”

“The shirt he was wearin' had it printed right on the pocket. Jerry, it was.”