Treasure Hunt (Part VII)

The docents' room had, for this special evening, become an intellectual salon. Men in ruffled shirts and cummerbunds stood conversing in quiet tones on trends in museum architecture. Elegant ladies, diamonds sparkling, discussed the newest artists. The soft sounds of a baby grand provided background for the low-pitched voices and muted laughter, while formally attired waiters circulated through the crowd with trays of champagne, and maids dressed in black hovered over the hors d'oeuvres table.

Despite my resolve, my eyes couldn't keep from gravitating to where Andy was conversing with an obviously admiring blonde. Her daringly cut emerald gown made my ankle-length shift of rose raw silk seem too plain.

With an effort, I turned my attention away. The Chair and Mrs. Forrester were entertaining a group of newcomers near the door. Off in a corner, Bruce was deep in conversation with the president of the Society.

So far, all was going well, but the task of moving the guests next door for the dinner and speeches loomed ahead.

Speeches! The text I'd prepared for Bruce was still on my desk. I glanced at the clock. There was still time to slip out to my office, put the papers at his place on the dais, and be back before I was missed.

It's hard to believe that the shadows cast by the skylights and the whisper of my sandaled feet echoing against the walls brought no reminders of my recent encounter in the museum's corridors. So intent was I on my errand that I didn't notice the man bending over the lidless visitor's bench in the partially lighted Navajo gallery until he rose up directly in front of me.

I recognized the uniformed figure instantly. “Tom! What are you doing here?” I asked. It was then I saw the statue in his hands. Stunned, I could only gasp, “Oh, Tom, no!”

“Katie, girl, let me explain.” He reached out to me, pleading. “It's not like you think. If only you hadn't come by that afternoon! Then I wouldn't have had to leave the thing behind.

“I had to come back to get it. That's why I followed you the other night when you said you were comin' here to meet Andy. After you shut off the alarm, I thought I could sneak in and get the statue from the bench where I hid it.

“I'd just got to this room when you came in and heard me,” he continued. “After you fell, I couldn't just leave without making sure you were all right. Then Andy came, and there wasn't time.”

“So you came back tonight. How did you get in?”

“That was easy. I just walked in the front like I was goin' to work. The doorman you hired special for the party didn't even question me when he saw my museum uniform.”

“But you couldn't get out that way with the statue.”

“No. But I had that all figured out ahead. Once I was inside, it was easy to shut off the alarm to the side door.”

But why, Tom? Why?” I anguished. “If you needed money, you could have come to me. You didn't have to steal.”

“Aw, Katie, you oughta know better than that. I wouldn't have taken the statue for myself. I was just tryin' to make things right. You see, I met this gentleman, Mr. Mendoza, in the museum garden one day a month or so ago when I was leavin' work. We got to talkin'. He explained about how the statue was part of the treasure stolen from the Indians by Spanish soldiers. Rightly, he told me, it belongs in the Aztec museum in Mexico . Only, when they wrote asking for the statue to be returned, we refused. It's a sacred relic, Katie, and very important to those people. That's why I said I'd help him get it back.”

“Oh, Tom, only part of this Mr. Mendoza's story is true. The statue is an Aztec relic, but it's not sacred, just valuable. And, though the Aztec museum director did write, it was to suggest a cultural exchange. He offered us a few of their Aztec treasures if we would send them some of our Papago and Havasupai art in return.”

“But that can't be, Katie!”

“I'm afraid what Miss Gilliam says is true,” a voice said from the shadows. The face that emerged I had never seen, though I had no doubt it belonged to the man who had threatened me outside Jerry's house.

“How fortunate,” he continued, “that I decided to join you this time, Tom. My insistence that you first let me in the side door has, it seems, precluded another failed attempt. That, I assure you, would have been disastrous, since the wealthy collector who hired me has become increasingly timorous and is threatening to back out if the statue is not delivered to him straightaway.”

“You lied to me!” Tom's voice shook.

“My dear fellow! Knowing the truth, would you have agreed to assist me? Of course not. Those middle class moral canons are too deeply ingrained.”

“But,” Tom stammered.

“I've no time for debate, Mr. Burkett. Suffice it to say it would have been better for us all had you remained ignorant of the facts. By now, you would have handed over the statue and left, content in the spurious knowledge that you had aided in a worthy cause. As it is, I regret that you and Miss Gilliam will have to be removed.”

The glint of metal in his hand left no doubt as to his intent. “Perhaps,” he said, “it would be best if you give me the statue now, Tom. I know how you hate the responsibility.” Mendoza started toward us, avarice written in the smile on his face. Chuckling at his wit, he reached for the treasure.

“Hold it right there!” Andy's voice called out behind him.

For a split second, Mendoza hesitated. Then everything happened at once. He reached out with his free hand to snatch the statue, but Tom was too quick for him. Clutching the statue to his chest, the old man turned, throwing Mendoza off balance. Before he could recover, Andy, in a flying leap, caught Mendoza from behind.

They grappled, Andy straining desperately to take Mendoza 's gun. Mendoza , solid and more powerfully built, managed to twist his arm away. The barrel was aimed at Andy's chest. I screamed as Tom came charging at them like a bull. The gun went off and all three men went down in a heap.

“Police everywhere, paramedics dashing about, guests milling through the halls, caterers complaining that dinner was being ruined!” Bruce paced back and forth in my office the following morning reliving the moment. “I don't mind telling you, it took a bit of doing to get everyone back into the dining room and calmed down enough to proceed with the banquet.”

My own recollections were of the grim, gray room in which the police took my statement, and afterwards the silent corridors of the hospital where I waited tensely for news. The cold despair of that early morning vigil still haunted me.

Bruce, however, seemed not to notice. “All things considered,” he continued, “I handled the situation rather well, I think. At any rate, the Society's steering committee was impressed.”

He planted himself directly in front of my desk and waited for my full attention. “I have the job, Kathryn. My appointment as Executive Director has been confirmed.”

My reply was automatic. “Congratulations, Bruce. I'm sorry I wasn't there when they made the announcement.”
“Actually, the Committee decided, in view of last night's furor, to forgo a public statement until next week. However, since I have their unanimous approval, I plan to get an early start. First, though, there are some matters we should discuss.”

It came to me then that the obstacles Bruce had seen to our engagement had been cleared away. I hated the thought of hurting his feelings, but I would hurt him more by not being honest. As gently as I could, I would have to turn him down.

Bruce crossed to the window and stood with his back toward me. “It's admirable to want to help a friend, Kathryn,” he said, “but it's time you faced the truth about Tom. The fact that he saved Andy's life doesn't make him less a thief.”

“Tom was tricked,” I protested. “He never meant to steal.”

Bruce shook his head. “You're allowing your emotions to distort your judgment. Lately that seems to be happening with disturbing frequency.”

For a moment, he hesitated. “I realize,” he said, “that you have known Tom since you were a child, and this business has been stressful for you. I wonder, then, if it wouldn't be wise for us to postpone our personal plans while you sort out your thinking.”

I saw that he was giving me an option. He, too, obviously had doubts. “I appreciate your offer, Bruce,” I answered quietly, “but time isn't going to change my views.”