Nancy realized that the only exit on the ground floor was through the front entrance. That was odd, she thought. All public buildings were required to have more than one exit on each floor in case of fire.
Obviously, Nancy realized, Nelson Stone was careless about fire safety precautions. And it was that same kind of carelessness with security that was causing him so much trouble now.
Nancy made her way up the wide marble staircase to the second floor. As she passed a gallery of Indian miniature paintings, she suddenly felt a draft in the hallway.
Following the flow of cool air, she came to an open window. Nancy lifted the window higher and looked out. A fire escape led down to the rear courtyard, where a jumbled mass of building equipment and materials lay on the ground.
The mess probably belongs to the renovators, Nancy told herself, but she didn’t see any workers around. Leaning farther out the window, Nancy saw the parking lot at the corner of the building.
Someone could have easily gotten out this way, she reasoned. But then, with the security guard asleep, someone could just as easily have walked out the front door. Unlikely, Nancy decided. No one could absolutely depend on his sleeping.
Nancy ducked back in and closed the window. Then, glancing down, she noticed a shiny object on the floor. Nancy took a closer look. It was a woman’s gold earring. She picked it up and tucked it in her pocket, thinking it might be a clue.
During the next few minutes, Nancy roamed through the large empty bedrooms on the second floor, finding nothing more of interest. Some of the rooms had fireplaces. A few of the rooms at the far end of the building were covered with a thick layer of dust. Apparently, the renovators hadn’t reached that far yet.
The building was probably too old to have built-in closets, Nancy mused, wondering if the culprit could be hiding in the building. Finding the stairway to the third floor, she saw that it was blocked off with more pieces of plywood. A sign taped to the banister read No Entry.
Nancy thought about removing the nailed plywood and investigating the third floor. But right now she was more eager to see what progress the police were making. As she headed down the stairs to the ground floor, Nancy heard the buzz of children’s voices. Another school tour was obviously in progress. Then, passing the Tibetan section on her way to Nelson Stone’s office, Nancy noticed Officer Jenkins talking to Su-Lin.
“I just can’t believe it’s gone,” Nancy overheard Su-Lin telling the officer. “The Golden Horse is part of my heritage. You see, I’m half Tibetan,” she explained. “That particular statue has a special meaning for me.”
Officer Jenkins scribbled in his notebook for another moment, then excused himself to speak with the teacher.
Nancy approached Su-Lin. “I guess you visit the museum often,” Nancy said.
Su-Lin forced a smile. “I work here as an intern on weekends,” she said. “The internship is part of the anthropology program at Westmoor University.”
“Sounds interesting,” Nancy remarked. “What sort of work do you do here?”
“Oh, all sorts of things,” Su-Lin said. “Sometimes I give guided tours. Sometimes I update catalogs. There’s always work to be done in the reference library.” With a frown she added, “And, of course, Margaret Parker never stops asking me to do her paperwork.”
“So you’re overworked and underpaid?” Nancy quipped.
“Something like that,” Su-Lin replied. A twinkle appeared in her almond-shaped eyes. “Please don’t tell Margaret I said that.”
“Don’t worry,” Nancy assured her. “I don’t even know Margaret Parker. Who is she, anyway?”
“Margaret is the assistant curator,” Su-Lin said, brushing back her bangs.
“Where’s her office?” Nancy asked, thinking it might be a good idea to speak to the assistant curator herself.
“Margaret’s office is down the corridor,” Su-Lin replied, pointing behind her. “Just before you get to Mr. Stone’s office. But this is Margaret’s day off, I think.”
Nancy excused herself and hurried down the corridor, toward the assistant curator’s office. She remembered seeing a red purse in there before the robbery. Did it belong to Margaret Parker? Nancy wondered if someone else had been in Margaret’s office at the time of the robbery.
After turning the corner, Nancy found the assistant curator’s door closed. “Hello?” she said, knocking. A moment passed and she knocked again. “Is anyone in?” she called. Still no answer. Nancy slowly turned the knob and opened the door.
Immediately Nancy glanced at the chair, but the red purse was gone. Nancy made a mental note to find out who it belonged to.
Looking around the small cluttered office, a framed photograph on a shelf caught Nancy’s eye. It was a portrait of a young blond woman, dressed in a graduation cap and gown. “Probably Margaret Parker,” Nancy muttered to herself. Leaning closer, she saw that it was dated five years ago.
After closing the office door behind her, Nancy returned to the corridor, stepped over to Stone’s office, and knocked twice.
“Come in,” Nelson Stone called.
Nancy entered the room and saw Lieutenant Higgins sitting in a leather chair, scribbling in his notebook. A haggard-looking Nelson Stone was seated behind his desk. It seemed as if the curator had aged ten years.
“Nancy, this is Lieutenant Higgins,” Stone said.
The officer looked up from his notebook. “Yes, we’ve met,” he said briskly, returning his attention to his notes.
“Excuse me for interrupting,” Nancy said. “I just wanted to ask Mr. Stone where I could find his assistant, Margaret Parker.”
“She’s off today,” the curator said.
Nancy frowned. “But I saw a purse in her office just a little while ago. I’m sure of it.”
The lieutenant looked at Nelson Stone and raised his eyebrows.
“The door was partly open when I passed by the office with you this morning,” Nancy continued.
The curator shrugged. “What can I say?” he muttered. “I don’t know anything about any purse. Margaret is not here today.”
Suddenly Nancy heard raised voices outside the door. A moment later the door swung open and all eyes turned to a glamorous blond woman standing before them. She was stylishly dressed in a short, white linen dress and sparkling gold jewelry, which set off her deep tan.
Immediately Nancy recognized Hillary Lane, the beautiful heiress whose great-aunt had donated the family mansion that now housed the museum. Nancy remembered that Hillary had spent several years in Hollywood, where she had starred in quite a few films. But after her great-aunt died, Hillary had given up her acting career and returned to Clinton Park, devoting time to her vast art collection and community activities.
“Lieutenant,” Officer Jenkins began, “I found this woman hiding in the library.”
