Black Cat Weekly #57

Chapter 6

byJill Preston could barely contain her excitement as she put the finishing touches on the “Westward, Ho” displays. The curator of the University’s rare book room, she hoped that tomorrow’s exhibit would be the crowning achievement of her tenure.

Just as she was about to switch off the lights and head for the pre-exhibit get-together, Jill glanced at the east wall, where the oil portraits of her five predecessors hung. The day’s butterflies had caused her to skip an important ritual. Because of the room’s heavy oak door, all five portraits were jarred askew when she closed the door every evening. Rather than call on maintenance for a solution, she straightened the frame and entertained herself by greeting each august figure with a smile to start the day.

The ritual complete, Jill closed and locked the door.

“Have a great evening,” came a voice from behind her.

Jill turned to see the familiar face of Howard, the library’s long-time security guard. “How will we feel secure after you’re gone? And how will I make it without that smile of yours?”

“I guess I’d stay on forever if they’d let me,” said the still-muscular guard, “but the University has rules, and after the exhibit, I’ll be spending my days in my woodworking shop.”

“Well, you’ll be missed,” said Jill as she headed down the steps toward the library’s deli.

When Jill stepped through the open doorway the next morning, she was greeted by Estelle, her grad-student assistant, who was red faced and wringing her hands. “It’s gone, Jill, it’s gone!”

“What’s gone?” said Jill, stopping abruptly.

“The map,” said Estelle frantically. “I checked as soon as I got here, and it’s gone.”

The Lewis and Clark expedition’s large map was the centerpiece of the exhibit. On loan from Harvard, it was irreplaceable. If the map had been stolen, Jill’s and the library’s reputations would be ruined.

Jill raced to the center of the room to find the glass-topped display case empty. “I took a few minutes to admire it before I left yesterday. Someone must have taken it during the night.”

“The door was locked when I arrived,” said Estelle. “It’s the only entrance. Who else has a key?”

“Let’s see,” Jill said, pursing her lips. “Besides you and me, Howard, of course, has a passkey. Then there’s Dr. Monroe, the dean of libraries, but she’s at a conference in New York.”

“What about the maintenance guys and the janitors?” said Estelle.

“No, they have to ask me for admittance to the room.”

Estelle tapped her foot nervously. “We’d better call campus security . . . or maybe the local police.”

“I wish the University could afford security cameras at places other than the library’s entrances,” said Jill, quickly running through her limited options for action. If the police came, the press wouldn’t be far behind, and that would mean a public spectacle.

Jill looked up to see Howard coming toward them. No longer in uniform, he had a smile on his face. “Thought I’d take in the exhibit, if that’s okay.”

“Howard,” Jill said, “we’ve had a robbery. Did you see anyone enter this room last night after I left?”

“Trust me, Ms. Preston, nobody except me came near the room till this morning.”

Jill was frustrated. If Howard said nobody came near the room while he was on duty, she had to believe him. But the map was missing, and it was just a matter of time before she had to call the police.

As she surveyed the room, Jill’s eyes stopped on the row of mostly tilted portraits on the east wall. Walking toward them, she said, “I believe the exhibit will go on as planned.”

Jill noticed that all the portraits’ frames were, as usual, askew—except one. The portrait of the founding curator, Hiram Swift, hung perfectly straight. When she asked Howard to take down the heavy frame, she found the missing map secreted behind the portrait. The guilty security officer admitted that he was angry at the University for his forced retirement. His aim was to embarrass the institution, not to steal the map. Because he had opened and closed the heavy door very quietly so as not to alert the people in the nearby deli, the rehung picture frame had remained straight.