Mayhem in May Read online

  MAYHEM IN MAY

  A Calendar Mystery

  CAMILLA CHAFER

  Mayhem in May

  Copyright: Camilla Chafer

  Published: July 2019

  ISBN: 978-1-909577-22-0

  The right of Camilla Chafer to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Visit the author online at www.camillachafer.com to sign up to her mailing list and for more information on other titles.

  Calendar Mysteries

  Jeopardy in January

  Fear in February

  Murder in March

  Alibi in April

  Mayhem in May

  Contents

  Copyright

  Synopsis

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mailing list sign-up

  Other books

  Mayhem in May

  Tess Hernandez knew her promotion to manager of Calendar’s Town Museum was in the bag… right up until the moment the board appointed one of their member’s spoiled nephew, Lance, the position instead. Despite her shock, Tess is determined to show she’s still the best person for the job, after all Lance did steal her ideas! So when Lance is found dead on the opening night of the new exhibition Tess curated, all signs point to Tess as the culprit. After all, she badly wanted him gone. But was she the only one?

  Worried that she’ll be arrested any moment, single mom Tess is determined to bring the real killer to justice and uncover the secrets she fears Lance has taken with him to the grave.

  Chapter One

  With a strong tap on the send key, I answered the last email of the day. Resting back in my desk chair, I smiled. I could finally look up from my computer. I rolled my shoulders to ease the small kinks that burrowed in as I surveyed my office. The square room wasn't huge since it occupied a small corner of Calendar Town Museum's east wing but it was stuffed with all kinds of interesting things I'd collected. Books and journals, plus small artifacts and trinkets that I acquired over the years. They filled the floor-to-ceiling bookcases along with catalogs and pamphlets of all our exhibitions. A big rug, faded and threadbare in places, covered the polished wood floor. The esoteric clutter befitted my position as Tess Hernandez, Deputy Manager. All I needed was a tweed skirt suit and a monocle to complete the look.

  It was strange to think that in just a few minutes, my promotion to Manager would be official. I could hardly keep it off my mind all day. Maybe even the past two months ever since my boss and good friend, Artie Wright announced his retirement after thirty years serving in that capacity. During my ten years under his wing, I was convinced he'd never retire. I even joked he had practically become an exhibit after so long. Then two months ago, Artie called together the museum's small team and told us his intention to leave in May. After the stunned silence came the applause and congratulations, and after that, he pulled me to one side and confided he recommended me to the board and assumed my replacing him was a done deal.

  A knock sounded on my door and I straightened up just as Karen Lambert stuck her head in. The museum's information clerk beamed and pinched her shoulders together in excitement. "Have you officially gotten the promotion yet?" she asked, her shiny, brown bob swinging around her chin. Karen covered all the PR work: manning the reception desk, taking ticket sales, answering phone calls and stocking the foyer with all the information any curious visitor might need. With her warm, bubbly personality, she was the perfect person to deal with the local Calendar residents and the thousands of tourists that flocked to our quaint mountain town. Like me, she'd worked at the museum for years and loved it every bit as much as I did. I was glad to count her as my friend too.

  I shook my head. "I'm going to see the board in a few minutes."

  "You must be thrilled. I expect your promotion will be announced at the exhibition opening tonight," she replied, still smiling.

  "Maybe, but I wouldn't want to take any of the limelight away from Artie. This is his last exhibition and his party. He deserves all the attention."

  "Everybody knows it was you who did all the hard work, calling in loans for the pieces and writing all the information guides," said Karen.

  "But it was still Artie's idea," I countered. Karen was right; I did the heavy lifting for the exhibition but Artie was there every step of the way, giving his praise and criticism in balance. Plus, it was his idea.

  "Your humility is why we all love you," grinned Karen. "I have to get back to the desk and finish putting out the brochures for the upcoming season. I will see you at the opening in an hour. With all the RSVPs, it's going to be a great party atmosphere. Hope you brought your best dress!"

  "It's hanging behind the door," I said, pointing to the garment bag just peeking out.

  "Are the girls coming too?"

  I shook my head. "Leah and Brooke said they didn't want to hang out with their mom's fuddy-duddy friends. They opted for an evening of Netflix and all the ice cream they can sneak out of the freezer without my noticing. Besides, they've heard enough about this exhibition to feel like they've seen it a hundred times already."

  "I guess I'll know what they think when they come in on the weekend. Leah has been such a help. All the tourists love her."

  "I'll be sure to tell her that. And thanks again for giving her a Saturday job. She's very proud to earn her own money," I added, recalling my older daughter's beaming face when she confirmed Karen had hired her. Of course, I knew all about it and despite the fact she was my daughter, I was sure she got the job on her own merit. Plus, it would look great on her college applications in a few years’ time. Being a single mom has been a struggle over the years, and I could barely believe I've almost raised my girls to adulthood. As for the idea of an empty nest... I couldn't even contemplate it!

  Karen gave me a thumbs-up. "I can't wait to celebrate with you later," she said. The sound of a door opening and closing nearby made her look over her shoulder into the corridor. When she turned back to me, she pulled a face. "It's Lance," she mouthed. "I better go!" She waggled her fingers and pulled the door closed behind her, her footsteps hurrying away. I couldn't blame her. Our colleague, Lance Fleming, was not only a feckless jerk but he seemed to relish being one. The board hired him six months ago as the Marketing and Partnerships Manager, a role they invented to increase the museum's publicity and standing, as well as fundraise. That is the only way we can keep the doors open. In those six months, Lance did as much whining and moaning about the job as he spent actually performing his duties. Although he had a couple of "wins," I wasn't convinced he was the ideal man for the role since I heard through the grapevine that he managed to raise the hackles of several important loyal donors. Each time, I stepped in for damage control but if Lance carried on the way he
was, I would have to report him to the board before he caused any serious reputation damage that would follow our small museum for years.

  I wasn't surprised when another knock sounded at my door a moment later. Without waiting, Lance opened it and stepped inside. He pushed back his boyish sweep of blond hair and smiled a big, white Hollywood smile. "It's always so cozy in here," he said, looking around. "Really brings to mind that expression. What is it now? Oh, yes. Can't swing a cat!"

  "Can I help you?" I asked, instead of rising to the bait he invariably attempted to cast. I didn't see any reason to defend my cozy, cluttered office. If Lance didn't like it, he knew where the door was. And if it smacked him on the ass on the way out? Not my problem!

  "Was Karen supposed to be away from the front desk? I don't recall her responsibilities extending to her visiting the office suites," he continued.

  "She brought me some paperwork that I requested," I lied promptly. I patted the stack of papers next to my computer keyboard. There was no way I would let that jerk get Karen in trouble again. He'd already told several tales on some occasions but fortunately, Artie batted away all his criticisms. I didn't know what his problem was with Karen but I felt fairly sure it wasn't personal. He extended his critiques to every member of the team he saw as beneath his position. Lance loved to assert his power, however small it might have been. It wasn't his job to monitor employees. As Deputy Manager, that was my job.

  "And who was managing the front desk while Karen was up here, hmmmm?"

  "I'm sure Karen had it covered. She's been here for years."

  "She was also here when the cash register was stolen a couple months ago." Lance arched an eyebrow but instead of looking suave like he probably hoped, he had to struggle to hold it in place.

  I waited until his nostrils began to flicker with the strain before saying, "That could have happened to anyone, Lance."

  "She's totally irresponsible. Her frequent mistakes could have unintended consequences."

  "It was forty-eight dollars. Not the crime of the century. Anyway, I'm sure you didn't come to my office to remind me someone stole the cash from the till. The Calendar police department did a full investigation and we’ve already put their recommended security measures in place."

  Lance rolled his eyes. "I just finished speaking with the board. They want to see you in ten minutes."

  Checking my watch, I frowned. "I'm not supposed to see them until five o’clock."

  "I'm sure you'll love hearing what they have to say." Lance winked. "Good luck!"

  My frown deepened. Lance was never this nice. "Thank you," I said, just to be gracious. "I'll head over to the boardroom in a few minutes."

  Lance nodded and stepped out, leaving the door open. With a puff of annoyance, I got up, walked around the desk and shut the door. It was no surprise that Lance considered it too much effort to show me even a little courtesy. Not that I kept the door shut but over the last couple of months, it muffled the sound of his braying telephone voice as he tried to bully the patrons into donating bigger sums.

  Ten minutes until I was expected in the boardroom. It was enough time to run through my notes again and review all the things I intended to say. I hurried back around my desk and pulled my notepad from my purse. I'd been working on my notes all week in anticipation of this meeting. What I had to say wasn't anything the board didn't already know. After several recent successes with exhibitions I curated, the revenues increased every quarter over the past three years. Part of that was owing to the tourists who were drawn to my exhibitions from all over, although the locals displayed a renewed interest too, especially during the months when the tourist numbers dropped. Recently, my favorite exhibitions were the ones with local flavor.

  Tonight's official opening featured a glorious fashion presentation of dress throughout Calendar's history. The new owner of the local Blackberry Inn generously donated several gorgeous dresses that were recently discovered after being lost and forgotten for decades in an attic. Other locals emerged with their own attic finds as well as items that had been handed down through several generations. I managed to research the owners of some of the dresses and found corresponding photographs not only in the museum's archives, but also in the town library and newspaper. From there, I developed a picture of our ancestors lives, taking visitors on a decade-by- decade tour, all wonderfully illustrated with silk and cotton dresses, hats and gloves, gentlemens' suits, canes and even a terrific collection of pocket watches. For the soft opening last week, I invited Meredith Blake, a local boutique owner and fashion aficionado. Her stunning speech about the evolution of fashion earned lavish applause. Each member of the board congratulated me. I immediately rebooked Meredith to give another talk for a special members evening.

  While the fashion exhibition was running through the summer, I tabled the idea that it could become permanent especially once the museum was expanded. The plans hadn't been drawn up yet but it was exciting to imagine the outbuildings behind the big Victorian museum soon becoming functioning spaces that could double as an event venue. Until then, I was busy working on a proposal for an exhibition based on a vague idea I had about childhood though the ages. I planned to display many of the toys and games that currently resided in our basement storage area. It was the perfect attraction to get families through the doors and that's exactly what we needed. "Catch 'em young," Artie repeated a thousand times in his throaty voice, "and they'll just keep on coming back."

  I tapped my finger against my list of wins, rehearsing what to say. "I raised substantial revenues in ticket sales, created popular exhibits, forged excellent partnerships with the community, got terrific write-ups in the local, state and national press." The national news mentioned some important, recently discovered artworks, which the owner allowed us to display before the art went on a national tour. I was both quoted and dubbed a rising star in the museum world. The whole thing was a tremendous coup. Even the thought of it now makes me shiver with delight. Yet I was still nervous about the board meeting. I had to shake it off.

  Standing up, I walked around my office, rolling my shoulders and holding my head up higher. I practiced my smile, looking ready, chin up, eyes bright. I even wore my formal black skirt suit and slightly higher than normal heels to put my best foot forward and make a good first impression. With my heap of long, almost black, curly hair, I knew I looked good today. Nervously, I checked my watch again. Two minutes to go.

  I grabbed my suit jacket from the hook behind the door and pulled it on, buttoning the front. Then I left the office, descending one flight of stairs to reach the large room the board used for their monthly meetings. The double oak doors were closed and I could barely hear a vague murmur of voices inside. I knocked and a moment later, one of the board members, Caroline Marsh, opened the door and ushered me inside. She gave me a weak smile as she stepped away.

  "Thanks for coming, Tess. Let’s shelve the museum's accounts temporarily and move onto other business," said George Phelps, president of the board. He waved to the vacant seat in front of me, then ran a hand over his brown hair, taking care not to ruffle the thin patches that were just starting to show. "Take a seat."

  "Thanks, George. So nice to see everyone. I hope you're looking forward to the opening of the latest exhibition later," I said as I sat down, directly in front of the doors and opposite the president. Amongst the other seven members of the board, I heard some polite murmurings about the exhibition but the stark absence of excitement was not what I expected. Perhaps that would come later after my promotion was confirmed. It made sense for them to hold back. They were probably trying to surprise me, I decided as I bit back a smile. "It's going to be beautiful," I continued. "Everyone we invited is attending so we're assured of a good turnout and the Calendar Times are sending a photographer. I expect we'll get a cover mention and a double page spread inside."

  "Good work," said George. "We're all very pleased with the work you've put into it and I certainly enjoyed the private tour."
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  "It was my pleasure to organize it. Meredith is happy to give her talk again and I'm sure the members will love hearing it."

  George cleared his throat. "Let's get down to business," he said, glancing at the thin sheaf of papers on the table in front of him.

  "Absolutely," I agreed. I was nodding and smiling in what I hoped was a confident manner. "I really appreciate being invited to interview for the position of Manager and I won't let you down. I fell in love with this museum from the day I stepped through the doors as a visitor. I've interned, covered the front desk, worked as a tour guide and cherished every step of my journey to Deputy Manager. I know I'm ready."

  "You've been here a long time," nodded George.

  "I have and I feel fortunate to know every aspect of the museum. It's like a second home to me. Although I hate hearing that Artie is retiring, and leaving such big shoes to fill, I'm excited at the prospect this opportunity brings. I will continue to focus on raising ticket revenues as I have been doing successfully for the past three years through a range of initiatives, including but not limited to: new exhibitions, special tours, and a series of noted speakers and lectures as well as novel events that will draw new visitors and old to the museum."

  "We really do appreciate everything you've done," said Caroline. She gave me a tight-lipped smile and dropped her eyes down to her notepad.

  "Thank you," I said, but she didn't look up. Odd.

  "Er, yes, thank you, Tess," added George.

  "I've been working on several new ideas I mentioned during my interview and I'd love to present them to you soon."

  "That won't be necessary," said George. He gazed directly at me but his face was cold when he gulped. "We want to thank you again for all your efforts but we must inform you that you have been surpassed at this time. We're sure this is disappointing news but we hope you'll stay on as Deputy Manager."