and murder?”
“We’re not accusing you of anything,” Tony said. “We’re just asking a few questions.”
Kat piped up. “How did you know it was arson and murder? The police haven’t officially announced that yet.”
“Lucky guess.” The former teacher’s thin lips formed a flattened smile. “Or maybe it was the simple fact that the museum caught fire at the same time Constance was found dead inside.”
“Where were you last night when the fire broke out?” Tony asked.
“I was at the Chamber of Commerce fund-raiser,” Claude said. “Several dozen people saw me there.”
“The party was still going on at one in the morning?”
“It was wrapping up at that time.”
“Half the town came out to see the fire,” Kat said. “But I didn’t see you there.”
“That’s because I didn’t go. Emma Pulsifer had left an hour earlier. Father Ron, Mayor Hammond, and I were still there when we heard the fire trucks. The two of them headed off to see the fire. I walked home.”
Kat leaned forward, studying her former teacher for signs he was lying. A rapid blinking of the eyes, for instance, or a twitching at the mouth. She saw nothing. “Weren’t you the least bit concerned that the museum was on fire?”
“I didn’t know it was the museum until Emma called me very early this morning with the tragic news about Constance.”
“Let’s get back to Mrs. Bishop,” Tony said. “She was apparently spending a lot of time in her office lately.”
“Ah, yes,” Claude replied. “Her secret project. She tried to hide the fact that she was working on something, but it was obvious. Only Emma seemed not to notice. No surprise there.”
“Do you know what the project was about?” Tony asked.
Claude shook his head. “I don’t. None of us did. But we were about to. I suppose Emma told you about the emergency meeting Constance had called for tonight.”
“She did,” Kat said.
“While our meetings were often less exciting than watching paint dry, I was looking forward to this one. I suspect Constance had found something very interesting. Now we might never find out what it was.”
On the way there, Kat and Tony had debated about mentioning the skeleton under the floor to the other members of the historical society. They eventually decided not to. Because the bones were apparently unearthed only recently, it was likely that Constance had been acting alone. If she wasn’t, then the hope was that her accomplice would slip up and mention it without prompting.
“What about the name Brad Ford?” Kat said. “You ever hear Constance mention him?”
“Brad Ford.” Claude rolled the name around in his mouth, tasting it like an oenophile did wine. “I can’t recall ever hearing the name. Was he a relative of hers? I thought she didn’t have any family.”
“We don’t know who he is,” Kat said. “I found the name in her office and thought it might be related to her secret project.”
“Constance didn’t like to share too many things with me, since we disagreed on most of them.”
“What else did you two disagree about?” Tony asked. “Money? We found your financial reports in her office. We know the historical society was deep in debt.”
Claude crossed his legs and folded his hands on his knees. It was a sight Kat knew well. During class Mr. Dobson would often assume that same pose as he sat on the corner of his desk. When he did, his students would ready their notebooks, knowing a torrent of information was about to be unleashed. That morning was no different.
“Constance was good-hearted but foolish,” he said. “And I’m not just saying that because, given my background in teaching history, I should have been president. She had lofty goals and silly notions that people in this town actually give a shit about history. Having been the one to teach it to most of them, I can assure you they don’t. If they did, the museum wouldn’t have been flat broke.”
“Emma said some of
“We’re not accusing you of anything,” Tony said. “We’re just asking a few questions.”
Kat piped up. “How did you know it was arson and murder? The police haven’t officially announced that yet.”
“Lucky guess.” The former teacher’s thin lips formed a flattened smile. “Or maybe it was the simple fact that the museum caught fire at the same time Constance was found dead inside.”
“Where were you last night when the fire broke out?” Tony asked.
“I was at the Chamber of Commerce fund-raiser,” Claude said. “Several dozen people saw me there.”
“The party was still going on at one in the morning?”
“It was wrapping up at that time.”
“Half the town came out to see the fire,” Kat said. “But I didn’t see you there.”
“That’s because I didn’t go. Emma Pulsifer had left an hour earlier. Father Ron, Mayor Hammond, and I were still there when we heard the fire trucks. The two of them headed off to see the fire. I walked home.”
Kat leaned forward, studying her former teacher for signs he was lying. A rapid blinking of the eyes, for instance, or a twitching at the mouth. She saw nothing. “Weren’t you the least bit concerned that the museum was on fire?”
“I didn’t know it was the museum until Emma called me very early this morning with the tragic news about Constance.”
“Let’s get back to Mrs. Bishop,” Tony said. “She was apparently spending a lot of time in her office lately.”
“Ah, yes,” Claude replied. “Her secret project. She tried to hide the fact that she was working on something, but it was obvious. Only Emma seemed not to notice. No surprise there.”
“Do you know what the project was about?” Tony asked.
Claude shook his head. “I don’t. None of us did. But we were about to. I suppose Emma told you about the emergency meeting Constance had called for tonight.”
“She did,” Kat said.
“While our meetings were often less exciting than watching paint dry, I was looking forward to this one. I suspect Constance had found something very interesting. Now we might never find out what it was.”
On the way there, Kat and Tony had debated about mentioning the skeleton under the floor to the other members of the historical society. They eventually decided not to. Because the bones were apparently unearthed only recently, it was likely that Constance had been acting alone. If she wasn’t, then the hope was that her accomplice would slip up and mention it without prompting.
“What about the name Brad Ford?” Kat said. “You ever hear Constance mention him?”
“Brad Ford.” Claude rolled the name around in his mouth, tasting it like an oenophile did wine. “I can’t recall ever hearing the name. Was he a relative of hers? I thought she didn’t have any family.”
“We don’t know who he is,” Kat said. “I found the name in her office and thought it might be related to her secret project.”
“Constance didn’t like to share too many things with me, since we disagreed on most of them.”
“What else did you two disagree about?” Tony asked. “Money? We found your financial reports in her office. We know the historical society was deep in debt.”
Claude crossed his legs and folded his hands on his knees. It was a sight Kat knew well. During class Mr. Dobson would often assume that same pose as he sat on the corner of his desk. When he did, his students would ready their notebooks, knowing a torrent of information was about to be unleashed. That morning was no different.
“Constance was good-hearted but foolish,” he said. “And I’m not just saying that because, given my background in teaching history, I should have been president. She had lofty goals and silly notions that people in this town actually give a shit about history. Having been the one to teach it to most of them, I can assure you they don’t. If they did, the museum wouldn’t have been flat broke.”
“Emma said some of
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