Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [23]
“From the site?” Leila hooted with laughter. “Oh, that’s rich. We just got our first fax machines here at HQ. They have to become obsolete before any drift out to the sites.”
Well, no surprise there. “OK. Second, what can you tell me about Old World Wisconsin’s collection records?”
“There should be a stack of big black ledgers somewhere in those trailers,” Leila said. “The former curator bound the collections records in those. One book for each year, and one page for each item donated to Old World or transferred to the site from the main collection here.”
Chloe tapped her pen against the kitchen counter. “One more question. Who should I talk to about a specific artifact transferred here from the main collection there in Madison?”
“The registrar here will have duplicate records. Need her number?”
Chloe took down the name and number. Before hanging up, she and Leila agreed on a date for Chloe to come to Madison for orientation.
Then Chloe dusted off one of the heavy black ledgers piled on the counter and opened it gingerly. Sure enough, the site’s accession records were arranged in chronological order. She hauled the notebooks back outside and planted herself at the picnic table.
It took over two hours to page through them. She justified the time by telling herself that she was acquainting herself with the collection. She did, after all, see a lot of information about artifacts donated and transferred to the site. What she did not see was any mention of a rosemaled ale bowl with cow heads transferred from the main state collection to Old World Wisconsin.
She headed back inside to call the registrar. The woman who answered sounded brisk and efficient, welcome traits common in a profession that depended upon extreme order. “You’re looking for one record in particular?”
“That’s right.” Chloe looked at the accession form Mrs. Lundquist had given her. “I’m trying to find out the date of transfer—”
“Give me the accession number.”
“SHSW 1962.37.3.”
“OK … hold on … got it. Norwegian ale bowl.”
Chloe’s fingers tightened on the black plastic. “That’s it.”
“That was transferred to Old World on July 17, 1977. You should have a record of it.”
“I’m sure I do,” Chloe said. “But it’s my first week—I haven’t had time to get straight on everything yet.” She was already mourning the fast-approaching time when she couldn’t fall back on that “I’m-just-the-new-girl” excuse.
“Call me if you need a copy of the transfer form.”
“Will do,” Chloe said. “Thanks.”
She grabbed the 1977 ledger and sat on the trailer steps. Perhaps she’d flipped past the transfer form on her first pass through. She thumbed through the July entries. No record of a Norwegian ale bowl.
Frowning, she looked again. The accession numbers jumped from 1977.13 to 1977.15. In between those two pages, she spotted something she’d missed. A tiny triangle of paper with ragged edges protruded from the binding. Someone had torn a page from the book—the transfer form for Mrs. Lundquist’s ale bowl.
Chloe hugged the book to her chest. First an unknown visitor had asked about the bowl. Now this. Strange. And disturbing.
So, what should she do with that information? Talk to Leila in Madison again? Leila didn’t even have time to call a new staff member and welcome her on board. Ralph Petty, the site director? She chewed that over.
Then she went back inside, called the director, and gave him a brief summary of events: Mrs. Lundquist’s visit and accident, the visitor looking for an ale bowl, the missing accession form. “So I was wondering if—”
“This woman is dead?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said cautiously.
“So why are you wasting time looking for her donation? You didn’t think you could return it, did you?”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Of course not. It’s just that—”
“Stop worrying about things that don’t matter. Are you making progress with the collections storage building plan?”
OK, calling Ralph had been a mistake. “I’m working on it,” Chloe said. “Thanks, Ralph. I’ll let you go.”
She hung up and stood for a long moment, debating. Then she dug through her bag,