Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [59]
“Do you have a written overview of Old World’s collections?” she asked. “Something that provides estimates of what we have? I haven’t found that kind of breakdown.”
Ralph waved a hand. “We don’t need specifics for fund-raising.”
“But … shouldn’t we at least have estimates before we commit to anything? I’ll need to spend some time doing an inventory—”
“I did not ask you to do an inventory,” Ralph snapped. “I asked you to work on a storage facility plan. Was I not clear?”
“You were clear,” Chloe affirmed.
“Do not spend time on an inventory.”
That edict made no sense. No sense at all.
Ralph consulted a desk calendar. “I want to see a draft of your proposal in … two weeks. We’ll meet two weeks from today.”
“I’m not comfortable committing to that,” Chloe said. “The collection clearly numbers in the thousands of items, from giant threshing machines to silver thimbles. Nika and I are working on storage issues, but I’ve got daily needs from the interpreters too.”
“We’re a huge site with a small staff. Everyone has to work in overdrive.” Ralph frowned. “I hadn’t expected this negative attitude from you, Chloe.”
“I don’t have a negative attitude.” Chloe struggled to keep her tone neutral. “I’m trying to give you a realistic estimate of what I can accomplish, and when. Nika and I are already making good progress, by the way.” Nika was the only one making progress, actually, but Ralph didn’t need to know that. “We’ve moved all the textiles from the storage trailers to the basement of St. Peter’s Church—”
“What?” Ralph’s frown deepened. “I didn’t know anything about that.”
Shit. She knew better than to volunteer information to an administrator. “I ran the plan by Leila,” Chloe said breezily. “I couldn’t make progress in the trailers without creating some room. Nika’s doing a superb job, by the way. She’s a dynamo. I’m really grateful that you hired her.”
His phone rang. “Keep me posted,” he said curtly. Meeting over.
Chloe drove back to the restoration area, parked, and sat staring at the two horrid trailers. Her relationship with Ralph had obviously skidded onto proverbially thin ice. That took, what—a week? She remembered how hard she had tried, that first day, to get her career back on track.
And she might accomplish that yet, if she did what Ralph wanted her to do. She would need to focus solely on his collections storage building project. Doing a good job would mean long days, evenings, weekends. Crawling over the site to get at least a general sense of the collection. Contacting colleagues at other historic sites for comparative plans. Calling vendors for quotes on everything from shelving to climate control systems.
And it would mean pushing everything else aside.
Lovely. She could keep looking for the ale bowl, and risk losing her job; or she could keep her job, but give up on the ale bowl.
You need this job! some inner voice whispered urgently in her brain. Chloe’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. It’s what she wanted, right? A collections job, at a superb historic site? She could forget her promise to Mrs. Lundquist. Push aside the guilt. She didn’t have a choice. She really didn’t.
Chloe let her head rest on her steering wheel. Minutes ticked past.
Then she got out of her car, opened its trunk, tossed Ralph’s file on top of the boxed files already there, and slammed the trunk shut. The hell with Ralph.
She was scheduled to provide training to the German-area interpreters that afternoon. Based on yesterday’s debacle with Byron, she needed to plan an entirely new talk. Supporting the front-line interpreters was the most important thing she could do for Old World Wisconsin. The interpretive staff was the site’s public face. Without them, the historic site would begin a downward spiral fueled by unhappy visitors and declining revenues. The interpreters were not well paid; at the very least they should be well trained.
And when she was finished with the training plan,