Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [79]
Nika pointed at the offending pile. “I had all these things packed up, and he comes along and does this!”
“Who?”
“Ralph Petty!”
“Why on earth … ”
“You ask me why?” Nika’s voice quivered with rage. “There is no why! I’m down here working and he walks in and says he wants to see what I’m doing. Next thing I know he’s taking everything out of this box. When I asked him what for, he tells me he wants to inspect my work.”
Chloe’s jaw tightened. That little prick.
Nika jabbed one elegant finger toward Chloe’s nose. “I will not take this, you hear me? I will not—”
“Hey.” Chloe put her hand over Nika’s and pressed down. For a brief moment the younger woman resisted. Then she let her hand drop.
“I want to hear what you have to say,” Chloe said. “But I will not be harangued. We clear on that?”
“Yes.”
“OK, here’s the thing.” Chloe ran a hand over her hair. “In a staff meeting this morning I pissed off Ralph. Big time. In fact, when the phone rang I thought it was him, calling to fire me.” She exhaled slowly. “Evidently he decided to take his ire out on you instead.”
Nika picked up a christening gown and smoothed row upon row of white lace. Her long brown fingers against the lace were so gentle that Chloe had to look away. “I spent hours cleaning and packing these things,” Nika said.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’d talk to him about what he did, but honestly, it would probably do more harm than good.”
Nika gave Chloe a level gaze. “What did you do in the staff meeting? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Chloe, long past worrying about the subtleties of professional decorum, told Nika what had happened.
Nika shook her head. “And you think he’s so small that he’d come down here and give me shit rather than deal straight with you?”
“Well, it’s just a theory.” Chloe considered. “I didn’t ask his permission before we got you set up down here. That didn’t help, either. Ralph is a classic micro-manager.”
“You think?”
Chloe leaned against the worktable. “Nobody wants a top-of-the-line collections facility more than me. But I intended to get a sense of the collection overall, make some estimates, and come up with a plan that reflects the size and scope of our collection. Ralph decided I was dawdling, so he took the liberty of drawing up his own architectural plan.”
Nika raised her eyebrows. “Was it any good?”
“Oh, please. I could do better with a crayon and a cocktail napkin. And you would probably have the whole thing spec’d by now, and fundraising well underway. Listen, try not to let him get to you. Average middle-aged white guys tend to flock toward administrative positions. You gotta get used to them.”
“I suppose.” Nika looked pensive. “You know, I’ve processed hundreds of items down here, and to the best of my knowledge, not a single one was worn by a black person.”
“I’m not surprised by that.” Chloe sighed. “Have you found any good Euro pieces, though? Anything worthy of writing up?”
Nika began re-folding the christening gown around protective rolls of acid-free tissue. “No such luck.”
“Don’t give up. You’ll find the right story somewhere.” And that, Chloe thought, is the last piece of banal advice I’m going to spout.
“Thanks,” Nika said. “And … I hope you don’t get fired.”
As Chloe was leaving, she spotted something truly amazing in the corner: two four-drawer filing cabinets, old but serviceable. “Are these full?”
Nika shook her head. “Not even close. They were surplus, I think. I found them in the pole barn at Restoration. Joel helped me haul them over here, clean ’em up and bang out a few dents. I figured they’d get put to use somehow.”
“Well, I’d like to commandeer a drawer or two. Byron dumped a bunch of files on me, and I don’t have any place to put them.”
“Where are they?”
“In the trunk