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“I know it by heart.”

“ ‘… the Director will serve at the pleasure of the Board of Governors. The Director may be removed for “dereliction of duty, obvious incapacity to perform his functions as Director, public censure, criminal activity, or moral turpitude.” ’ ”

“Yes, good old moral turpitude. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need Warwick on your side.”

“Maybe it is time to resign.”

“And let Malachy Morin have it?”

“He might be more amenable to this scheme of yours.”

He leaned back with that look on his face. “Hmmm … Hadn’t thought about that. Maybe you’re right.” Then, “Look, don’t fight this thing. It’s inevitable. It makes great sense.”

“It would be a museum of the dead, the locally dead, anyway.” I spoke morosely.

“But it’s already that, Norman. You have that vast Skull Collection. You have thousands of pieces of human remains from all over the globe.”

“So how would we proceed? What do we say to Warwick?”

“We agree to a meeting. We discuss setting up a mortuary wing based on his proposal. We talk up the visionary thing.”

“The cemeteries might object.”

“Nah, they’re already overcrowded. Standing room only.”

“I will consider it.” I spoke without enthusiasm, still wondering why I could find only thorns on the flowering branch Felix held out to me.

11

I find myself in a dither over an incident that in fact I handled very well. I was clattering down the stairs that lead from floor to floor around the central atrium on my way to get coffee as Doreen’s condition makes it difficult for her, even using the elevator. As I neared the ground floor, I noticed three men in shirts and ties, one with an expensive-looking camera-like device, one with a clipboard, and one with a tape measure.

I paused, trying to remember if any kind of restoration or refurbishment had begun. There’s always something going on like that in a museum. But I could think of nothing. I felt a jolt of adrenaline as my territorial instincts took over. Still, I affected a calm exterior as I approached the three men, who were going about their work in a professional manner.

“Excuse me,” I said to the one with the clipboard as he appeared to be in charge, “could you tell me what you’re doing here?”

He pointed to the man who had set the camera on a tripod and was scanning up and down and around. “That’s the boss.”

I went over and stood by him until he glanced up. He was a pleasant-looking, clean-shaven sort of man who exuded competence. “Can I help you?” he said, noticing me waiting.

“You can. You can tell me what’s going on here.” I extended my hand. “I’m Norman de Ratour. I’m the director of the museum.”

He freed his right hand and shook mine. “Marv Gorman. They mentioned you might show up.”

“Indeed. So what is going on?”

“Sure. We’re from Facilities Planning. We’re doing a preliminary survey. It’s the first step in any renovations. The architects need to know with some precision what’s in place before they go changing it around.”

“I see. And with whose authority are you conducting this preliminary survey?”

He turned to the man with the clipboard. “Pete, you got the req there?”

“Right here.”

Marv took the paper from Pete and handed to me. He pointed to the signature. “Jack Marchand. He’s in charge of Facilities Planning.”

I read it over. I noticed with an extra pulse of blood pressure the name Professor Laluna Jackson under the heading “Requested By.”

I had the presence of mind to ask in an offhand way, “Do you mind if I make a copy of this?”

Marv shrugged.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. I went into the financial office, which is nearby, and had a copy made.

I returned and handed back the original. I said, “Well, gentlemen, I don’t regret to inform you that this is not university property. Mr. Marchand’s signature has no effect here.”

“I was told …”

“You were misinformed. I have a court order to that effect while the question of proprietorship is being litigated. So I will respectfully ask you to leave.” I smiled. “Of course, you are all welcome to return as