The Skeleton Paints a Picture: A Family Skeleton Mystery (#4) Read online

  “She didn’t, but she’s been teaching Madison, and as part of that process, she bought Madison an instruction book, which Madison left unattended where I could read it. The rest was just practice.”

  “Don’t you need lock picks?”

  “I had my set in the suitcase.”

  “You have lock picks?”

  “They’re easily obtained online. Which reminds me. You may notice some odd charges on your PayPal account.”

  “It’s your stipend—you can do whatever you want with it.” Sid couldn’t make money, so I gave him access to my accounts for those things he wanted. He preferred that I not refer to it as an allowance.

  “I started with Lucas’s office. His computer has lousy security, which I really appreciated. I searched through as much of his hard drive as I could but found nothing relating to art theft. Nothing in his paper files, either, which are surprisingly well-organized for an artist, despite a lot of multicolored fingerprints on everything. Then I searched for secret hiding places under furniture and behind file cabinets and in heating vents. I was very thorough, but there was nothing.”

  “I’m glad. I like Lucas.”

  “One, just because I didn’t find anything that doesn’t mean he’s not Scarlet Letter. And two, will you stop having the hots for our suspects?”

  “Just as soon as you stop suspecting guys who are hot.”

  He sighed. “Next up was Jeremy’s office. There was no computer, so he must have carried it home, and nothing suspicious in his paper files, which aren’t nearly as nicely organized as Lucas’s. No hidden compartments that I could find.” He looked at me significantly.

  “What?”

  “Isn’t he hot?”

  “He’s okay, but he’s engaged, so I’m not interested.”

  “Good. On to the other offices in the Painting wing.”

  “Wait, how far did you wander?”

  “Georgia, when am I going to get a better chance to snoop? It was midnight by then. The building was empty, security hadn’t come by in hours, and it was completely dark, so nobody could have seen me. It’s also in the past, so do not get hysterical.”

  “I think I’m entitled to a little hysteria.”

  He gave me a look.

  “Fine, I will be serene. Just tell me what you found.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “Nothing related to the case. I did learn that one instructor has a fondness for fifties pinups, especially Bettie Page; another has a stash of dark chocolate hidden in her desk; and a third is way behind in his grading. Then I headed for the English wing.”

  “You went—?” I stopped when I saw his expression. “I mean, wow, you were moving swiftly to get as far as that.”

  “I only got to two offices: Renee’s and Mr. Perkins’s. Bad news for Renee—she’s had to scale back on her original wedding plans. I never realized how expensive weddings are.”

  “It makes me glad I never had one.”

  “Ditto, though I do look good in white. She’s also got scary taste in office decorations.”

  “Renee? I thought she had pictures of her dogs.”

  “That’s what I said.” He shuddered noisily.

  “What about Mr. Perkins?”

  “Had there been any dust, it would have been filed in alphabetical order. Even the lost-and-found box is neatly arranged—he folded lost mittens. But I did find something interesting. Have you ever heard of Pteriwinkle Gleam?”

  “Periwinkle? Like the color?”

  “Pteri as in pterodactyl. Winkle and gleam as in…winkle and gleam, I guess. Pteriwinkle Gleam is, or was, a glam rock band back in the eighties. The lead singer was a cross between David Bowie and Alice Cooper—big into spandex, platform boots, and sparkly makeup. Their biggest hit, which came the closest to actually charting, was ‘Glitter Games.’”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because your prim and proper Mr. Perkins has their entire oeuvre on his hard drive, and it looks as if he’s been splicing together performance clips to make YouTube videos. He even runs a fan site for the band.”

  “Really? How active a site is it?”

  “It has a small, but enthusiastic fan base.”

  “Okay, hilarious, but not particularly suspicious.”

  “Not unless he’s stealing T-shirt designs to finance his video-making activities, and I found no signs of that. Anyway, it was getting late, so I went back to Lucas’s studio after that. I was back in position long before he arrived.”

  “Good work, Sid.” Okay, the idea of him wandering around the campus where he could have been caught gave me the wiggins, but if there’s one thing being a parent has taught me, it’s that sometimes you have to sit on your hands and let things happen.

  “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I didn’t find anything, and we can’t really rule anybody out yet.”

  “Okay, it would have been great if you’d found a smoking gun, but we come up empty most of the time.”

  “True. What about you? Did you use your feminine wiles to get anything out of Lucas?”

  “Sure, let’s call it that. Anyway, I learned a lot of stuff about copying art when it isn’t exactly theft, but not a lot about copying when it is.” I gave him a brief recitation. “It turns out that Ashwin teaches a class in copying.”

  “Does that make him more of a suspect or less?”

  “I’m not sure. On the one hand, he’d be able to re-create the designs he sees, but on the other, he’d surely realize that he’d be a suspect. And here’s a fun fact: when I was at Kelly’s memorial service, it came out that Ashwin doesn’t appreciate comics and at least one of the stolen designs is from an online comic book.”

  “Interesting.”

  “And according to some of the other art adjuncts, Jeremy doesn’t really appreciate what most FAD students are doing. He’s all about fine art painting, not the kinds of things that would go on a T-shirt.”

  “So would either of them bother to steal something he doesn’t value?”

  “He might, for the same reason I’ve been known to grab an extra couple of straws at McDonald’s. A straw isn’t worth anything, so I don’t feel as if I’m really stealing. Since the T-shirt ideas aren’t anything important, he wouldn’t feel guilty about taking them.”

  “Also interesting. But if he doesn’t think they’re worth anything, why would he be so worried about being caught that he’d kill Kelly?”

  “I don’t know much about Ashwin, but Lucas said the tenure gig is Jeremy’s to lose. I bet that if he were caught stealing from students, he’d lose it.”

  “That’s a nifty motive, but I bet we could find evidence for half the people on campus if we looked hard enough.” He drummed his fingers on the coffee table. “Coccyx. More possibilities, but nothing exciting.”

  “Not true. While you were posing for the benefit of Lucas’s students, I located a red-hot suspect with the aid of Indigo and Marissa. And we have a plan—it’s crazy, but it just might work.”

  “You hatched a crazy plan without me?” he said, and I noticed that his joints loosened.

  “Only the bare bones,” I said. “I’ve been dying to get together with you and really flesh it out.”

  “You are so humerus,” he said, but his bones snapped back together and he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  After plotting Friday night away, with many texts to Marissa and Indigo, we thought we had all the wrinkles ironed out.

  Sid and I got to my office at ten Saturday morning and texted our junior associates to get things moving. If all had gone according to plan, Bad Bobbie would just be waking up and realizing that her dorm room was ice cold. Marissa would then confess to “accidentally” turning the heater off the night before, and after Bad Bobbie complained loudly and profanely, would offer to take her to The Artist’s Palette in apology. Since Bad Bobbie hated the food at t
he dorm cafeteria and could rarely afford to eat elsewhere, she would be sure to accept. Needless to say, I was financing the meal, which I would have done even if Marissa hadn’t been short on funds. The typical college student was even more broke than the typical adjunct.

  As soon as the two girls left their dorm room, Indigo—who was supposed to be lurking nearby—would use the key Marissa had provided to sneak into the room and grab Bad Bobbie’s computer.

  My part of the first phase was to wait. Impatiently. Thirty minutes later, Indigo showed up at my office and pulled a laptop out of their bag.

  “Did everything go according to plan?” I asked.

  They nodded. “Are you sure you can crack this? Bad Bobbie is bound to have password protection.”

  “I’ve got a friend on call who can handle it,” I assured them.

  “Okay, I’ll hang in the Roundling until I hear from you or Marissa. You need anything?”

  “Nope, I’m good to go.”

  I locked the door behind them and said, “The coast is clear.”

  “Excellent! Sid emerged from his suitcase. “Hand it over, stand back, and let me get to work.”

  Sid had explained to me that while he wasn’t a true hacker, he did have a few tricks up his nonexistent sleeves. He’d spent most of the night before poring over Bad Bobbie’s social media and Internet footprints, looking for clues to things she might have chosen for passwords and he had a list of pets’ names, nicknames, important dates, favorite TV shows, beloved movies, and admired books—all gleaned from Bad Bobbie’s background.

  “What if none of those work?” I asked.

  “I’ve got some online sources that might be able to help.” He made an expression I think was an attempt to lift an eyebrow, which would have been more meaningful if he’d had eyebrows. “Nothing too shady, but it’s better that you not know the details.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll just stay out of your way.”

  He cracked his knuckles, which was a lot louder for somebody with no flesh to dampen the sound, and opened the laptop. Seconds later, he said, “I’m in.”

  “What? You didn’t even type anything.”

  “The system was never shut down—it just timed out and went into energy-saving mode. Doesn’t this kid know anything about personal security?”

  “Don’t waste time complaining! Check for stolen art files!”

  He’d only been at it a few minutes when a text arrived on my phone.

  MARISSA: Coming back! Artist’s Palette was full. BB wouldn’t wait. Wanted takeout to carry to room. It’ll be ready in ten minutes. Five more minutes to get to room.

  INDIGO: Abort?

  “Coccyx!” I said. “Sid, we’ve got to give the laptop back to Indigo.”

  “What?”

  “No time to explain. We’ll have to try again later.”

  “Forget that. She might put the password on next time. Hang on.” He reached into his suitcase and produced a thumb drive. “I’ll copy all her files.”

  “Is there time?”

  He plugged it in and started the process. “It says it’s going to take twenty-five minutes.”

  I texted back.

  GEORGIA: I’ve got the files copying to a thumb drive. Marissa, can you drag it out for twenty-five minutes?

  MARISSA: Doubt it.

  INDIGO: I can carry it open, so it’ll keep copying. It’ll just take longer to get back to the dorm that way.

  GEORGIA: Give me a minute. Marissa, STALL!

  “Okay, Sid, get back in the bacon bag and give me the laptop.”

  “Done.” He fell apart into the suitcase, and I grabbed the laptop, draped my coat over it, and went to the door. Indigo was right outside.

  “Bring back the thumb drive. And my coat!” I handed the awkward bundle to them and they took off at a good pace, but it was definitely slower than they’d been going with the laptop safely tucked into their bag.

  I didn’t want to distract either of my co-conspirators with more texts, so all I could do was pace back and forth in my office. When I heard a throat-clearing noise, I locked the door again and Sid got out to pace with me.

  “Do you think Indigo got back in time?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” I looked at my phone again.

  Forty-five excruciating minutes later, there was a tap on the door. Sid dove into the suitcase, breaking apart as he went, and managed not to make much noise. Then I opened up to find Indigo and Marissa. Marissa was wearing my coat, which was far too large for her, and Indigo was triumphantly holding up the thumb drive.

  “Nailed it!” they said in unison.

  I ushered them inside and asked, “What the patella took so long?”

  Marissa looked confused by my phrasing, but Indigo was getting used to me. They said, “So I made it back to the dorm room maybe a minute ahead of Marissa and Bad Bobbie.”

  “You’re just lucky the elevator was in use and we had to take the stairs,” Marissa said.

  “Lucky nothing! I took the elevator myself and pushed all the buttons before I got out to slow it down.”

  She punched their arm admiringly. “You are brilliant.”

  They grinned. “Only, when I got to the dorm room, the copying wasn’t done yet. The status bar said it needed five more minutes.”

  “Meanwhile, Bad Bobbie and I got to our door, and there was Indigo, leaning on the wall and acting like they were waiting for me.”

  “I was waiting for you, wasn’t I? Anyway, I said you’d left your coat in my room so I’d brought it by. Bad Bobbie didn’t notice the coat was covering something.”

  “I think she was too surprised by my being in Indigo’s room.” She colored. “I mean, about my knowing them and all.”

  There was a tiny chuckle from Sid’s suitcase, which I ignored and apparently the others didn’t hear. “How did you get the laptop back where it was supposed to be without Bad Bobbie noticing?”

  “Easy. I let Marissa and Bad Bobbie go into the room first, and on my way past the switch, I ‘accidentally’ turned off the light and pretended I couldn’t find it again.”

  “Meanwhile, I figured out what they were doing and got in Bad Bobbie’s way to distract her,” Marissa said.

  “You, too, are brilliant!” Another arm punch was exchanged. “By the time the light got turned back on, the laptop was on Bad Bobbie’s desk and I had the thumb drive in my pocket. I’m ninety-five percent sure it was finished copying.” They presented it to me proudly.

  “But what took so long to get back here?” I asked.

  Marissa colored again. “Well after that, we had to pretend like we’re really, you know, seeing each other.”

  “We were making cute,” Indigo explained.

  “I was afraid Bad Bobbie didn’t think we were really dating, so I wanted to be convincing.”

  “Why would she be so sure we’re not dating?” Indigo asked.

  “Because, you know, you’re—” She swallowed visibly. “Because you’re an upperclassman.”

  “As if that matters,” they scoffed. “Anyway, I hung around while they ate breakfast and then asked Marissa to hang with me for the afternoon. And here we are.”

  “You two are awesome,” I said. “If I could give a grade for this, you’d both get A’s.”

  “So do you want us to help go through the stuff on the thumb drive?” Indigo asked.

  There was a Sid-like rumbling from the suitcase.

  “No, that’s okay. You two probably have projects you need to work on.”

  “Yeah, kind of,” Indigo admitted. “I’ve lost a lot of time working at the Lab with you.”

  I thought calling what they’d been doing working was a bit of an exaggeration, but given how well they’d done with their first attempt at espionage, I wasn’t inclined to point it out.

  “I’ve got assignments to finish, too, but I probably shouldn’t go back to my room yet,” Marissa said. “Bad Bobbie would wonder.”

  “You want to come chill in my room?�
� Indigo said. “My roomie is working in the animation lab all day.”

  “I don’t want to be in the way,” she said shyly.

  “As if! Besides, I want you to show me how you drew that woodblock wolf. That’s really good work.”

  They smiled at one another, and I just barely got my coat back before they wandered away together.

  “Ah, young love,” the suitcase said with a happy sigh.

  After Sid climbed out, he got to work on the thumb drive in my office to see what he could find out from Bad Bobbie’s files. Fortunately, he’d brought his own laptop to use, so I wouldn’t have to twiddle my thumbs in the meantime.

  Knowing that he hated to be distracted when he was in info gathering mode, I went to work in the Writing Lab and used every bit of self-control I possessed to keep from texting him every few minutes. I did check my phone repeatedly, but that wasn’t interrupting. I was just about out of patience when I finally got a text from Sid.

  SID: Done.

  I didn’t bother to reply, just locked up the Lab and headed to my office. After I tapped shave-and-a-haircut on the door, I let myself in, making sure nobody was close enough to see Sid at my desk.

  When I saw him myself, I wasn’t sure what to think. He was sitting with his skull in his hands. Not in the normal face-palm way—he was literally holding his skull in his lap.

  “Sid, are you okay?”

  “Georgia, there are things that once seen, can never be unseen.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do we have any more hydrogen peroxide at the bungalow? Tonight I’m going to need a good bath—I want to rinse out my skull.”

  “We can grab some more on the way home. Now are you going to tell me what’s on that thumb drive, or should I look for myself?”

  “Coccyx, Georgia, promise me never to look at those files. In fact, I don’t think we should ever use that thumb drive again. Does the fireplace at the bungalow work? Or maybe we can bury it.”

  “Sid! What did you find?”

  “You are familiar with fanfic, are you not?”

  “Sure.” Fan fiction is stories and even novels written by fans of a show or book to continue or expand upon the original work.