Page 44 of Dead and Gone

"We know the mole's original eyes are rubies, and somebody removed and hid them before the kids stole the mole," says Rowan. "This person replaced the eyes with glass beads.You.What other gems have you taken from exhibits to sell?"

The curator's jaw slackens. "What a ridiculous accusation! I'm grateful to the Redridge family for their generous donations to fill empty space in the museum." He looks rather pointedly at me, emphasizing the word empty.

"I bet the family wouldn't be happy if they knew a corrupt curator stole and replaced the gems their donated items," says Rowan.

The curator chokes. "Do you have any evidence for these ridiculous claims?"

"Yes." Rowan can barely suppress his triumphant smile as he produces the small black pouch and hands it to the man.

The curator fumbles to undo the ribbon before tipping the contents on the table. His jaw slackens. "Where did you get these?"

"From where you hid them, Mr. Wright," I say.

Mr. Wright's red face blanches, and he gawks at the gems as if he had tipped tiny explosives onto the table. "Youtook the gems from the box,” he whispers. "How? Nobody has the key apart from me, and I keep it at home. How did you know what was inside? You thieving little?—"

"I rather think that's the pot calling the kettle black, Mr. Wright," I say tersely.

"I bet if you brought us jewelry from the display cabinets, they'd contain fake jewels. You replaced them with glass, didn't you?" says Rowan. "Were the gems now on the table stored in the box while you waited for a buyer?"

The curator's mouth becomes a line so thin that it almost disappears.

"There's no point denying this," I say.

Mr. Wright places a tiny emerald in his palm before running his finger along the gem. I fidget, annoyed by his silence.

He draws in a long breath. "Alright. Yes, I swapped gems in some jewelry. Plenty of museums display replicas. Nobody knows the difference. The museum is struggling for funds, and we decided that we can't allow our town's history to die."

"We?" I ask sharply. "Who else is involved?"

The curator blinks. "You don't know what it's like! Nobody cares about history anymore! We barely scrape by with the grant money—this place is falling apart.”

"All very moving, but who else is involved?" I press.

"Nobody," he mumbles. "Just me. I thought the idea was harmless. Swap out a few gems here and there, sell them, and I'd finally have enough money to save this place. I just wanted the money for the museum."

"Are you selling these gems to anybody in particular?"

A muscle ticks in his jaw. "Jewelers. I'm not giving names and causing trouble for anybody else."

But there are vague images of other people in his mind, which are frustratingly not clear enough for me to memorize.

But I will find these names.

"You are dishonest and despicable," I say.

"What's the harm? The exhibits look the same, and the museum survives!"

Leif barks a laugh. "Until someone demands their heirlooms back and notices the missing gemstones."

"Which is the real reason for your worry, isn't it?" I say. “What if the mole landed in the hands of somebody who discovered the 'damage’ and told the family? The Redridges would demand their heirlooms back. They’d inspect everythingand discover missing gems—gems you've already sold and can't replace."

The curator looks at his linked fingers and drops into silence again. "Yes, I couldn't risk the mole getting into the wrong hands," he says eventually. "Somebody could uncover the scheme and expose me, and not just to the Redridge family.”

"Have you stolen from other family's exhibits too?" Rowan stares, and the curator's silence answers.Guilty.

"How many gems have you sold?" I ask.

"I bet you keep some of the profits for yourself," adds Leif.

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