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Today, however, she wasn’t here to contemplate these complexities.She had more pressing business.

The front desk attendant directed her to the administrative offices in the east wing.Unlike the carefully curated public spaces, this area betrayed the functional reality of museum operations—fluorescent lighting, beige carpeting worn thin by decades of foot traffic, and the lingering scent of coffee from a break room somewhere nearby.

David Livingston’s office door stood open, revealing a cluttered space that seemed at odds with the meticulous image museums typically projected.Display cases containing artifacts in various stages of cataloging lined one wall.The opposite wall featured framed degrees and certificates, prominently displaying Livingston’s credentials from prestigious universities.His desk was buried under stacks of papers, folders, and what appeared to be grant applications.

The curator himself sat hunched over a laptop, muttering numbers under his breath.He was younger than Kari had expected—early forties perhaps—with prematurely silver hair cut in an expensive style that contrasted with his rumpled button-down and the dark circles under his eyes.When he glanced up and saw her standing in the doorway, he quickly closed whatever spreadsheet he’d been reviewing.

“Detective Blackhorse?”He stood, extending his hand.“Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Mr.Livingston.”Kari shook his hand, noting his firm grip and the expensive watch on his wrist that seemed a bit too flashy for an academic salary.“I’d like to hear about these thefts.”

“Of course.”He gestured to a chair across from his desk, hastily moving a stack of papers to make room.“I must say, I’m troubled by your suggestion that they might be connected to those awful murders, though I admit I suspected as much already.”

Kari took the offered seat.“When exactly did you discover the items were missing?”

Livingston settled back into his chair, running a hand through his silver hair.“Monday morning.We conduct inventory checks every week—standard procedure for museums with collections of cultural significance.Our assistant curator noticed the missing items during her rounds.”

“And what specifically was taken?”

Livingston reached for a folder on his desk, flipping it open to reveal photographs of the stolen items.“A medicine pouch—late nineteenth century, made of buckskin with intricate beadwork.A ceremonial knife with a cedar handle circa 1910.Four bundles of herbs that were part of our protection ritual display—sage, cedar, and so on.A mask used in purification ceremonies…”

Kari studied the photographs, her unease growing.Some of these items might very well be used in the kind of protective ceremonies someone had staged at both murder scenes.

“These were all from the same display?”she asked.

“Yes, our ‘Navajo Ceremonial Practices’ exhibit in the east gallery.”Livingston pointed vaguely toward the public spaces.“It’s one of our permanent installations, though we rotate certain sensitive items periodically.”

“How secure is that area?”

“Reasonably so.We have motion sensors after hours, camera coverage of the main galleries, and case alarms.But—” He hesitated, looking embarrassed.“We’ve had some budget issues recently.Several of our security cameras have been offline awaiting replacement parts.Including, unfortunately, the one covering that particular exhibit.”

“Convenient timing for a thief,” Kari said.

“Indeed.”Livingston grimaced.“Though that information wasn’t public knowledge.”

“Suggesting an inside job, or someone familiar with the museum’s operations.”Kari made a note in her small pad.“What about staff?Anyone with access who raised red flags?”

“We have twenty-six full- and part-time employees, plus a rotating group of volunteers and student interns.”Livingston gestured to a framed staff photo on his wall.“I’ve worked with most of them for years.I can’t imagine any of them being involved in… well, whatever this is.”

“I’ll need that staff list,” Kari said.“Along with volunteers and interns who’ve had access in the past month.”

“Of course,” Livingston agreed, though his expression suggested he found the request distasteful.“But Detective, many of our volunteers are respected community members—retired professors, Tribal Council liaisons.The suggestion that one of them might be involved in homicides would be extraordinary.”

“Two people are dead, Mr.Livingston.Extraordinary circumstances require extraordinary scrutiny.”

He nodded, chastened.“You’re right, of course.I’ll have my assistant prepare those lists immediately.”

As he reached for his phone, Kari noticed a past-due notice peeking out from beneath a stack of papers—something from a credit card company with an alarming amount of zeros visible on the partially exposed corner.Livingston saw her gaze and casually shifted another folder to cover it.

“Fundraising season,” he said with a strained smile.“Always a challenge to balance the books while maintaining our academic standards.Especially with the construction costs of the new wing.”

Kari made no comment on the obvious deflection.“Do you maintain records of museum visitors?”

“Only those who sign our guest book, which is voluntary.For special events and educational programs, we have registration lists.”

“I’ll need those, too.”

“For how far back?”

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