Murder in the Smithsonian Read Free Page A

pretty damned important.”
    “It is, Bill.”
    “Personal, something Joline and I can help with?”
    “No. We can discuss my personal life later.” His face was serious, hard. He put his hands on his hips, exposing a field of dark blue vest and a gold watch on a chain, looked down at the floor, then up at Oxenhauer. “Let me tell you a story, Bill. I’ll make it as brief as I can.”
    Oxenhauer looked to where his wife stood with a cluster of young curators. “Make it quick, Lewis. We really should be getting back…”
    ***
    Ten minutes later Alfred Throckly looked at his watch, then told two committeewomen acting as hostesses, “Let’s try to move them into dinner. We’re running behind schedule.” He looked to where Tunney and Oxenhauer were talking in front of the old post office, and disappeared behind a partition.
    ***
    “Lewis,” the vice president was saying, “we’d better get back to the party. I think dinner is close to being served—”
    “
That’s
your answer to what I’ve told you?”
    “Of course not. I’m as sickened as you are. Look, you’re staying around a few days, aren’t you?”
    “I planned to fly back to London tomorrow night. I have someone waiting for me.”
    “That gives us the day, then. I’ll clear the decks. Come to my office at ten. I have some things to tell you about too.”
    “All right, Bill, but I still intend to refer to it in my remarks.”
    “I wish you wouldn’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “You could win a battle and lose a war. Besides, there are compelling reasons to hold up. Don’t misunderstand, I’m as concerned as you are. All I ask isthat you keep it to yourself until we get a chance to really sit down and talk.”
    “Ten tomorrow?”
    “Yes.”
    Throckly intercepted Tunney as he headed for one of three bars. “We’ll be going in for dinner soon, Dr. Tunney. You’ll be sitting with the vice president and with—”
    “Thank you, that’s fine, Mr. Throckly,” Tunney said. “I’ll get a drink and join you shortly—”
    “Dr. Tunney…”
    Tunney turned, and was face-to-face with a tall, gaunt woman in her late fifties. She wore a long, loose gray gown with a strip of black silk at the neck and cuffs. Her face was a montage of angles and planes, but not without a certain bright attractiveness.
    “Miss Prentwhistle. Nice to see you.”
    “Likewise. We’re all so glad you could come.”
    “Yes. I was on my way for a drink.”
    “I’ll have someone get it for you.”
    Tunney looked past her and saw that guests were moving toward the museum’s private dining rooms. “No, I’ll get it myself,” he said. “I need a few minutes alone… you know, to gather my thoughts before speaking.”
    “I’m sure it will be stimulating.”
    “I hope so. I’ll see you inside. How is Mr. Jones?”
    “Walter? Fine, just fine.”
    “See you in a few minutes, Miss Prentwhistle.”
    She hesitated… “I wonder if we could talk privately before dinner.”
    “I’m not sure that’s necessary—”
    “I think it is.”
    Tunney sighed and followed her to a small room that housed public telephones. They were alone. Five minutes later Tunney left the room.
    A hostess asked if there was anything he needed. He told her, “Just a drink.” She went to where two other women, all wives of prominent Washington businessmen, stood, and said
sotto voce
, “Just like Alan Alda, really. And never married, I understand.”
    ***
    Tunney took a gin and tonic from a bartender and walked to a bank of elevators. A member of the museum’s security force stood in its open door. “The second floor, please,” Tunney said.
    “Yes, sir.”
    He stepped out on the next level. When the elevator doors had closed behind him he went to the folding chairs and put his hand on one of them. In front of him, rising majestically, was the “Star-Spangled Banner,” the thirty-by-forty-two-foot American flag that had flown over Fort McHenry following the successful defense against