Your Smile Is Contagious
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The tour group arrived at the museum shortly before noon. It was a large building with many rooms, and the visitors were herded into one of them. The tour guide took his time introducing himself as he gave a short talk on how the museum came to be and its history.
He said that the exhibits in each room would change periodically but that it would take some time for all of the displays to become available so they had arranged to show only a few items today.
Susan listened politely but found herself looking around curiously when she should have been paying attention. She couldn’t help wondering why this particular place had been chosen over others. Surely there were other museums in New York City where such artifacts could be displayed.
Perhaps it was just luck or fate—or both—that brought these objects here. And what about the man who’d stolen the skull? Did he really steal it? Or did he find it by chance? Was it stolen from someone else? Susan tried not to let her imagination run wild while she followed the group down several long hallways filled with glass cases.
Each case held something different, and every item seemed to hold an important story behind it. She also noticed that the lighting wasn’t quite right in the first two halls, which meant they hadn’t yet reached their destination.
That made sense because if the lights weren’t changed after each visit then the museum might never reach its full potential. But once again she wondered about the thief who’d broken into the museum and stolen the skull. What kind of person would do such a thing?
When the group finally reached their destination, they were ushered inside a small theater where the curator explained more about the objects being shown. Afterward, the visitors were asked to stay seated while the curator showed off one piece at a time.
“This is the skull we believe belonged to Abraham Lincoln,” the curator said, holding up a silver-plated oval object. A small light shined on it and revealed a beautiful carving depicting the president’s face. There were no markings anywhere on the skull except for one on top near the forehead.
It looked like a crown and read: Emancipation Proclamation. This was a real treasure! Not only did it confirm that the president had worn the same type of jewelry but it told Susan that she needed to investigate further.
“And this,” the curator continued, pointing to another display, “is a collection of buttons belonging to the president.” One by one, the curator held up each button. Some of the buttons were plain white but others were decorated with symbols and words.
They represented various events and even people. For example, there was a button showing a soldier saluting the flag with the word “Civil War” beneath it. Another button depicted the president wearing a stovepipe hat and a jacket with a big star on the back pocket.
That was obviously a reference to the Stars and Stripes. Yet another button showed Lincoln sitting beside a tree and surrounded by birds. Susan knew that the president loved nature, and this image reminded her that Lincoln had once owned a pet squirrel.
When he was elected as president, the animal became a celebrity. People even wrote songs about him. So it didn’t surprise her to learn that he wore a button showing the squirrel in question.
As the curator went through his list, Susan learned that President Lincoln’s clothing was covered in patches, and most of those were from battles. In fact, he had worn the very clothes he now stood in front of.
He had also kept souvenirs of war, including bullet fragments, a bayonet blade, a knife, and a belt buckle. Most of the relics had been taken during the Civil War. Other objects included a pair of spectacles, a penknife, and a cigar cutter.
As he went on, Susan saw that the curator had purposely placed these relics in chronological order. That way each visitor would understand exactly how much Lincoln had accomplished.
The curator finished his presentation and invited the visitors to ask any questions. Susan felt slightly out of place among the adults present and wanted to know more about the man who’d stolen the skull. Why had he done it?
Couldn’t he have given the skull to someone? No matter how hard she thought, she couldn’t come up with a good reason. The man must have had a special purpose for stealing it, although she still didn’t know what it was. All she could say for certain was that he didn’t want anyone else to see the artifact.
One elderly woman raised her hand and spoke up. “How can you prove the skull belongs to Abraham Lincoln?”
The curator answered without hesitation. “It has already been proven.” Then he turned to the side table and picked up a newspaper article that featured a photograph of the skull.
Susan leaned forward to get a better look at the picture. It was blurry and had lines all around it. But when the curator handed the paper to her so she could read the caption underneath, she realized it was a copy of a clipping from the Chicago Tribune.
She remembered reading it before. It talked about the theft and described the skull as being stolen from the home of John Hay, secretary of state under President William Howard Taft. It also mentioned that the skull was found in a hidden safe along with the president’s diary and personal papers. “Didn’t you say that the skull was stolen?” the woman asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” the curator replied. “But I’m not sure if you’ve heard yet or not—the skull has recently been recovered.”
That brought an eruption of applause from everyone present. Even Susan clapped. She wasn’t surprised by the news because she suspected the skull was indeed back in possession of the government. But she wondered why the government hadn’t announced the return sooner.
Had something gone wrong? Did they need time to examine the skull first? Or perhaps there were some other factors involved that prevented them from making such a public announcement. Whatever the case, it meant that the skull was back in Washington, which was certainly worth celebrating.
***
Back at the hotel, Susan settled into the room, then called Jilly to find out what happened next. Her friend had just gotten off work and was relaxing in her room. “I don’t think anything will happen tonight,” Jilly said after hearing that the curator was going to show off the skull again. “After all, no one is here except us.”
Susan agreed with Jilly’s assessment. There seemed little point in taking the train to Washington when the museum wouldn’t be open anyway. “What are we doing tomorrow night?”
Jilly hesitated for a moment, then said, “We’ll probably go to dinner. Afterward, I may stop by the house.”
“Why do you sound reluctant?” Susan asked.
“You know my dad doesn’t like me hanging out with you.”
Susan laughed. “He doesn’t mind spending time with your mother.”
“Oh, yeah. My mom thinks everything I do is great. But Dad isn’t quite so understanding.”
“Then maybe we shouldn’t go over there until later,” Susan suggested.
“If we’re both in our rooms, I doubt we’ll hear him coming. And if he does try to enter my door, he won’t know it’s locked unless he tries it.”
“Very well. If you change your mind, let me know.”
“Will do. You should probably call it a day soon too. We’ll have to leave early in the morning to make it to the museum.”
Susan hung up the phone and sat down to wait for Larry. She didn’t feel nervous anymore, but rather excited and eager to see the skull. A knock came at the door, and Larry entered. When she looked up, he held a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
“For a celebration,” he said. He opened the bottle and poured the bubbly liquid into their glasses. They took turns drinking while they chatted. “Where did you get this?” she asked. “And why would you buy champagne for a couple of people staying in a hotel?”
“My father owns a liquor store,” Larry explained. “So I got the champagne free.”
She nodded, feeling slightly guilty since she knew very few men who owned liquor stores. She figured most of them belonged to the Mafia. Still, she wasn’t going to complain. This was definitely the best way to celebrate the skull returning to its rightful owner.
When they finished, Larry went to the bed and pulled down a box from the top shelf. The lid lifted on hinges, revealing several wrapped packages. “This is for you,” he said.
She reached for the nearest one, expecting it to be jewelry. Instead, she received a small book. It appeared to be bound in leather and inside was a collection of photographs taken in Africa. The photos were black-and-white and showed tribesmen dressed in elaborate robes.
Many of them were posed in front of tribal drums. Others stood around large fireplaces, watching flames lick high into the air. Most of the pictures featured women, many of whom wore colorful headdresses. One photo caught Susan’s eye more than any of the others.
It was of a young girl standing alone among tall grasses. She stared straight ahead, showing nothing but her profile. Susan recognized the girl as one of the children she’d seen in the photo album. It must have been taken years ago. Now the girl was grown—or at least older—and wearing a traditional African dress.
“Do you recognize anyone else?” Larry asked.
“No, only this girl.”
Larry put his arm around her waist and drew her closer. “How about I tell you how much money I made today?”
Susan smiled. “I already know how much you made.”
“Good. Then I can afford to spoil you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Spoil me?”
“Sure.” With his other hand, he undid the ribbon holding the package closed. He unwrapped another piece of paper and found another photograph inside. “Here.”
It was another picture of the girl, but now she was seated with some friends, playing cards. A man and woman leaned against each other. Neither of them had their backs turned to the camera, so she could not see their faces. The group huddled close together, laughing or talking softly.
The girl was beautiful. Susan felt certain that she saw something familiar in her face, yet she couldn’t place where she might have seen her before.
“That’s nice,” Susan said, pointing to the picture. “But what does it have to do with us? Or do you mean to say that someone will recognize her someday?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Well, then why did you bring it to me?”
“Because I want you to remember that I’m thinking of you every step of the way. That no matter what happens, you’ve always got a friend in me. And that even if we never meet again after this, you’ll always have a place in my heart.”
Susan hugged him and whispered, “Thank you.”
They kissed, and when Larry pulled away, he handed her the next wrapped package. She accepted it, but didn’t open it right away. “Is it jewelry?” she teased.
“Not exactly.” His lips twitched, and he grinned. “You’ll find out tomorrow night.”
***
Early the following morning, Larry drove Susan back to the train station. Before boarding the train, she stopped by the baggage car to check on the skull. There was still no sign of the skull.
While waiting for the train to depart, Susan checked the newspaper. She found no mention of the skull being returned to the museum. If anything, it sounded like the theft of the skull was less significant than she thought. Apparently, there hadn’t been any problems during the investigation.
She wondered whether the police had kept the skull safe all these years or sold it off somewhere. After all, the case was closed. So why would the authorities bother keeping it hidden? Unless they wanted to sell it to the highest bidder.
Then again, maybe they’d simply forgotten to return it. After all, it was hard enough trying to figure out which railroad car contained the skull. What chance did the police have of finding the skull after so many years?
As she waited for the train, she tried calling Frank again. But his phone rang unanswered.
A few minutes later, a conductor walked toward her. “Would you please follow me?” he asked.
He led her up the steps to the second floor. They passed through three different cars until they reached the last one. When he opened the door, she entered first, followed by the conductor. She expected to walk past a long row of compartments, but instead, the hallway ended abruptly in a single room. As soon as they stepped inside, the door snapped shut behind her.
There was a table in the middle of the room and two chairs beside it. A lamp on the wall lit the entire compartment, but otherwise, the space seemed empty.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We’re here.” He pointed at the table. “Sit down.”
Susan took a seat. “What am I doing here?”
“Waiting.”
“For whom?”
“Frank.”
“Why is he late?”
“Sometimes he gets caught up in his work. Now sit still while I go downstairs to make sure he’s on time.”
After he left, she sat staring into the darkness for several minutes, wondering what Frank was doing. Did he suspect foul play? Was he looking for evidence? Had he uncovered a connection between her and the theft?
If he did, would he believe her story? Would he think her capable of committing such a crime herself?
She knew it wasn’t possible to prove everything she claimed. She wouldn’t be able to show him proof of the skull’s disappearance, nor would she be able to explain how it came to be in her possession. All she could hope was that he would trust her.
The door opened, and the conductor reappeared. He glanced from side to side and nodded. Then he locked the door behind him and walked across the hall.
“I know you don’t understand what I’m saying,” she said. “So let me tell you a little bit about myself. You probably already know that I’m a detective. It’s part of my job to solve crimes—to get justice for those who deserve it.”
“Yes.”
“And I’ve worked for the department for more than twenty-five years. I’ve been assigned to dozens of cases, including murder investigations and missing person searches, just like yours.”
“Okay.”
“But now I’m retired. In fact, I’ve only got six months before I turn sixty-five. Not much longer, but I intend to enjoy every day of it because life doesn’t last forever.”
“It won’t,” she agreed. “But you can live well beyond your allotted days.”
“Of course.”
“But that means something else too. At some point, you may decide to give up on life. To throw away your health and happiness in search of wealth. And then where will you be?”
“Alive.”
“But do you want to spend the rest of your days working in a factory? Or running an oil refinery? Do you really want to die penniless in a nursing home, with nothing but memories?”
“No.”
“Then stop wasting your life and start living. Don’t wait another moment to find true love. Stop sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, and start making new memories.”
“True love…” The word rolled off his tongue.
Did he realize what she meant? Did he see himself in this woman? Did he imagine meeting someone special and sharing a lifetime together?
His silence made her wonder if he understood. Maybe he didn’t care to listen. Perhaps he was tired of listening to her talk.
Suddenly the door opened. Frank walked in, carrying a suitcase. He wore jeans and a black shirt, his hair slicked back, revealing the stubble on his chin. He looked older than she remembered, more worn out. His eyes were dark shadows under heavy lids. But when he saw her, he smiled.
“You look wonderful,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Are you ready?”
“Ready to leave?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“How come?”
“Because there’s no reason for us to stay here any longer. We’ve done our duty.”
“Done our duty?”
“By giving the police the skull. By helping them catch the man responsible for the robbery.”
“Who?”
“Someone in the oil business.”
“In the oil business?”
“Don’t worry; I’ll fill you in later. For now, all you need to know is that you have a choice to make. If you’re willing to put aside the past, forget about the money, and start over, then you should return to California.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Your decision has nothing to do with me or anyone else. Just consider what’s best for you and follow your heart. Your future depends upon it.”
He held out his hand, and Susan shook it. “Good luck, Susan,” he whispered as their fingers touched. “May God watch over you.”
The End