at her workplace, so maybe the answer isn’t in her job, but in what she did outside her job.” Which meant that if she did visit the museum here, as she had done in Los Angeles and Chicago, they might find something about what she’d been involved in. A standard tactic for skip tracers was to find out as much about the person as possible to figure out where they’d go.
The Kevin Tran Museum of Art and Art History was a beautiful sandstone building that rose out of the desert like a castle, surrounded by artfully arranged rock formations and different types of cacti. As they paid the entrance fee, Joslyn grabbed a pamphlet about becoming a season pass holder or a museum patron.
“If I’m right, Fiona would have gotten at least a season pass for the museum. She had a season ticket for one of the museums in Los Angeles that she enjoyed going to. She got invited to private showings and a few art galas.”
“She had a season pass for one of the museums in Chicago, too,” Clay said. “She took me to an art opening once. I had to wear a suit.” He grinned, suddenly. “She told me I looked like a bouncer.” But then something, some memory, made the light dim from his eyes and his smile. Joslyn had to stop herself from asking him what had made him so sad.
She consulted the pamphlet and saw that the patron services department was in charge of handling business with season pass holders. “This way.” There were signs pointing the way to the patron services office.
They passed through several galleries. Some had ethnic themes, such as one long room with art from several premier Chinese American artists who had first settled in Phoenix at the turn of the century, and another room with huge murals of Native American art. One gallery housed a display of sculptures that looked like they were made from desert rocks of various colors.
“This is a museum Fiona would love,” Clay said as they crossed a room where Native American woven blankets hung from the walls. “She always talked about how art can tell you all about different cultures and periods of history.”
“I have to admit I didn’t always see it,” Joslyn said. “But then again, when Fiona went with me to a concert, she didn’t go into raptures about the musical nuances the way I did.”
“What kind of concerts?”
Out of habit, Joslyn hesitated before answering. “Mostly classical music. Fiona was my only friend who’d go to concerts with me and not fall asleep in the middle.”
“I like classic rock, myself. But I’ve been known to listen to some instrumental movie scores, too.”
She blinked at him, then laughed. “The classic rock I would have guessed.”
His smile was open and charming. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
It would be so easy to fall for that charm. But then again, Tomas had been charming, too, at first.
They arrived at a door marked “Patron Services” and went inside. A woman sat behind a desk with horn-rimmed glasses and smiled at them. “May I help you?” Her name plaque read Ruby Padalecki.
Joslyn gave her one of her new business cards. “I’m an investigator with the O’Neill Agency. We’re looking into the disappearance of a young woman who might have been a season pass holder with the museum, Fiona Crowley.”
Ruby’s mouth grew pinched. “I’m afraid I can’t give any information about our museum patrons.”
“We’re just worried about her,” Clay said. “I’m her brother.”
The woman looked at him with her brow furrowed. “Oh, my, you look exactly like...” She swallowed and lowered her voice. “I’m sorry, but I could lose my job.”
“No, we don’t want you to do anything to jeopardize that,” Joslyn said quickly.
Clay held his hands up. “We’re just museum patrons chatting with you, okay? We’re not after any confidential information that might get you in trouble.”
Ruby relaxed and smiled. “Okay, sure.”
He looked harmless, approachable. She envied the easy way he could engage with Ruby. Joslyn always felt awkward socially. It was the reason she liked computers so much.
Clay leaned a hip against the edge of the desk. “My sister likes visiting art museums. She visited all the ones in Chicago.”
“She also liked visiting museums when I knew her in Los Angeles,” Joslyn said.
Ruby nodded. “Oh, she comes in here every week. Sometimes a few times a week.”
“Once, a museum had a new exhibit by a well-known artist and she went five times that week,” Joslyn said. “I began to wonder if she was in love with the artist until I found out he was sixty-five years old.”
“There was one artist in Chicago who was twenty-five,” Clay said dryly. “I was a little worried since she was only seventeen at the time.”
“What did you do about that?” Ruby asked.
Clay scratched the back of his head. “I have to admit, I was really mean. I was at some party with her, and I went to where she was talking to the artist. I told him an embarrassing story about when she was in kindergarten that involved feathers, glitter and pink panties. She didn’t speak to me for a week, but she didn’t talk to the artist again, so it was a win for me.”
Joslyn and Ruby laughed. “She actually told me that story,” Ruby told him, “so she must have gotten over it.”
“No artists here that she’s currently in love with?” Clay said.
Ruby winced. “Well, there is one Native American artist who’s tall, dark and swarthy—he looks like a pirate. All the girls on staff here think he’s incredibly handsome. Fiona’s friendly with him, but then again, she’s just as friendly with Rufus, one of the guards.”
Clay cleared his throat. “How often is the, uh, artist here?”
Ruby giggled. “Not very often. Don’t worry.”
“When’s the last time you talked to Fiona?” Joslyn asked.
Ruby sobered. “It’s been several weeks. Rufus and I are a little worried. I even called her house a few times, but she didn’t answer.”
“Why do you think she’d stop coming to the museum?” Clay asked.
“Rufus thinks it’s because of that man who came a few weeks ago.”
“What man?”
“Some older man talked to her in the ancient Chinese art room. You should talk to Rufus about it. He was on duty that day and saw them.”
“Fiona didn’t say anything about what was wrong?” Joslyn asked.
Ruby shook her head. “But I didn’t see her the last day she was here. I had taken a sick day.”
“Is Rufus here today?”
“He’s wandering around, just keeping an eye on things. Tall, lanky African-American man.” Ruby reached out to grab Joslyn’s
