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guests who were touring other rooms, she stopped by to speak to Gary, Leslie and Samantha, standing with their proud parents next to the sloth exhibit.
    “They all did a great job,” Diane told the parents. “It is a fine sloth.”
    “Does that mean we get an A?” asked Gary.
    Diane nodded. “Sure does.” She smiled as a father took a photo of her and the students with the huge skeleton towering over them.
    As she was making her way out of the Pleistocene room, the quartet started a piece from the Peer Gynt Suite. Diane froze in her tracks, her heart pounding against her ribs. She grasped the edge of a huge planter to keep herself from running out of the building.

Chapter 5
    Diane’s body was crushed by waves of almost unbearable grief and fear. I’m in the museum, she told herself over and over as the music taunted her, growing louder and louder until the violins were screaming at her. She wanted to scream at them to stop, but she stood still, making her hands into tight fists, breathing deeply. She caught her breath, stood several moments longer, turned and looked at the faces of the musicians, then at the crowd of guests. Everyone appeared normal. The music ended abruptly and the only sound was clapping. Diane stood still, collecting herself. Finally, she was able to walk on unsure legs to the quartet.
    “That piece wasn’t on the play list,” she said, trying to sound casual.
    It must not have worked, because that look of having done something wrong but not knowing what swept across their faces.
    “It was in your note,” said Alix, the first violinist. She flipped through her music and produced a piece of paper.
    Diane took it from her. The hand-printed note on museum stationery said, Please add “In the Hall of the Mountain King” to the play list . Her initials were at the bottom.
    “It was here when we returned from our first break. Luckily, we knew an arrangement for it. I mean . . . is there something wrong?”
    Diane forced a smile and shook her head. “No, nothing’s wrong. Someone from the staff probably wanted to hear it. They often use my name when ordering things.” Apparently, with wild abandon, she thought. “All of you are doing a beautiful job. I’ve gotten several compliments, and Mrs. Harris wants to talk with you about doing a library function.”
    “That’s great. We really appreciate this opportunity, Dr. Fallon,” said Alix, and the other three murmured in agreement before they took up their bows and prepared to perform their next arrangement.
    Diane turned and took another long look at the crowd. Everyone was eating, talking or looking at the exhibits. No one was looking in her direction. She walked among the guests, the note folded up in one hand, smiling at each face she met. No mischief-makers or secret enemies showed themselves.
    Frank, his son and his ex-wife were looking at the computer video depiction of the receding Laurentide Ice Sheet that brought a close to the Pleistocene period. She relaxed at the sight of Frank. Silly, she thought. It was probably nothing. One of the staff just wanted to hear that piece of music. It’s a well-known piece.
    She was starting toward Frank when she thought she heard her name jump out of the flow of voices around her. She looked in the direction from which she thought it had come. Over by Bison antiquus a group of board members, contributors and local real estate brokers, looking like a clutch of emperor penguins, stood talking to each other.
    David Reynolds, Cindy’s husband, was there. Diane suspected that the reason the pair had wrangled an invitation through Frank was so David could meet with some of Rosewood’s high rollers. She strolled in their direction.
    “Diane,” said Mark Grayson. “We were just talking about you. Great party. I’ve got some good news.”
    Mark held out his arm as though he intended to wrap it around Diane’s shoulders. She stopped beside Harvey Phelps, opposite Mark, leaving his arm to gather