“Almost everyone has a fear that others might think of as silly.”
“I seem to have a lot of them. They make no sense. Even I realize that. I’m afraid of new dolls, and I don’t know why. I’m afraid of certain words—I see them written down or hear them spoken and they strike dread in me. That’s why this job is so important to me. With so many neuroses, I need to work at something solitary. Creating educational kits and cataloging seashells is perfect.”
“Have you seen a professional about your fears?” asked Diane.
“Yes. In college. They weren’t very much help.”
“I’m sorry,” said Diane, “this is very personal and I didn’t mean to force you to share that kind of information. What do you do for fun? You do have fun, don’t you?”
Juliet was thoughtful for a moment. “No, I really don’t.” She shrugged. “I like to read.”
“What do you like to read?” asked Diane.
“Biographies of historical figures. I’m reading Dumas Malone’s biography of Thomas Jefferson at the moment.”
Diane raised her eyebrows. “Which volume are you on?”
“The Sage of Monticello. Have you read them?”
“No,” said Diane. “I’ve read about them. I read a lot of science fiction.”
“Really. I also like historical romances.” She smiled at the admission of a guilty pleasure.
Diane thought it was a very rare dropping of her guard.
The waitress brought their food and they ate for several minutes without saying anything. Diane felt lucky to have gotten this much out of her.
“I like working here,” said Juliet. “I know I’m a little strange, but academic settings are perfect for people who are a little strange.”
Diane grinned. She agreed. “I think there is a little strangeness in all of us. I like to go caving. Most people find that very strange, especially the guy I date.”
“I’ve heard about your caving. I confess, I can’t imagine going caving.”
“Most people can’t. But I find caves to be absolutely beautiful mysterious worlds.”
“The geology curator also explores caves, doesn’t he?” she said.
“Yes. He’s one of my caving partners. The caving club meets here in the museum once a month, if you’d ever like to drop in. You aren’t obligated to go caving. You could talk to the group about fossil seashells. We usually have some kind of educational program at the meetings.”
Diane talked a long time about the caves she’d explored. She told Juliet about Mike’s—the curator of the geology collection—extremophiles research. Their conversation was awkward and a little strained and certainly one-sided, but Diane felt it was probably normal for Juliet.
“They have terrific chocolate cake here,” said Diane.
The waitress came and Diane ordered a piece. So did Juliet.
“I like chocolate,” said Juliet. “The chocolate shaped shells in the gift basket were wonderful. I was going to buy some more but then I found out that Andie made them herself.”
Diane didn’t mention the gift basket event—and Juliet’s screaming terror over a mermaid doll. Some things were better left unmentioned. But she was curious.
“I know Darcy Kincaid a little,” said Juliet. “She’s working on another exhibit for the shells. She thinks the fossil shell exhibit can stand some improving. I hope she’s going to be all right.”
“So do I,” said Diane.
“Do you know how she’s doing?”
“The doctors don’t know anything yet. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Darcy has lots of plans—graduate school, getting her boyfriend to propose. I’ve met him, too. He’s a charming guy,” she said.
The way she said charming, Diane wondered if she meant just the opposite. But there was nothing in her clear blue eyes that suggested that she meant anything other than what she said.
Dessert came—a moist triple layer chocolate cake with chunks of chocolate chips and iced with fudge frosting. Juliet raised her brow after she took her first bite.
“This is delicious.”
The waitress refilled their coffee. As Juliet raised the cup to her lips, the sleeve of her sweater slipped up enough for Diane to notice several scars on her arm. She wondered if Juliet was a cutter. At the end of dessert, Diane took a card out of her purse.
“I don’t intend to interfere in your business, and this is the only time I’ll mention it. I have a friend. Her name is Laura Hillard and she is a psychiatrist. If you ever want to talk to her, even if it is just to learn coping strategies to deal with people like Whitney Lester, give her a call. She won’t report to me, and I won’t ask you if you called her. This is just for your information