They sat on one of the stuffed sofas facing a rock fireplace. There was no fire and it looked like a yawning dark entrance to a cave. It looked inviting. Diane hadn’t been caving in several months, and a dark cool cavern was appealing right now. Nothing like crawling into the earth to escape your troubles. She leaned against Frank and he held her tight as if his arms might stop her trembling. After several minutes Diane gently pulled away and sat up.
‘‘I’m okay, really,’’ she said, rubbing her eyes with the tips of her fingers, making an effort not to lose control. She couldn’t go to the museum looking so vulnerable—not now, not when the entire museum was looking to her for strength.
Frank studied her for a moment and smiled in the way that made his eyes twinkle—which made everything seem all right.
‘‘Good. I’ll get us some coffee and you can tell me all about your day so far.’’
Frank rose from the sofa, leaned over, and gave Diane a quick kiss on the lips. While he was gone, Diane went to the mantel to look at the photographs. She had seen them all many times but she liked looking at them. Frank had a nice family—parents who were still alive and still married, two brothers and one sister, nieces, nephews. He had a photograph of his son, Kevin, from a previous marriage and one of Star, the young girl he adopted after her parents were murdered. Diane took down the photograph and smiled at it. Star, now going to Bartram University, had been working hard, overcoming a lot.
Frank came back with two cups of cappuccino— which was always way too strong. But right now she needed a good jolt. She put the photo of Star back on the mantle.
‘‘Do I need to sip this sitting down?’’ she said.
‘‘It probably would help.’’ He sat down next to her with his own drink.
Diane blew across the top of the beverage to cool it, then took a small drink. It was hot, strong, and good.
After a moment she began her recounting of the day by telling him about waking up to the knock at the door and then slipping in the blood. She told him about the attack in the hospital in more detail than she had related in the presence of Lynn Webber and the nurse’s aide.
‘‘Did you recognize the voice?’’ asked Frank. As they spoke he sipped his coffee and rubbed the back of her neck with his hand.
‘‘No, I didn’t. But calling me a dirty dealer... it had to be about the artifacts. Someone thinks I’m dealing in stolen antiquities. That’s the only thing that makes sense.’’
From Frank’s blank stare and raised eyebrows, Diane realized he didn’t know about the disputed artifacts or the newspaper articles. He usually didn’t read the local newspapers until the weekend. Frank worked in Atlanta and the story hadn’t yet made it there, at least not on the front page. That would be today most likely—something else to look forward to.
‘‘We have a scandal of sorts at the museum,’’ she said. Diane told him about the wretched newspaper articles and the hastily called board meeting.
‘‘Are you sure Kendel isn’t involved?’’ asked Frank. ‘‘Just to play the devil’s advocate, could she be using RiverTrail to launder looted antiquities or at least to get a good deal on some Egyptian artifacts for the museum?’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘The only Egyptian artifacts we’re looking for right now are twelfth dynasty. The same as our mummy. The artifacts delivered to us are from several other dynasties.’’
‘‘Could she have intended to replace the photo
artifacts graphs in the documents and launder the
that way?’’
‘‘The photographs wouldn’t match the
tions,’’ said Diane. ‘‘She couldn’t hope to launder the
artifacts at our museum.’’
‘‘Why?’’ said Frank. When he decided to play the
devil’s advocate he was like a dog with a bone. ‘‘I
would think a museum would be the perfect place to
launder looted artifacts.’’
‘‘Not ours,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We’re a small museum
and we’ve had one director—me.’’
descrip‘‘So?’’ said Frank.
‘‘Large museums show only a fraction of their holdings at any one time. The Bickford shows only about a third of theirs. The rest is in storage. Periodically they create new exhibits from their inventory, rearrange items into perhaps a comparative study—like stone tools from around the world or medicinal plants
from various cultures.’’
‘‘The Bickford? Where have I heard about them?’’
said Frank.
‘‘That’s where we purchased our casts of the Jurassic dinosaurs,’’ said Diane. ‘‘They sent staff from their
museum to help us put them together.’’
‘‘Ah, yes. I remember now,’’ he said. ‘‘Go on. You
were telling me why artifacts can’t be laundered in
your museum.’’
‘‘In large museums like the Bickford it might be
easier to integrate looted artifacts into the stored
ones—especially with turnovers in directorship. In
fact, their current director is leaving. Here at RiverTrail what you see is basically what we have. I know
all of our holdings, and everything comes through me.
For Kendel to be laundering artifacts, she’d have to
enlist the staff who work at the loading dock, the
provenance researchers . . . or me. It doesn’t make
sense that she is involved in this.’’
‘‘Could the loading dock staff or the researchers be
in it with her?’’
‘‘Obviously not. They are the ones who discovered
the discrepancies.’’
‘‘But someone thinks you are involved?’’ said
Frank.
‘‘It looks that way. And whatever is going on is
worth killing me for,’’ said Diane.
Frank set down his cup, leaned over, and kissed Diane. Diane liked the taste of his lips and the smell of his aftershave. ‘‘He didn’t kill you,’’ he whispered close to her lips, ‘‘and he won’t.’’ He kissed her again
before he sat back and reclaimed his coffee. ‘‘Whoever tipped off the press knew what was in
the crates before they were opened,’’ said Frank. ‘‘So
the items were switched at... what’s the name of the
seller?’’
‘‘Golden Antiquities,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Either they were switched at Golden Antiquities before they left, or the crates were intercepted somewhere
between Golden Antiquities and your museum.’’ ‘‘I’m sure it was no coincidence that Golden Antiquities burned,’’ said Diane.