“That’s what I have to find out. Doctor?” Vito looked at the file in the man’s hand.
The doctor shook himself. “Oh, yes. Stacy, make a copy of the letter we received from Dr. Gaspar in Texas for Detective Ciccotelli.”
“Actually, I need the original.”
Pfeiffer blinked. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking. Stacy, just keep the copy for our files and assist the detective in any other way we can.”
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday, January 17, 11:10
A.M.
Bye! Bye!” The class of eight-year-olds waved as they were herded out the door.
“That was wonderful.” Their teacher beamed at Sophie and Ted the Third. “Normally the kids get irritable and bored at museums, but you made it fun, what with the costume and acting and the ax. And your hair! It all looks so real.”
Sophie adjusted the battle-ax she’d rested on her shoulder after brandishing it early in the Viking tour. The kids’ eyes had nearly popped from their heads. “The hair is real,” she smiled back. “The rest is… fun. We’re here to bring history to life.”
“Well, I’ll certainly be sure to tell the other teachers.”
“We certainly appreciate the support,” Sophie said warmly.
Ted’s glance was wary. “You should see her Joan of Arc. I think it’s even better.”
“He’s just trying to sweet-talk me because the armor is heavy. Please come back.”
“You were nice to them,” Ted said when the teacher was gone. “What’s wrong?”
Sophie winced. “I guess I had that coming. I had an epiphany yesterday, Ted. You do a good thing here. And I haven’t been very nice.”
He looked over, his brows arched. “I thought it was part of the act,” he said dryly. “You mean you really did want to cleave me in two with your ax?”
Sophie’s lips twitched. “Only sometimes.” She sobered. “I’m sorry, Ted.”
“We were happy you came to work here, Sophie,” Ted said, serious as well. “You have great respect for my grandfather’s work. I know you don’t believe it, but so do I.”
“Yes, Ted, I do believe that. That was part of my epiphany.”
He looked through the glass where the last of the children was getting on a yellow bus. “I didn’t know you spoke Norwegian. It’s not one of the languages on your résumé.”
That’s all he would say on the subject, she realized. They’d just go on. “I don’t. But then, neither do they.” She chuckled. “I only know Norwegian cuss words because my gran used to say them. I think that’s all she picked up from my grandfather.”
Ted’s eyes popped wide. “You used Norwegian cuss words with children?”
“Good God, no.” She was miffed that he even considered it. “I speak a little Danish and some Dutch. The rest was pure Swedish Chef.” Her lips quirked. “Bork-bork-bork.”
Ted looked both relieved and touched. “We might make a thespian out of you yet, Sophie Johannsen.” He walked away. “Don’t forget, you’re Joan at noon.”
“That armor is still too heavy,” she called back after him, but with considerably less rancor than before. She headed for the washroom to get the makeup off her face before she broke out in hives. That was not how she wanted to be seen by Vito tonight.
She shivered, despite the sweat trickling down her back from the heavy costume. Vito had certainly made good on his word, more than once during the night. There was a big difference between making love and fucking like minks. She imagined it would be even better if she ever were to actually fall in love. She considered asking Uncle Harry, then laughed out loud picturing the horror on his face.
“Excuse me, miss.”
Still smiling, Sophie stopped next to the old man who’d been studying the photos of Ted the First in the front lobby, hunched over his cane. “Yes, sir?”
“I overheard part of your tour. It was fascinating. Do you do private tours also?”
There was something in his eyes that bothered her. Horny old bastard, trying to pick me up. Eyes narrowing, her fist tightened on the battle-ax handle. “How private?”
He looked confused, then shocked. “Oh, my. No, no, no. I live at a retirement home where the diversions are often boring, so I’ve taken it on myself to become something of the social coordinator. I was wondering if we could schedule a tour.”
Sophie laughed in embarrassed relief. “Of course, I’d be glad to. I know how bored my gran gets with nothing to do all day.”
“Your grandmother is certainly welcome to join us.”
Sophie’s smile dimmed. “Thank you, but no. She’s not well enough to come on a tour. You can reserve a time with the girl behind the desk.”
He frowned. “The one dressed in black? She looks a bit dangerous.”
“Patty Ann goes goth on Wednesdays. Kind of her own tribute to Wednesday Addams. She’s really quite nice. She’ll be happy to set you up with a tour. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get this makeup off my face or I’ll bloat up like Pugsly.”
He watched her go, his eyes noting every fluid step she took. He’d known her for months, but he’d never really seen her until today. He’d never even suspected the magnetism she’d possessed until he’d seen her like this-a six-foot-tall blonde swinging a two-handed battle-ax over her head, green eyes flashing like some mythical Valkyrie. She’d held the small crowd of children and their teachers in thrall for over an hour.
And me, as well. Forget about the models on the website. He’d found his new queen. Van Zandt would be ecstatic. And Dr. Sophie Johannsen would no longer be a loose end. It was so cool when he could kill two birds with one stone.
Wednesday, January 17, 11:30
A.M.
Barbara Mulrine, librarian and Claire’s former boss, slid an envelope across the counter. “This is the original of the resignation letter we received from Claire Reynolds.”
Marcy Wiggs nodded. She was about Claire’s age and seemed to be taking the news of Claire’s death harder than her fifty-something, pragmatic boss. “We had to request it from the main office since she was out of our system for more than a year.” Marcy’s lip trembled. “That poor sweet girl. She wasn’t even thirty.”
From the corner of his eye Vito watched Barbara roll her eyes and was instantly more interested in the older woman’s take. He opened the envelope and looked inside. The letter was printed on ordinary paper and he suspected they’d get nothing of value in terms of prints, but still he asked. “Can you get me a list of anyone who’s handled this?”
“I can try,” Barbara said while Marcy sighed.
“We all feel so terrible that this happened. We should have suspected something at the time, should have made a phone call, but…”
Vito slid the envelope in his folder. “But?”
“But nothing,” Barbara said sharply. “You shouldn’t have suspected anything, Marcy. And Claire was not a sweet girl. You’re just saying that now because she’s dead.” She looked at Vito, vexed. “People always remember the dead as better than they were, especially when they get murdered. And when they’re murdered and have a handicap… well, you might as well call the Pope and request a canonization.”
Marcy’s lips thinned, but she said nothing.
Vito looked from one woman to the other. “So Claire was not a nice person?”
Marcy looked up out of the corner of her eye petulantly and Barbara blew out a sigh of frustration. “No, not really. When we got her resignation letter, we had a party.”