Die for Me (3 page)

John turned his chair so he could stare up at the swords. “You did this so fast.”

She set the unpleasant tours aside in her mind. “The trick was Bruce’s computer-generated mockup. It showed where to place the supports, and once that was done mounting the swords was easy. It looks as authentic as any display I’ve ever seen in any castle anywhere.” She aimed a smile of appreciation toward Bruce. “Thank you.”

Bruce beamed. “And the paneling? I thought you were going with painted walls.”

Once again her smile dimmed. “I was overruled on that. Ted Albright insisted that the wood would make the place look more like a true hall and not a museum.”

“He was right,” Marta said, her lips pursed tightly. “It looks better.”

“Yeah, well maybe it does, but he also cleaned out my operating budget for this year,” Sophie said, annoyed. “I had a list of new acquisitions that I now can’t afford. We couldn’t even afford to have the damn paneling installed.” She looked at her abused hands, nicked and scraped. “While you all were back home sleeping until noon and pigging out on turkey leftovers, I was here with Ted Albright every day, putting up all this paneling. God, what a nightmare. Do you know how high these walls are?”

The whole paneling debacle had been the source of yet another argument with Ted “the Third” Albright. Ted was the only grandson of the great archeologist, which unfortunately made him the sole owner of the Albright collection. He was also the owner of the museum, which unfortunately made him Sophie’s boss. She rued the day she’d ever heard of Ted Albright and his Barnum and Bailey approach to running a museum, but until a position opened up in one of the other museums, this job was it.

Marta turned to look at her, her eyes cold and . . . disappointed. “Spending two weeks alone with Ted Albright doesn’t sound like a hardship. He’s an attractive man,” she added, her tone acidic. “I’m surprised you managed to get any work done at all.”

Uncomfortable silence filled the room as Sophie stood, shocked and staring at the woman she’d mentored for four months.
This can’t be happening again.
But it was.

The men exchanged looks of wary confusion, but Sophie knew exactly what Marta was saying, exactly what she’d heard. The disappointment she’d seen in Marta’s eyes now made sense. Rage and denial screamed through Sophie’s mind, but she decided to address the current insinuation and leave the past covered, for now.

“Ted’s married, Marta. And just so you can set the record straight, we weren’t alone. Ted’s wife, son, and daughter were working with us the whole time.”

Maintaining her icy stare, Marta said nothing. Awkwardly Bruce blew out a breath. “So,” he said. “Last semester we revamped the Great Hall. What’s next, Dr. J?”

Ignoring the churning of her stomach, Sophie led the group to the exhibition area beyond the Great Hall. “The next project is redoing the weapons exhibit.”

“
Yes.
” Spandan socked the air. “Finally. This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

“Then your wait is over.” Sophie stopped at the glass display cabinet that held a half-dozen very rare medieval swords. The Houarneau tapestry was exquisite, but these weapons were her favorite items of the entire Albright collection.

“I always wonder who owned them,” Bruce said softly. “Who fought with them.”

John brought his chair closer. “And how many died at their tip,” he murmured. He looked up, his eyes hidden behind the hair that was always in his face. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sophie said. “I’ve often wondered the same thing.” Her mouth quirked up at a sudden memory. “My very first day as curator, a kid tried to pull the fifteenth-C Bastardsword off the wall and play Braveheart. Nearly gave me heart failure.”

“They weren’t behind glass?” Bruce gasped, appalled. Both Spandan and John wore similar looks of horror.

Marta hung back, arms crossed and jaw cocked to one side. She said nothing.

Sophie decided to deal with her privately. “No, Ted believes that putting glass between artifacts and museum patrons degrades the ‘entertainment experience.’” It had been their first argument. “He agreed to put these behind glass if we displayed some of the less valuable swords out in the Great Hall.” Sophie sighed. “And if we displayed these rare swords in an ‘entertaining’ way. This display case was a temporary compromise until I could get the Great Hall finished. So this is the next project.”

“What exactly does ‘entertaining’ mean?” Spandan asked.

Sophie frowned. “Think mannequins and costumes,” she said darkly. Costumes were Ted’s passion, and when he’d only wanted to dress up mannequins, she could go with the flow. But two weeks ago he’d unveiled his newest scheme, adding another role to Sophie’s job description. To kick off the new Great Hall, they’d give tours . . . in period garb. Specifically, Sophie and Ted’s nineteen-year-old son, Theo, would lead the tours and nothing Sophie could say would change Ted’s mind. Finally she’d outright refused—and in a rare fit of serious temper Ted Albright had threatened to fire her.

Sophie had very nearly quit—until she’d gotten home that night and looked through the mail. The nursing home was raising the cost of Anna’s room. So Sophie swallowed her pride, donned the damn costume and did Ted’s damn tours during the day. In the evenings she’d redoubled her search for another job.

“Did the boy damage the sword?” John asked.

“Thankfully, no. When you handle them, be sure you wear your gloves.”

Bruce waved his white gloves like a truce flag. “We always do,” he said cheerfully.

“And I appreciate it.” He was trying to lighten her mood and Sophie appreciated that as well. “Your assignment is the following—each of you will prepare an exhibit proposal, including the space requirements and cost of materials you’ll need to build it. It’s due in three weeks. Keep it simple. I don’t have the budget for anything grand.”

She left the three men to work and walked to where Marta stood motionless and stony-faced. “So now what?” Sophie asked.

A petite woman, Marta craned her neck to meet Sophie’s eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Marta, you obviously heard something. You’ve also obviously chosen not only to believe it but to publicly challenge me on it. Your choices as I see them are to either apologize to me for your disrespect and we go on, or continue this attitude.”

Marta frowned. “And if I continue?”

“Then there’s the door. This is a volunteer experience, on both our parts.” Sophie’s expression softened. “Look, you’re a nice kid and an asset to this museum. I’d miss you if you were gone. I’d really rather you chose door number one.”

Marta swallowed hard. “I was visiting a friend. A grad student at Shelton College.”

Shelton.
The memory of the few months she’d been enrolled at Shelton College still made Sophie physically ill, more than ten years later. “It was just a matter of time.”

Marta’s chin trembled. “I was bragging on you to my friend, how you were such a great role model, my mentor, that you’re a woman who made a name for herself in the field using her brain. My friend laughed and said you’d used other parts of your body to get ahead. She said you slept with Dr. Brewster so you could get on his dig team at Avignon, that that’s how you got your start. Then when you went back to France, you slept with Dr. Moraux. That’s why you moved up so fast, why you got your own dig team when you were so young. I told her it wasn’t true, that you wouldn’t do that. Did you?”

Sophie knew she would be well within her rights to tell Marta that this was none of her business. But Marta was obviously disillusioned. And hurt. So Sophie reopened a wound that had never really healed. “Did I sleep with Brewster? Yes.” And she still felt the shame of it. “Did I do it to get on his dig team? No.”

“Then why did you?” Marta whispered. “He’s married.”

“I know that now. I didn’t then. I was young. He was older and . . . he deceived me. I made a stupid mistake, Marta, one I’m still paying for. I can tell you I got to where I am without Dr. Alan Brewster.” His very name still left a vile taste on her tongue, but she watched Marta’s expression change as she accepted that her mentor was human, too.

“But I
never
slept with Etienne Moraux,” she went on fiercely. “And I got to where I was by working my ass off. I published more papers than anyone else and did all the grunt work to prove myself. Which is how you should do it, too. And Marta, no more comments about Ted. However we disagree over this museum, Ted’s devoted to his wife. Darla Albright is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Rumors like that can destroy a marriage. Are we clear?”

Marta nodded, relief in her face and respect back in her eyes. “Yes.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “You could have just thrown me out.”

“I could have, but I have a feeling I’m going to need you, especially for this new exhibit.” Sophie looked down at her own ratty jeans. “I have no fashion sense, twenty-first or fifteenth century. You’ll have to dress Ted’s damn mannequins.”

Marta laughed softly. “That I can do. Thanks, Dr. J. For keeping me. And for telling me when you didn’t have to. Next time I see my friend I’ll tell her my original opinion stands.” Her lips turned up charmingly. “I still want to be you when I grow up.”

Embarrassed, Sophie shook her head. “Trust me, you don’t. Now get to work.”

Sunday, January 14, 12:25
P.M.

Vito had placed a red flag in the snow every place Nick picked up a metal object. Now Nick and Vito stood with Jen, staring in dismay at five red flags.

“Any or all of those could be more Jane Does,” Jen said quietly. “We have to know.”

Nick sighed. “We’re going to have to search this whole field.”

“That’s a lot of manpower,” Vito grumbled. “Does CSU have the resources?”

“No, I’d have to request support. But I don’t want to go up the ladder with that kind of request until I’m damn sure these flags don’t mark arrowheads or buried Coke cans.”

“We could just start digging at one of the flags,” Nick said. “See what we turn up.”

“We could.” Jen frowned. “But I want to know what’s under our feet before we do. I don’t want to lose evidence because we moved too fast or the wrong way.”

“Cadaver dogs?” Vito suggested.

“Maybe, but what I’d really like to have is a scan of the property. I saw it on the History Channel. These archeologists used ground-penetrating radar to locate the ruins of an ancient wall. It was very cool.” Jen sighed. “But I’d never get the funds to pay a contractor. Let’s bring in the dogs and get it done.”

Nick held up a wagging finger. “Not so fast. The show was about archeologists, right? Well, if we had an archeologist, he might be able to do that . . . radar thing.”

Jen’s eyes sharpened. “Do you know an archeologist?”

“No,” Nick said, “but the city’s chock full of universities. Somebody must know one.”

“They’d have to work for cheap,” Vito said. “And they’d have to be somebody we could trust.” Vito thought about the body, the way the hands were posed. “The press would have a field day with this if it leaked.”

“And our asses would be deep fried,” Nick muttered.

“Who do you need to trust?”

Vito turned to find the ME standing behind him. “Hi, Katherine. Are you done?”

Katherine Bauer nodded wearily, peeling off her gloves. “The body’s in the bus.”

“Cause?” Nick asked.

“Nothing yet. I’m thinking she’s been dead two or three weeks at least. I can’t give you anything more until I get some tissue samples under my microscope. So,” she tilted her head sideways. “Who do you need to be able to trust?”

“I want to get a scan of the property,” Jen said. “I was going to see if anyone knows any of the professors in the archeology departments in the local universities.”

“I do,” Katherine said, and the three of them stared at her.

Jen’s eyes widened. “You do? A real
live
archeologist?”

“A dead one won’t do us much good,” Nick said dryly and Jen’s cheeks turned red.

Katherine chuckled. “Yes, I know a real live archeologist. She’s home on . . . a sabbatical of sorts. She’s considered an expert in her field. I know she’d help.”

“And she’s discreet?” Nick insisted and Katherine patted his arm maternally.

“Very discreet. I’ve known her for more than twenty-five years. I can call her now if you want.” She waited, her gray brows lifted.

“At least we’ll know,” Nick said. “I vote yes.”

Vito nodded. “Let’s call her.”

Sunday, January 14, 12:30
P.M.

“God, it’s incredible.” Spandan held the Bastardsword in his gloved hands with all the care and respect due a treasure that had survived five hundred years. “I bet you wanted to kill that kid for trying to rip this off the wall.”

Sophie looked down at the two-handed longsword she’d taken from the case. The students were taking a “creativity break” to better help them “envision the assignment.” Sophie knew they really just wanted to touch the swords and she couldn’t blame them. There was a fundamental power in holding a weapon this old. And this lethal.

“I was more angry at his mother who was too busy talking on her cell phone to watch her kid.” She chuckled. “Luckily my brain hadn’t fully settled back into English, so when I cussed her out, it was in French. But, uh, some things transcend language.”