by Gregory Colt
We went west and hit Highway 9 north along the Hudson. I drove under the speed limit taking in the lights and sounds of the city until the traffic and buildings gave way to quieter neighborhoods and eventually something almost resembling a countryside. I loved traveling and taking assignments in summer, but every other time of the year and New York is hard to beat.
Forty-five minutes later I turned off a county road into a thicket of trees that almost obscured the old gravel drive now dominated with grass. It was a long and winding driveway, and pleasant when I wasn’t navigating it at forty miles an hour in a panic. It opened into a small circle drive that I suspect a long time ago had been a much larger courtyard, designed for carriages, now overgrown in front of the manor. I said as much.
“Yes, it is. Most of the property is, was anyway, landscaped all the way back to the road,” he said, grabbing our dinner and getting out.
“All the way to the road?” I asked, reaching into the back to grab my things and getting out as well. All the way to the road would mean several acres at the least.
“I haven’t explored all of it, but the entire estate appears landscaped originally.”
“These old Nineteenth century estates along the Hudson are incredible. It’s one of those things, you know, that you always want to go and do and never seem to find the time.”
“Always want to go and do what?”
“See all of them. Explore the Gilded Age ruins and spend a day wondering about the people that lived there.”
“With that kind of enthusiasm for adventuring amongst the long lost things of the world you should be an archaeologist or something,” he said.
I smiled.
The front door opened before Adrian knocked. “Ahh, good evening, Dr. Spurling,” Djimon said, grinning wide.
“Hi Djimon. How are you this evening?” I asked, surprised at how genuine and pleased he was to see me.
“Truly, fortune has favored me with your company yet again. By happy coincidence, when I finished my work in the southern hall, I commenced transforming your previous quarters into something more habitable. Come, I will show you,” he said, taking my bag and picking up the candle and sconce he had set down to open the door.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself. He treats everyone I bring over that way,” said Adrian.
“I thought no one else had ever been here?” I asked.
“Well, when you put it that way,” he shrugged.
I stuck my tongue out at him and joined Djimon upstairs.
“Dinner will be served promptly at eight thirty-five,” Adrian hollered up at us.
Djimon turned around and asked “What time is it now?”
“Eight thirty-three,” Adrian said, holding up the sacks of food and smiling before walking off towards the kitchen.
Djimon took me down the dark wooden halls to my right, north I believe, and into the room I had stayed in the night before. At least I assumed so. It looked nothing like what I remembered from the morning.
The room had been dusty and gray with clutter deep in the shadows along the walls. Whatever colors the room had were muted and lifeless. Not so now. The clutter was gone, revealing a room larger than I would have thought, complete with its own walk-in closet and small fireplace, which burned low. A vanity was built into one wall. The mirror above went all the way to the ceiling. The whole thing was encased in carved hardwoods brushed gold, and came with a matching jewelry case.
The room was rich and warm in a way that was very on purpose. The wood floor glowed in front of the hearth beneath the fire light, sending shadows curling around the carved banisters of the bed. The heavy curtains I thought were dark gray were clean now, showing crimson and deep purples sprinkled with gold wherever the light hit them.
Not everything in the room matched, and there was no central theme, but everything in it belonged in a way going beyond design. The wood polish left a distinct scent of lemon and pine that mixed with wood smoke and the scent of the old growth gardens below, and the Hudson River beyond. I was overwhelmed with a sense of approval from the house for being discovered again, for being recognized for what it was, that the whole was worth infinitely more than the sum of its parts.
And philosophical personifications of a house aside, it was freaking gorgeous and I loved it.
“Did you do all of this?” I asked, feeling stupid the moment it left my mouth. Of course he did. No one else lived there. “I mean of course you did. This is beautiful.” And meant for me. Adrian had his room, though it wasn’t as nice as this, and I doubted this was the kind that would suit Djimon. I didn’t believe for a second he planned to fix this room after the southern hall on the other side of the manor.
“Thank you,” I gave him a quick hug.
“If only all my work were rewarded so,” he laughed.
I laughed too.
“Granted, it is far from finished. The windows need replacing and the frames rebuilt. I believe the ceiling might need to come down as well, and I will need to check the walls, but it is not as damaged as most of the others. Adrian did well to choose this one for you. This was, once, the lady’s chambers and this house, like a man, needs a woman to give it life. This room will be yours whenever you are here,” he said.
I wasn’t sure what to think of the presumption I would be here regularly enough to have my own room. Or if perhaps he was implying, or hoping, for something else. Nevertheless, it must have taken him all day to prepare it just for me, and it was truly, truly beautiful. Maybe he was just happy to have a guest. I thought how terrible it must be only having Adrian for company and was surprised to find the idea more amusing than terrible. I suppose that bore thinking on later.
“I’m glad you like it. Now come, we do not want to be late for dinner,” Djimon said.
“Not since he went to all the trouble and all,” I said.
Djimon grimaced as I passed him out the door. “Please tell me he did not stop for fast-food again.”
I laughed out loud and we went downstairs to join Adrian in the kitchen.
It didn’t take long for me to agree with Adrian. Jabari was some kind of wizard. A magi of meat, and sorcerer of sauce. The meal was divine.
We considered diving right into my research, but soon discovered why dinner came with so many wet wipes and napkins. We used them all.
The three of us settled into the large sitting room I’d been in the night before after cleaning the kitchen. Adrian and Djimon lit several oil lamps and we huddled around one of the coffee tables for the next couple of hours poring over pages of research. They were excellent students, especially Adrian, paying attention to every detail.
Adrian asked fewer questions as the night wore on and became more and more formal when he did so. What began as a discussion dwindled to me wrapping up a presentation.
Djimon retired for the evening, turning down several of the lamps on his way upstairs to finish a few things while Adrian looked at the photos from our dig site, seeming oblivious to his departure.
He slid the photos into the folder on the coffee table.
“What do you think we should do about Ruby?” he asked after a moment.
“I’m hoping something will turn up on one of the security videos. We’ll know more tomorrow,” I said.
“And if there is nothing?” he asked. “What then?”
“We could try a set up. You know, like we did with M&M.”
Adrian frowned but didn’t say no either.
“We’ll find her,” I said, bumping his knee with mine.
He nodded without looking at me.
“You know, you never asked about what the FBI was doing outside of Nick’s,” he said.
“I thought you would tell me, or you wouldn’t. By the time I saw you next we had more important stuff to take care of.”
“So you were never going to ask?”
“Maybe, but I decided I would rather not know than have you lie to me if it came to it. I wouldn’t be able to work with you after tha
t. Lying is a betrayal. It’s personal. I’ve dealt with it more times than I care to remember and once someone crosses the line, it’s over.”
“That’s part of the reason you were so angry when Thomas showed up at the office while you were there,” he said.
“Yes, mostly. That was different. You thought you had a good reason, and I understood, but it was a near thing.”
Adrian nodded coming to a decision. “The ship I was on last week. The one, you know,” he said, showing me his wrists. “Where this happened. It was a smuggling ship. Apparently, there were some weapons on board. Arms shipment or whatever that went missing and they thought I took them.”
“Did you?” I asked with a touch of sarcasm.
“Totally. Took all two and a half tons, or however much it was, and spent three days unloading it at the docks, and then Nick and I walked right down the boardwalk with it in front of about a million cameras and hauled it thirty or forty miles through the city in our sneaky little gigantic semi-truck, then spent three days unloading it. It’s sitting in the basement right now. We buried the semi in the gardens. Coppers will never find it.”
I cracked up laughing again. It was almost the exact thought I had when John told me the theory. It wasn’t even that funny. I mean a whole bunch of military grade weapons were still missing and that was bad, but after two a.m., everything was more amusing.
“John told me,” I said, expecting Adrian to be surprised. He wasn’t.
“Is he going to cause trouble?” he asked.
“He’s not thrilled I’m going after Vitale and this Auction and, well, he sort of hates you.”
Adrian did smile then. “My keen senses picked up on that.”
“He was pissed that guy he brought in talked after mentioning your name.”
“Wait? What?” he asked, turning to me. “What guy?”
“I told you about him. Benjamin King. Everyone calls him—”
“Benji, yeah, I’ve heard of him.”
“Well he wasn’t talking. Didn’t want any more involved than he was. I convinced John to step out for five minutes. That’s when you called. You came up and he said you’d owe him a favor if he helped.”
“Christ, Claire,” he said, rubbing his head.
“What? It worked didn’t it? He pointed us towards Vitale and this Auction. Confirmed the artifacts will be there. That is exactly the break we hoped for. What’s the problem?”
He sighed. “Nothing. You’re right we needed it. But, no forget it. I’ll take care of Benji.”
“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but it sure better be you helping him with whatever he wants and leaving him in peace, because I gave my word. I’m sorry I obligated you, but I didn’t have time for anything less. You will not compromise my promise.”
He raised his hands in defeat. “I just meant I’d talk to him. But you should know this will cause trouble later.”
“Oh, Benji’s harmless.”
“He’s all right, as far as these things go I guess, but he isn’t clean. Far from it. He knows his way around the old world rules. You make it sound like he refused to help because he was scared to death to speak. And a favor from me made him change his mind awfully fast.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. He had been terrified to talk and changed course quick at the prospect of a favor from Adrian Knight. What could Adrian do for him that would make it worthwhile?
“What about you would make it worth so much to him?” I asked.
“That’s classified. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Yes, Top Gun references. My day is now complete.”
Adrian grinned again. It was a tired kind of smile, but genuine. One with the subtle hints of struggle from being out of practice at it. It looked good on him in the same way his old brown leather ensemble did, buckles and all. In the same way his house suited him. Something visceral and deep and beyond description. There wasn’t any one thing to point at as similar or fitting—not the floral patterns on most of the furniture, or the pale silvery green wallpaper that was peeling, or the intricately lacquered angels in flight along the ceiling—but it was him. Gilded. Ruined.
“Why do you do it?” I asked before realizing I’d said it out loud.
He cocked his head to one side. “Do what?”
“Work for the museum the way you do?”
Adrian shrugged. “I could tell you it’s good work, meaningful, interesting, that I was good at it. All of that is true, but the fact is I started working with the museum because it was the only thing I knew how to do, and Henry was one of the only people I’d met willing to give me a chance.”
“I know he advocated for you. He never said anything other than he liked seeing people use their potential. I would get so angry when he hired you that I’d stay away for weeks at a time. Every time I heard your name it…” I rolled my shoulders not knowing how to finish. I was terrible at this.
He gave me an understanding nod. “It reminded you of how much faith a man you respected had in someone you hated. Someone who was the embodiment of every project never completed due to lack of funds because of the cost of hiring them.”
Adrian got bonus points in my book for being self-aware. Yet the admission wasn’t what I was looking for. “Yes, but it wasn’t fair. They would have hired someone else to do the same things. I shouldn’t have blamed you personally. It caused no end of problems for me outside of work.”
“Harris?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Normally I would say that had nothing to do with me and to keep me out of it, but since it’s Harris I think I’ll say you’re welcome,” he said with a wink.
I fell back into the divan, laughing so hard it hurt. I sat there for a minute enjoying the moment. I had gotten to apologize without ever having to apologize. He’d let me off easy and I was grateful.
He held his hand to help me up, but I crossed my hands behind my head and set my ankles in his lap. He stared at my feet for a long second before asking, “Why do you do it?”
I wiggled myself into a more comfortable position while I thought about it. It didn’t take long. “Lots of reasons. I love it. It fascinates me. It keeps my life interesting. However, more specifically, I stayed on at the museum because of all the years I studied under Henry. With his support, I’ve been able to do things I only dreamed of when I started. Other people my age still have years, maybe decades, in service to some lead director yet to go, and here I am with my own team.”
Adrian pulled one knee up onto the divan and turned to face me without moving my legs, and put his elbows back for support. Probably because he didn’t know what to do with his hands while my feet were in his lap. “What did you dream about?”
“Other than being swept off my feet by Harrison Ford?” I said grinning.
“Don’t we all,” he rolled his eyes. “Yes, other than that.”
That question required no thought whatsoever to answer. It was very clear to me. “I always wanted to do something different. The hard things no one else was willing or able to do. It wasn’t until grad school I figured it out.
“My great grandmother died. The day before, her nephew, my grandpa’s cousin I think, found something he thought belonged to her in with his father’s things. It was a small brass necklace that looked hammered together from different sizes of cheap fittings. I’d never seen anyone so happy when she held it and recognized what it was. Like a little girl on Christmas morning. I know that’s cliché, but you had to have seen her.
“Grandpa said he grew up hearing about that necklace. That side of the family was originally from Germany, and during the Great War the armies confiscated everything. The family moved from village to village and farm to farm working where they could. Great grandma was maybe seven or eight in 1914 and they lived on the road until 1922 when she was sold as a bride to an American. That whole time the only thing she ever owned was a doll her mother made with a small brass
necklace her daddy had pieced together for her. That doll had been her only steady companion from the refugee and labor camps all the way to Ellis Island.
“My grandfather cried and later said he hadn’t really recognized her in decades except there at the very last. She was lucid, and happy, and recognized all of us her last day. When she died grandpa came and sat down next to me and my cousins and told us how glad he was we all got to see his momma like he remembered her.”
I paused remembering the day. I’d cried at the time, but now it was one of my favorite memories. Not happy, but satisfying somehow. Fulfilling. Adrian had the grace not to comment.
“Anyway, I knew what I wanted to do. Almost everyone in my field is scrambling for position to get in on the next big dig. Fieldwork is more scarce than you may realize, and there’s a never-ending line of people wanting a go at it. But, no one considers all the things out there that already have a home, a place they belong, that have been displaced through human conflict. That’s where my team and I come in. We’ve been gathering data for two years from every region and every time period to help us rediscover and restore art and artifacts lost to mankind.”
“That,” he said, looking into my eyes, “is an incredible thing.”
“I think so, but don’t make too much of it. We haven’t been very successful, but when we are, it makes all of it worthwhile, you know. I guess I figured if I could put something back in its rightful place that somewhere along the way I’d find my own place in the world. Somewhere to belong. I’m sorry, that sounds so silly.”
“No,” he said. “No. Not at all. My father used to say that’s all anyone ever tried to do. He told me the answer was sometimes you can find your place better by helping someone else find theirs. Of course then mom would say just get married.”
I giggled at that and we shared ridiculous stories of family late into the night.
