by Kris Tualla
“Yes, sir.”
“What comes second?”
“That depends on how you respond to the first.”
Benton leaned forward and planted his elbows on the desk. “What exactly did happen, Ms. McKenna, when you touched the two pieces of the icon together?”
Sveyn stepped around the desk and stood next to Benton. “Hold steady, Hollis.”
“What did you see, sir?” she countered.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I saw what looked like a ghost of some sort attacking you. And then Tom here scared it away.”
She gave a little shrug. “Then you saw more than I did.”
Benton scowled. “What sort of game are you playing?”
Hollis drew a deep breath and measured out her words. “I have agreed to cooperate with the ghost hunters and the other kooks who asked to come do whatever sort of research it is that they do—”
“For a nice extra income, don’t forget,” Benton interrupted
Hollis ignored the comment. “But I never agreed to be made a spectacle of, nor be party to, any deception. If this video is not permanently deleted, then we will hold a press conference of our own and expose your scheme for moving the pieces of the icon.”
He shook his head, chuckling. “I never touched—”
Now Hollis interrupted. “No. But you paid someone else to.”
Benton’s gaze shifted to the silent intern at her side and back to hers. “There is no proof of that.”
“Maybe not.” Hollis shrugged. “But our story will be believed because a real scandal always trumps fake ghosts.”
Benton glared at her. “And if I do agree, what comes second?”
Hollis smiled a little. “Then we’ll show you the new antique-looking barrier that Tom is making, which will be placed inside the display case between the halves of the icon, and will prevent them from moving close enough to touch.”
“You will perpetuate the story?” He looked skeptical, as he should have.
“The myth is historical. And it’s written on the label.” Hollis lifted one shoulder. “The barrier only helps illustrate that.”
“We don’t ever say the pieces actually moved,” Tom added. Clearly the intern was beginning to feel like his position at the museum might survive this interview. “So we aren’t messing with the truth.”
Benton tapped his steepled fingers against his lips. “What about showing this video to those ghost hunters and kooks?”
Hollis shook her head. “I would really rather not, because you know as well as I do that if it’s not deleted, it will eventually end up on YouTube.”
Hollis crossed her arms and waited. She wasn’t going to speak again until Benton did. She and Tom had the upper hand, and yet they offered the director a way to insinuate that the legend might hold some truth.
But there’s no way in hell I’ll ever tell him how much.
Hollis forcefully stifled a shudder.
Mr. Benton shifted in his chair. He turned his monitor so Hollis and Tom could see it. He selected the video section in question and hit delete. When asked if he was sure he wanted to delete that portion of the video, he hit enter.
The video disappeared.
*****
Hollis went to her office, relieved to some extent. There was certainly a way to retrieve the video clip from wherever it was that deleted files went, but Benton seemed to believe her when she said she’d expose the trick.
“You handled that very well, Hollis,” Sveyn complimented.
“Thank you.” She looked at the navy blue cocktail dress hanging on the back of her office door. Ten hours remained until the gala and then most of the insanity would be over.
She lifted her still-to-do list and mentally triaged the tasks.
“There you are, Hollis!” Stevie bounced into the office. “Where were you?”
“Last minute meeting with Benton.” Hollis looked up from her list. “And now I’m deciding what we need to do and in what order.”
“In case it helps, the museum is closing at three today so the caterers can set up in the lobby.” Stevie waved the hand weighted down by her glittering engagement ring. “Benton made the call yesterday and Miranda had it posted on the website last night.”
Hollis wrinkled her nose. “I’m assuming the TV stations will be here. Again.”
“Only outside. Miranda made a point of that.” Stevie grinned. “Too many socialites and local celebrities are attending. She told Benton he wouldn’t want his thunder stolen by letting them hog the press.”
Hollis laughed. “Well for once his hubris is working in our favor.”
“Is that your dress?” Stevie closed the office door so she could get a full view. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.” Hollis tamped down the memory of the last time she wore it: Matt’s office promotion party. A month before he broke up with her and five months before he married someone else.
“I told George he didn’t have to rent a tux.” Stevie smiled wistfully. “I’m just so happy to have him by my side.”
While Hollis didn’t begrudge Stevie a moment of joy, her friend’s happiness shined a glaring spotlight on both Hollis’s current lack of a functional relationship, and that there were no visible options on her horizon.
Sveyn was watching her carefully, as if he could read her thoughts. Hollis turned away from his pitying gaze.
“We better get to work if we’re going to get finished in time for me to get gorgeous,” she quipped.
*****
Hollis examined herself in the restroom mirror and fussed with her hair. She decided to put half of it up in the loose bun again, and leave the rest of her curls spilling over her shoulder.
Sveyn smiled at her in the mirror. “That dark color looks good on you.”
Hollis smiled back. “Redheads don’t generally look good in black, so navy is my go-to.”
“It complements your eyes and your hair very nicely.” Sveyn heaved a breathless sigh and frowned.
Hollis froze. “What’s wrong?”
“I think I smell lavender.” He waved his hand. “But there are no flowers here.”
Hollis turned around to face him. “Is it this?” She lifted her wrist to his nose.
He leaned down and sniffed. “Yes. I believe so.”
She smiled at him. “It’s the lotion I put on. It’s scented with lavender.”
“So once again I am not imagining this.” Sveyn stared at her. “And yet I have not discovered what this means.”
Hollis turned back to the mirror. She certainly had no explanations for the Viking, and no time right now to think about it. “How does my hair look in back?”
“There is one place that requires one of those metal pins.”
Hollis grabbed a bobby pin. “Where?”
“Lower. To the left. There.”
Hollis felt the errant lock and pinned it in place. “How’s that?”
“Perfection, my lady.” Sveyn’s smile in the mirror warmed her throughout. “You look stunning.”
Hollis tucked her makeup and hair paraphernalia into her tote bag and retrieved the gold pumps and chunky necklace that completed her outfit. Donning both, she zipped the bag closed.
“Let’s get this party started,” she muttered. “The sooner it starts, the sooner it ends.”
The looks she received from her co-workers as she carried the tote bag and her work clothes to her office surprised her.
“You look amazing, Ms. McKenna,” Tom said.
“Thank you.” She felt herself blush a little.
Even Tony Samoa appeared impressed. “I have to admit, you clean up nicely, Hollis.”
Not quite a compliment, but more than expected. “Thanks.”
After stowing her bag and straightening her already straight dress, Hollis walked out of the administrative office area and into the museum. With half an hour remaining before the doors were opening, the loud hum of conversation was surprising.
“Ah—here you are.” Mr. Benton grabbe
d Hollis’s elbow. “Let’s step into the pavilion and talk to the press.”
A brisk winter breeze threatened rain, so the reporters had been allowed into the glass-walled entry way. Hollis stood next to Miranda, who stood next to Benton, who spoke in glowing terms about the collection and the opening and how proud he was that the Arizona History and Cultural Center had been selected by the late Ezra Kensington the Fifth to house his treasured collection.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have a catalog for each of you to take with you so that you can highlight any pieces that catch your eye.”
While Miranda handed out the glossy booklets one reporter asked, “Is that Blessing thing in there?”
Hollis decided to answer that one herself. “The Velsignelse av Gudene—Blessing of the Gods—is most certainly included.”
“Has there been any more unexplained activity?” another asked.
“No. And it’s very likely there never was,” Hollis stated before Benton could say anything incriminating. “But just in case, we have placed a barrier between the two halves.”
“We do wish to honor the legend,” Benton added, stepping in front of her. “Our ancestors certainly did.”
Miranda looked at her watch. “Do any of you have more questions? If not, our guests will be arriving soon.”
Glances bounced and heads shook. Cameramen turned off their lights, microphone cases were opened, and Hollis reentered the museum proper with Miranda right behind her.
“Glad that’s done,” Hollis said. “Now there are just two hours of schmoozing to get through.”
“You look amazing, Hollis,” Miranda gushed. “That dress fits you like a sexy glove.”
Hollis looked at her boss and chuckled. “Good. Because this dress needs a new memory. It’s way too expensive to get rid of.”
The museum doors were propped open at seven on the dot. The hundred-plus invited guests—all of whom made a minimum donation for the right to attend the wing’s opening—began to enter.
They were greeted in the lobby with trays of champagne flutes and canapés and directed by uniformed museum employees toward the now-uncovered entrance to the Kensington wing.
Hollis grabbed a flute of champagne. “Here’s to us, Miranda. We deserve to make the best of the evening.”
Miranda accepted a flute of champagne as well, and touched the rim to Hollis’s. “We certainly do.”
When her stomach rumbled, Hollis waved a waiter over and selected a couple of the proffered hors d’oeuvres. “I just realized I forgot to eat dinner.”
“Well, there’s plenty.” Miranda mimicked her actions again. “Good thing, because I did too.”
Hollis grinned. “There’s always pizza on the way home.”
“And garlic knots,” Sveyn added with a wink. “I am going exploring.”
Hollis watched the towering Viking move through the crowd and around the corner into the new wing. Damn but he was handsome.
Miranda popped the canapé into her mouth. “Shall we go inside?”
Hollis drained her champagne flute and traded it for a full one. “Let’s go. I’m ready.”
The first hour went fairly quickly as Hollis was barraged with questions about the entire collection. It seemed that those in attendance held themselves above the controversy, and asked instead about the more traditional objects: the signed Mansfield Park, the English criminal’s tricorn, the Viking sunstone, and the stone dildo.
“We can’t be certain what the exact purpose was for this object, other than to know by the carving that it was linked with fertility,” Hollis explained to a trio of smiling older women.
“That’s the official line, isn’t it dearie.” The woman patted Hollis’s arm. “But we all know what this was used for don’t we?”
Hollis smiled as well. “We are all certainly free to come up with our own possibilities.”
“Well, I think you should sell them in the gift shop,” another stated. “You’ll make a fortune.”
Hollis laughed at the mental image of the phallic-shaped carving on display in the museum store. “I will pass your suggestion on, ladies.”
Hollis turned toward the lobby with the intent of replacing her long-emptied champagne flute.
She smiled at the waitress who accommodated her and lifted the flute in a toast. “One hour done. One hour to go.”
The girl smiled politely. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Hollis?”
“Yes?” She turned toward the voice, and her jaw dropped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter Thirteen
Sveyn was at her side in a blink. But even his looming presence couldn’t calm her heart—which had decided to buck and pitch like a bronco gone berserk.
“Who is this?” Sveyn demanded.
“Matt. Matt Wallace.” Hollis’s grip on the champagne flute tightened.
He flashed a nervous grin. “In the flesh.”
Don’t lose it.
No matter what.
Hollis shifted her stance. “I’m serious, Matt. What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, of course.”
“How did you find me?” Okay, that was a dumb question.
Matt chuckled. “I Googled you. You’re a little famous, you know.”
Damn the media whore.
Hollis waved her free hand. “How did you get in tonight? This is a private event for donors.”
Matt gave her one of those condescending looks she always hated. “Yes, Hollis. It is.”
Crapola. “Well, then. Thank you for your support.”
Matt dipped his chin. “You are very welcome.”
She sipped her champagne to keep from saying anything she probably shouldn’t. Instead she managed, “How is Suzan?”
“Um, great. She—”
“It was a polite question, Matt. I really don’t give a rat’s ass.” Hollis gulped her champagne and handed the empty flute to a surprised Matt who accepted it. “If you’ll excuse me?”
Whirling on the heel of one of her golden pumps, Hollis strode across the lobby with her shoulders square, head high, and a little extra swing in her hips. She knew he would be watching.
Once in the ladies’ room, however, her tenuous composure made a hasty exit.
She locked the restroom door and stood in front of the mirror, blotting tears as soon as they appeared and trying to protect her makeup.
Sveyn sat on the counter, facing her. “Why is he here, Hollis?”
“To torture me?” she snapped.
“And why would he want to do that?”
“Who the hell knows?” She cut her glance to his. “Whose side are you on?”
“Do not be foolish,” Sveyn chided. “I am asking you serious questions.”
Hollis continued to blot her eyes, but Sveyn’s inquiry was already pulling her out of the abyss.
“Okay, I don’t really think he came here to torture me.” She pressed the tissue into the corners of her eyes. “Why would he? He’s ecstatically married to a beautiful woman and has an amazing job at some hoity-toity ad firm.”
Sveyn’s brow twitched. “What’s an ad firm?”
Hollis dropped her hands from her eyes. “You know hoity-toity, but can’t puzzle out ad firm?”
The Viking looked offended. “Hoity-toity is an old expression. I have heard it many times.”
“Sorry.” Hollis turned back to the mirror and dabbed fresh tears. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you.”
Sveyn dipped his chin. “You are forgiven. Now, could ‘ad’ be short for advertisement?”
Hollis nodded. “Yes.”
“So Matt works for a revered advertisement firm, and yet you are the one who, as he said, is a little famous.”
Hollis snorted and regarded the apparition again. “Are you suggesting he’s jealous of me?”
Sveyn gave her a one-shoulder shrug. “Is that truly so impossible?”
Hollis’s tears slowed as she considered the unexpected suggestion. “I don’t
know.”
Sveyn twisted a little, pulling one bent leg onto the counter. “Matt had a reason to come all the way here and give the museum enough money to be able to attend tonight. That reason is you.”
“But why go to all that trouble?” Hollis shook her head. “If he wanted to talk to me, he could just email me or pick up the phone.”
“Would you have talked to him?”
He has me there. “Maybe.”
Sveyn leaned an elbow on his knee and stroked his scruff of a beard. “It is much harder to dismiss someone when they are standing in front of you.”
Hollis stared at Sveyn as the impact of his words wormed past the shock of Matt’s sudden appearance. “He wants something from me.”
“I believe he does. At the least, his actions strongly suggest it.”
“What could he want?” Hollis mused. “He has everything. All I have is a temporary job, and I live alone in a city where I barely know anyone.”
One corner of Sveyn’s mouth lifted. “Not entirely alone.”
“My relationship with you only makes me more of a loser,” Hollis huffed. “I’ve apparently replaced all living men with an undead one.”
The Viking’s expression grew somber. “I cannot argue with you on that count.”
Hollis felt a pang of regret. “I’m sorry, Sveyn.”
He met her gaze with a regretful one of his own. “I wish I could be more than I am for you, Hollis.”
“I know.” She ached to take hold of his hand, knowing that to try would hurt more than ignoring the urge.
Sveyn slid off the counter. “It is time to find out what he wants.”
Hollis drew a deep breath and examined her face in the mirror. “Do I look like I have been crying?”
Sveyn stepped behind her and smiled at her reflection. “You look beautiful. As you always do.”
Hollis rolled her eyes. “Give me a serious answer.”
“No, you do not. But if he asks you, tell him that something else made your eyes water,” the Viking hedged.
Hollis threw the tissue in the trash and straightened her dress. “Like what? Onions?”
Sveyn chuckled. “You will think of something.”
A rattle of the doorknob made her jump. “Hollis, are you in there?”
