“I’m sorry, but I can’t upgrade your security status until the loft is cleared and unsealed.”
“What about working from home? Can I do that?”
He hesitated at that. “You know, you could see this as a vacation. I know it’s rough, but you could take advantage of free days off.…” Theo let out a soft breath, and Zimmer shook his head. “What I mean,” he continued, “is that you don’t have to work. You were attacked. That’s more than enough reason to take time off.”
“But I don’t want time off!” Theo exploded. “I want to do my work! I’ve been here for six years; I’ve never had a security violation; I play ball with the other departments! Why can’t I work at home? If we’re going to get this exhibit off the ground, if we’re going to shove this in that son of a bitch’s face, I have to help!”
She stopped, panting. So much for being professional. She was throwing a tantrum in front of the Security chief, and a Pet Rock could have told her that wasn’t the way to get her clearance back.
But Zimmer didn’t seem about to throw her out of his office. Instead, he sagged and rubbed his forehead. “You know,” he said, conversationally, “I almost never get anyone in here who actually wants to do more work. It’s refreshing.”
“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have shouted,” Theo said, face red, “but I mean what I said. I need to help out on this, Mr. Zimmer. I’ll give you any documents you need, anything you require to fast-track my background check or whatever it is you’re doing. But if this exhibition gets pushed back because this jerk decided he wanted a four-thousand-year-old corpse for his living room décor, I’ll…I mean, we’ll look bad. The museum will look bad.”
“I think you were being more honest with ‘I’ll,’” Zimmer responded. “But workaholics typically don’t do things to jeopardize their jobs.” He pushed aside a manila folder. “Listen, I can’t authorize you back in the loft. And it’s too late for you to do anything more on Treasures. Your work has already been divided up among the other artists, and the mural is going to the printers the day after tomorrow. The exhibition is going to open on time.”
Theo’s heart sank. Replaced.
“But if it helps,” Zimmer continued, “the board wants you at the launch party. I can authorize you for that.”
“I know it sounds weird, Mr. Zimmer, but I don’t think a party is going to compensate for being kicked out of my department.” Theo’s voice sounded hollow. If they could pull everything together without her, what did that make Theo Speer? Expendable, for starters.
It was a selfish thought, she knew. But for so many years, art had been all that gave Theo a place in the world. She was of average height, average intelligence, average looks—but she loved colors and shapes and textures, and she poured her love of those things into pictures, in hopes that it would make bygone worlds a little more real. She was good at her job. She was her job. She’d hoped that she had made herself indispensable to the Columbian. Apparently not.
Zimmer didn’t seem to realize what was going through her head. Good. The last thing she needed was the Security chief thinking she was insane.
“You’re not being kicked out,” he said. “You’re on leave for a while. Anyway, the launch party’s going to have a lot of journalists there, and I know Dr. Schechter would love to put a sympathetic face on this story by introducing you to them. You might be able to get publicity, sell your own work that way.”
“I’m not sure…”
“Look,” Zimmer said. “Come to the party. Schechter’s people might be worried, but you’ve seen the crowds.” He ran a hand through his tousled red hair. There were dark circles under his eyes; those crowds were clearly a nightmare for him to deal with. He caught her expression and chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I know; I complain about it. But it’s money in the board’s pocket, and, no matter how they feel about it, you’re right in the middle of the whole mess. Everyone on the standard press invite list has already RSVP’d, and it’s not because they’re dying to learn about the Middle Kingdom. Come to the party, and the people upstairs will calm down.”
Theo wavered. But Zimmer had always been straight with her, and though she didn’t love the idea of a party, she needed to get back into the swing of things. It would be an opportunity to socialize with the loft people she hadn’t gotten to see, at the very least.
“All right,” she said, crossing her arms. “Maybe if I’m good I can get my access card back. Is it still at six o’clock?”
Chapter Eight
Wine, more wine than I’ve ever seen, and the Greek honey brew, militites. Fortunately there were no Greeks at the celebration—I’ve no stomach for their philosophy these days. Not a drop of beer to be found, though, which made it a very poor party…
– Excerpt from the Iudex Diary, author unknown,
circa 300 BCE (fragment)
The Treasures launch party glittered. The lights were on high in the whole museum, turning the dark windows into gold-tinged mirrors. A huge banner of the mummy’s colorful mask hung over the entrance to the exhibit, smiling faintly down at the milling partygoers. The information desks had been moved to create a special open space for statues of the gods, all gleaming-white fiberglass with gilded eyes.
And there they were again, the waiters with their trays of drinks, as sleek and inhuman as they had been on the night when it began. And here was Theo again, in shoes that pinched, circulating with a glass of wine in hand and making small talk.
Only this time, people actually wanted to talk to her. With the attention centered on the loss of the mysterious mummy, Publicity had been thrilled to get Theo to turn up.
There was no eggshell-colored dress this time. People actually wanted to talk to her, and she couldn’t find comfort in trying to blend. At least, that was what she’d told herself. But when she’d opened her closet that afternoon and looked at the dress, Theo knew she couldn’t wear it ever again. The last time she’d worn it, trouble had come into her life in the form of a tall man with whiskey-colored eyes.…
She’d shoved it back into the closet, taken herself down to Michigan Avenue, and spent money she couldn’t afford on a brilliant scarlet dress that flowed like water when she moved.
It helped her simulate a confidence she didn’t feel. She seemed to be the only one who needed it: her coworkers looked self-assured or even excited.
And why shouldn’t they? The party was the culmination of months of hard work, and they were ready to relax and enjoy the fruits of their labor. They’d gone the distance, done the job, made their mark—pick your cliché. She hadn’t. And maybe letting herself stand out would show the board she had nothing to hide.
And when she got home, she knew her own work there wouldn’t be an escape. The motion of her painted figures was slowing, the oddities of them fading; if the muse had descended, she’d clearly decided to cut her losses and ascend again, leaving Theo’s studio littered with yet more half-finished paintings.
The would-be Klimt was still there too, and, no matter what she did with it, it wouldn’t leave her alone. She was beginning to think that the smartest thing to do would be to throw it out. Its presence made her brain itch.
A ripple ran through the crowd as the door of the gallery opened. Docents lined up by the entrance, smiling like runway models as they handed out audio-tour headsets and pointed curious guests to various parts of the exhibit. Theo sighed and toyed with the stem of her wineglass, pressing fingerprints into the clear surface and then trying to put her fingertips back in the same places again, like a bored kid playing with the wet rings on a restaurant table.
“How’re you holding up?”
The voice made her jump, and she almost dropped her glass before she recognized it. Zimmer: wearing his one official work party suit, his fiery hair smoothed down.
“Fine,” she said. “Okay, a little jumpy, I guess,” she admitted as Zimmer gave her a skeptical look. “A lot jumpy. But I’m pretty sure that’s normal. How’s the party? Catch any criminals yet?”
“Not yet,” he said, taking her arm and gently shepherding her away from the crowds moving toward the docents. “Plenty of rule violations, though. I caught two of my guys betting on whether or not we’ll get anyone trying to grope Ta-weret.”
“It’s a topless statue,” Theo said wryly. “What’re the odds of it not happening?”
They fetched up by the buffet. Theo nibbled at a red-velvet cupcake, trying to avoid dropping crumbs on her dress. Zimmer finished his drink, meaning he was actually off duty for the evening. A stickler like he was wouldn’t drink if he might be called on to tackle someone looking at an exhibit funny.
“You okay?” Zimmer said curiously, picking a cookie off the buffet. “You seem distracted.”
“Mind’s wandering, I guess,” she said, shrugging and stepping away from the cupcake plate. Drowning her sorrows in calories wasn’t the way to go. “It happens, sometimes. Brain goes on safari, sometimes it comes back with an idea.”
He smiled a little at that. He had a nice smile, though it was a bit awkward. Like he didn’t use it much. “And has it?”
“Jury’s out.” She brushed the last of the crumbs off her hands and smoothed down her dress. “It’s been doing that a lot lately.”
“I know the feeling,” he said as he unwrapped a chocolate cupcake. “Sometimes it’s hard not to let your mind wander, especially if you’re trying to deal with a problem that makes no sense.”
Her stomach dropped. “You mean the robbery?”
“Not much else to talk about around here.” Zimmer took a bite of the cupcake and made a face. “We got the lab report on the dust, by the way. Powdered clay, mixed with an unknown organic compound—some kind of biomatter, probably offal. No toxins, just a distraction.”
“So he went to a lot of trouble to steal something he can’t fence and to not hurt anyone doing it,” Theo said. No sense in mentioning disintegration; that was more of a headache than she wanted anymore. “No sign of a drug? Hallucinogens?”
Zimmer shook his head. “Nothing, but it’s not surprising. If it was in gas form, it would’ve broken down and dispersed pretty quickly. They didn’t find anything in your skin and hair samples, but that doesn’t entirely rule it out.”
She breathed out. She wasn’t crazy. She’d been drugged, and though there was no evidence of it, it was still a perfectly reasonable conclusion.
“What about the clothes he left behind?” she said, carefully avoiding the use of specific names.
“Clean. No DNA.”
“And my access?”
“Tentative,” Zimmer said, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m working on it, but the police prefer to keep all angles covered until the perp’s caught. I can give you this, though.”
He fished in his pocket and pulled out a plastic swipe card. “This’ll get you into the loft once, to retrieve your things. You can do it anytime; there’re extra cameras up there now, so you won’t need an escort.”
“Thanks.” She took the card and tucked it into her clutch. Mark Zimmer letting a tentatively cleared individual into the back corridors by herself? Either hell was freezing over, or he really did trust her. The knot of tension in her stomach loosened.
“Speaking of escorts…” Zimmer glanced at his watch and frowned. “I have to walk the perimeter in the exhibit. Care to join me?”
“Oh…no, not right now.”
She wanted to see the exhibit, eventually. It was what she’d been working toward for more than eight months: sketching, planning, arguing, erasing and starting again, putting in overtime on everything from the biggest murals and banners to the gift shop T-shirt designs. But with her little guys no longer on the shelf and poor THS203 gone and her mural replaced, what exactly did she have? Selfish thoughts, maybe, but she couldn’t go in right then.
“I’m gonna go say hi to Little John,” she said. “The poor guy hasn’t been getting any love since the docents started dressing up the Struthiomimus pack.”
“All right, suit yourself,” Zimmer said. “Don’t get trapped by the reporters. Remember, the Columbian’s official comment is ‘no comment.’”
He strode off into the crowd, purposeful and quick. The guards at the exhibit’s entrance recognized him and stepped aside without asking for his ID. Instead of going in, he stopped and had a quick word with them. It was much too far away to hear, but Theo got the impression he was calling them on the carpet for not checking to make sure he was still him. She turned away, not waiting to see him go in.
Little John was a replica, but he made an impression. He stood frozen in midstride, jaws gaping, on the hunt and ready to chomp down on the nearest juicy animal. For almost twenty years, he’d been the center of attention in the main hall; families had lined up to photograph themselves with him, pretending to run away or push each other in front of the rampaging king of tyrant lizards. But recent renovations hadn’t been kind to him. The Struthiomimus pack, lurking behind him with their hockey jerseys and Santa hats, had been stealing his spotlight.
Theo gazed fondly at him. She could imagine the sinews and muscles filling out the skeleton, but she could also imagine the poor alpha predator being snickered at by the skeletal prey he was oblivious to.
Few people stopped to look at the silent monster. The new exhibit held their interest instead, and dark-gray fiberglass was a weak competitor against glittering gold and carnelian.
So much gold. No matter what, she couldn’t seem to get away from gold. The Scythian exhibit would be opening soon, with her team’s painting of the gold-encrusted chieftain’s burial.
A patch of darkness moved on the far side of the skeleton. The hall’s marble was a pale gray that looked yellow-white under the floodlights and dove-colored in the shadows, and there was no reason for that dark patch to be there.
It moved slowly, lurking in Little John’s blind spot. There were tinges of blue in it, slate blue and ivory gray…a tie that was a strip of stark white…all topped with coal-colored hair and skin that cried out for purple ochre.
One heel skidded out from under her, and Theo braced herself against the base of the skeleton.
What? How did he—?
She had to be seeing things. Imagining, maybe. She needed to focus. There was no way he would be here.
But why not? The investigation was ongoing, and it wasn’t as if the cops had taken her testimony seriously. She shouldn’t have left in the part about seeing him disintegrate. But if he was here, that proved they weren’t interested in pursuing the charges.
And he was, after all, one of the sponsors of the exhibit.
Of course he’d be here.
Lurking on the other side of the T-Rex. While the other sponsors were elsewhere.
She was going to kill him.
Theo slipped again as she lurched into motion, but she wasn’t going to let her damn shoes stop her. There, on the other side of Little John, was the man who’d nearly ruined everything. He was the reason THS203 was gone and, with it, the museum’s chance at the Pompeii specimens. He was the one who’d taken the shabtis, endangering the work of the ancient artist she’d thought so much about. And he’d added insult to injury by asking her to forgive him, like he thought that would make everything okay! Self-righteous bastard. She’d have his head on a platter.
She rounded the platform, and Seth Adler came into view. He’d stopped and was looking up into the tangled bones of the huge skeleton, hands tucked into his pockets.
He looked different. The faint lines around his eyes had been smoothed away, and the gray streaks in his hair had an odd yellow undertone to them: bleached in, no longer natural. If she looked closely, she would probably see dark roots. He looked younger, healthier, and more put together—unfairly so. It seemed he’d been relaxing and having work done while she was hiding in her apartment, scared and confused.
“Miss Speer,” Adler said, never looking away from Little John, “the exhibit is lovely.”
“Mister Adler,” Theo ground out, trying not to a
ctually growl. Maybe she was taking her cue from Little John.
He turned on his heel and looked her in the face.
A chill ran down her back as she met his gaze. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here? Why aren’t you skipping town with your haul and leaving my damn museum alone?”
Her eyes burned, and she forced down the flood of anger with an effort. They were alone on the far side of the skeleton, but sounds carried in the wide hall—and she didn’t want to be seen picking a fight with a patron. Hell, if Adler decided to lodge a complaint, she might be turfed out. But it was hard, horribly hard, not to remember the pain in her arms.
“Your museum?” Adler said softly. Theo’s fists tightened by her sides.
“I’m not going to argue semantics with you. Leave.” The next word came out with some difficulty. “Please.”
Adler recoiled, moving a quick step back at the venom in her tone. “Theo! Not here. There has to be something—”
“Like what?”
“—something I can say—”
“How about goodbye?”
“I’m trying to explain—”
“Explain what? Robbery and assault?”
“Listen to me!” he hissed. Theo took a step back, surprised, but her fists were still clenched and ready. “I didn’t want to do it either, do you understand? I’ve spent years helping build this collection! But circumstances—circumstances weren’t favorable.” He wilted, his sudden burst of anger spent. “I had to make my move.”
For a moment, Theo’s rage abated. He was sagging, his eyes hooded, deep lines appearing in his skin as his face fell into a mask of exhaustion. He looked…worn. Weary. He looked old.
Then common sense reasserted itself, and the sting of eyes fighting back tears brought the dust cloud of the nightmare back to her. Theo set her jaw and refused to let herself think that way. She had to stand her ground.
So he looked sad. Big deal. He had also burgled the museum, possibly ruined her career, and made her more miserable than she had ever been in her life. Another crack appeared in the dam, and she took a step toward him, keeping one hand on Little John’s base to steady herself. She was so angry that her knees were shaking, and she needed the feel of the cold stone to help her focus.
Painter of the Dead (Shades of Immortality Book 1) Page 11
