He tried again to imagine what Connor had done with guns like these, and why.
Maybe Murphy was right that Joe didn’t know when to let go. Of this, of the forgery cases, of Lauren. If anything, he held on tighter.
CHAPTER
32
FRIDAY, JANUARY 22, 1926
All week long, Lauren had tried to convince herself that what Joe had brought to her Monday night was simply his own wild imaginings. His boss pressured him for answers, and Joe was supplying them from speculation. The Napoleon Society couldn’t be a forgery ring. Dad couldn’t be involved. Her name could not be attached to the newsletter of criminals. Besides that, there was no way Dad would hurt her this way or prey on countless others.
But the photographs Joe had brought had been impossible to reconcile. She had studied them this week, along with the copies of the provenance documents. The mistakes were identical, even though the provenance said the artifacts had been procured at different times and places. But these forgeries were the work of one or two people, not several.
“Knock, knock.” Anita entered Lauren’s office, smelling faintly of the cigarettes she preferred, and extended a stack of mail.
Thanking her, Lauren tossed it on the desk.
“It’s not all junk this time, Dr. Westlake. Something from the Vandermeers.” She paused. “You need anything else? Coffee, water?”
Lauren looked up at her assistant. “I don’t think even coffee would give me what I need right now.”
“That sounds serious.” Anita slapped a Hershey bar on Lauren’sdesk. “Chocolate, then. It never fails to soothe and fortify. The almonds are protein, and your body needs that anyway.”
There were worse ways to cope. As Anita whisked away, Lauren unwrapped the candy bar and took a bite, summoning the nerve to open what Miles Vandermeer had sent her.
It had occurred to Lauren on Wednesday that she had never truly inspected the jewelry Victoria had won at the gala in November. It had been displayed in glass cases at the Hotel Astor, and then she’d seen Victoria wearing the pieces at her Long Island Christmas party. But she hadn’t looked at the back of either the necklace or the bracelet.
Dad had vouched for their authenticity.
She ought to see for herself. But after the threat she received two weeks ago, she couldn’t risk being seen visiting collectors anymore.
After one more bite of chocolate, she drew a piece of Vandermeer stationery from the manila envelope.
Dear Dr. Westlake,
My secretary informed me of your request for photographs of the front and back of my wife’s newest pieces of Egyptian jewelry. As it happens, I’d already had photographs taken for the purpose of filing them with our insurance company. One can never be too careful about safeguarding one’s investments. I’ve enclosed copies of these photographs and hope they are sufficient for your purposes. If they are to be used in some kind of publication, we would be grateful to be named as the owners.
Yours very cordially,
Mr. Miles Vandermeer, Esq.
Careful to handle only the white borders of the glossy photographs, Lauren pulled them out and felt herself begin to relax.
The workmanship on the pectoral, with the three-hundred-some pieces of inlaid stones, was breathtaking even in black and white.The photographer had expertly captured every detail. The next photograph showed the pectoral in context of the entire necklace. The next one showed the back.
Heat singed Lauren’s face. The back of the pectoral was a smooth, flat surface of gold.
This was no royal woman’s necklace from the Middle Kingdom. If it had been, the back would have been chased in gold—an outline of every detail on the front. She could not pretend the fault lay in blurry photography.
There were no lines. If this was real gold, and real semiprecious stones, it had not been made during the Middle Kingdom. It had never graced the neck of royalty.
Eyelids stinging, she flipped to the photographs of the bracelet, and stopped on the image showing the underside of the scarabs. She covered her mouth. The mistakes on every one matched the mistakes on the scarabs Joe had photographed and shown her on Monday.
Was nothing real? Was nothing as she had thought it to be? These were no token pieces, either. The amount the Vandermeers had paid to win them would have more than covered the cost of replacing the roof on the Napoleon House. So why had he seemed so concerned about the cash to get it done? Would Dad be able to refund the sum in full?
The implications made her light-headed. Then she turned to the last photograph, which showed the provenance documents. No dealer was named for the necklace or bracelet. According to this, Dad had found the pieces himself during an excavation in 1898. She struggled to believe that given the mistakes in workmanship. Besides, if these pieces were real, especially the pectoral, they would have been a glorious find. Surely something to write home about.
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