“See, that smells like a rat to me.” The stool whined again as Joe twisted to check on Doreen.
“I’m trying to protect—”
Joe’s hand curled into a fist over the phone. “That’s not your job,” he hissed.
“I’ve given up on protectingyou, Joe. But my aunt. Your parents. Every last one of those little coeds boarding at your place. That’s who I’m trying to protect now.”
The hair raised on the back of Joe’s neck. Connor had never been given to theatrics.
“You want to put them all in danger? Keep digging around about that stupid shell.” Connor made to hang up the phone.
Joe knocked on the glass, motioned that he had more to say. “How can I keep them safe if I don’t know who the perpetrator is? If he’s as dangerous as you say, he’s a menace to society and needs to be taken off the streets.”
“Drop it.”
“Connor!”
But he’d already slammed the handset into the receiver and stalked away.
CHAPTER
11
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1925
Disappointment hung heavy on Lauren’s shoulders. After spending all day searching her aunt’s home with Elsa, they still hadn’t found the box of letters written between her parents.
Elsa’s limp was more pronounced than usual as she made her way to the couch and collapsed onto it. “When my parents return from their trip, I’ll ask my mother. She may know where it is.”
“All right.” Lauren scratched Cleo under the chin. The fact that the cat wasn’t standing at her food bowl told her that Ivy must have already fed her before going out tonight. “Or do they employ any servants who would have been working seventeen years ago?” Most of the staff who hadn’t traveled with Aunt Beryl and Uncle Julian had been given time off for the holiday and weren’t around today. “Maybe one of them knows something.”
“I’ll look into it.” Elsa snagged the latest issue ofBird-Loremagazine from the coffee table and opened to where she’d left off before.
After trading her shoes for slippers, Lauren settled in at the desk in one corner of the room and fed a clean sheet of paper into the typewriter. She hadn’t found the letters she’d been looking for, but she could write one of her own.
Dr. James Breasted had been one of her professors at the University of Chicago, and they regularly corresponded. She asked him forhelp with tricky translations from time to time, and she was more than happy to proof articles he wrote for scholarly journals. Today’s message, however, would be different.
Lauren tapped out the usual greeting and pleasantries, asked after his wife, updated him on her work, and inquired after his own. Aside from teaching, he organized a group of artists, draftsmen, and archaeologists for an epigraphic survey. Together, they made high-quality copies of hieroglyphs they found in tombs and temples in Egypt and brought them back for reproduction in textbooks and journals.
Now for the reason for the letter.
Have you heard of the Napoleon Society? If so, what are your observations so far? My father’s on the board, but please don’t let that keep you from sharing your honest opinion. The society is organizing an expedition to Egypt, and there may be a chance for me to join it. My boss at the Met has made it clear they’ll not be sending me. If you know of other opportunities for me to use my skills in Egypt, I’d be most grateful if
A knock on the door sounded urgent.
“Are you expecting someone?” Lauren asked Elsa.
“No.”
“Lauren.” The voice was her father’s. “Lauren, there was a fire.”
She rushed to the door and opened it.
“Dad!” she gasped at the sight of him. She pulled him inside and vaguely heard Elsa say she would go for some ice.
“It looks worse than it feels, really.” He touched a fingertip to the swelling on one side of his face.
“Your hands are all scraped up, too. What on earth happened? You said there was a fire?”
