“Not just prickly.” Joe shared his suspicions about him, which had only grown.
Pink stole over Lauren’s cheeks. “I can’t deny he has the skills and supplies to create fakes, but I hate to think he’d stoop so low,” she murmured.
“There’s something else,” Joe added. “He mentioned during my interview that his education was complete before he took the job. He hadn’t needed to be apprenticed after he’d been hired. But he didn’t tell me where he’d studied. Do you remember our encounter when I asked you to consult with me?”
She blinked up at him. “Of course.”
“You told me all of your qualifications right away,” he reminded her. “Where you studied, what you know.”
“Habit,” she said. “I’m used to spelling out my credentials so people—men, especially—will take me seriously.”
“You wanted credit where credit was due. I don’t blame you. So then why would Peter Braun, who considers himself chronically undervalued, not take the opportunity to share his résumé with me? If he was proud of his education, why didn’t he tell me about it?”
“You want to know where he went to school?” Lauren asked.
“Among other things, yes. I called the human resources director to get a copy of his résumé and application for the job, but I haven’t heard back yet.”
“Berlin,” she said. “He studied Egyptian art and textiles in Berlin. Can you blame him for not volunteering the information?”
“You studied in Berlin. You said the Germans had made the best dictionary of Egyptian hieroglyphs. Why wouldn’t he—”
Lauren stepped closer to him and lifted her chin as she whispered, “He’s German, Joe. Born and raised there. Came to America before the war, but he must have ties over there. Have you read the news about the German economy?”
Joe assured her he had.
“It’s tragic, if you ask me, even if they did lose the war. A wheelbarrow of paper currency to buy a loaf of bread. The whole country suffers.”
“So much that Peter would want to send his family whatever he could to help.” That made sense. During the past week, he’d found nothing to indicate that Peter’s lifestyle was beyond the means of a typical conservator.
“Careful, Joe.” Lauren laid a hand on his arm. “Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”
He covered her hand with his. “I’m just thinking out loud here.”
“Well, don’t think quite so loud, would you? I’d hate for anyone to overhear and misconstrue the situation.”
“Another scandal for the Met, you mean?”
She gave his arm a little shake. “Knock it off. We’ve already been hard on German Egyptologists. I don’t want to heap shame on a colleague without proof of wrongdoing.”
“What do you mean, we’ve been hard on the Germans? Wilson’s armistice terms at the end of the war?”
“More than that. During the war, the British army destroyed the German House at Thebes in an act of retribution. Ever since the war ended, German archaeologists and scientists have been banished from digging in the Nile valley. Meanwhile, the Metropolitan Museum of Art team resumed excavations at Deir el-Bahri in the winter of 1919. This has nothing to do with my politics or patriotism, but my professional opinion—one widely held amongEgyptologists—is that our field of study is the worse for the loss of German contributions.”
Joe stared at her, taking this in. The more she talked, the more motive she revealed for Peter to be the forger. “How interesting.”
In the next moment, she seemed to realize the picture she had painted. The defiance in her expression yielded to doubt. “Oh dear.” She dropped her hand to her side, and his arm felt cold where her fingers left it.
Joe could understand why she didn’t want Peter to be the culprit, but for his part, the pieces were finally fitting together. “I’ll keep looking and see what I find.”
Nodding, she broke from his gaze and swept the room beyond him. Her eyes widened.
The host and hostess descended the spiral staircase. As he had been at the gala, Miles Vandermeer was completely outshined by the woman on his arm. Or rather, by the necklace she wore.
“That looks familiar,” Lauren said.
Joe placed her hand in his elbow and maneuvered them both through chiffon dresses and coattails, until they were standing close enough for a better look.
Just as he thought. It was the Middle Kingdom necklace with the finely inlaid pectoral he’d seen under glass at the gala, the one worn by a royal woman. The lapis lazuli scarab bracelet encircled her wrist. The Vandermeers must have won the auctions for both, which meant that these pieces, at least, were genuine.
