“Such as?”
He pushed his glasses up his nose and finished the toast in two giant bites. “He told me he was looking for a spectacular centerpiece for the room. Said he’d make his dining room table into a display case for it if he found it.”
Maybe Peter was only curious.
But maybe his interest ran deeper. Peter had been in that room, seen the dimensions, and heard what Ray was looking for. He could have forged it himself and sold it for a profit far exceeding the money he should have been paid for painting the walls. Maybe he was asking Joe about it now to see if his work had fooled Lauren. What kind of personal satisfaction would that bring a man who’d felt slighted both by Ray and by the Met?
“Detective?” Peter pressed. “Did she see the papyrus? The Book of the Dead?”
Joe studied him. “Did Ray tell you that’s what he was looking for?”
“Oh, never mind,” he grumbled.
“I haven’t seen that room myself,” Joe said, “but I did attend a couple of Christmas parties last weekend. The Vandermeers’ and the Morettis’. I went as Dr. Westlake’s guest.”
Peter drained the rest of the milk and set the glass down with a little too much force.
Joe had stuck a nerve. He kept striking. As casually as he could, he relayed every ostentatious detail, each one seeming to stoke thefire in the overlooked, underpaid conservator who didn’t eat enough so he could send money to family.
“I understand you’re looking for a forger because that’s your job.” Peter held his voice low. “But you see for yourself how wasteful these people are.That’sthe crime, Detective.”
Joe flipped his pen over and under his fingers and back again. “Spending money in ways you don’t approve of doesn’t break any laws.”
A scowl slashed Peter’s face. “You know what I mean. People like that can afford to be scammed. What difference does it make to them? A small fortune to you and me would be pocket change for their kind. They’ll get more money. Don’t worry about them. I certainly don’t.”
This, Joe believed.
CHAPTER
19
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 19, 1925
Lauren waved across the crowd to Elsa and Ivy, who wove their way back to her with freshly rented pairs of ice skates.
“Success!” Ivy declared upon reaching the bench where Lauren and her father sat. Plopping down beside him, Ivy began trading her shoes for skates.
Elsa sat and did the same. “Sure you won’t join us?” Her cheeks were already pink with cold.
“Another time.” Lauren sipped her hot chocolate. She needed to catch up with her father, and given his age, that was much better done on terra firma.
Straightening, Ivy adjusted her hat. “Will you be in town for Christmas, Mr. Westlake?”
“That’s my plan,” he told her.
“So will I.” Lauren had been thinking about this for a week and a half. “You can join me at the Beresford if you like.” Elsa had already invited her and Ivy to spend the holiday with her family, but she’d also made it clear that the invitation did not include Dad. After hearing his side of Aunt Beryl’s story, Lauren decided she couldn’t leave him here alone.
Elsa removed her fogged-up spectacles and wiped them clean. “You know, there’s a lot to be said for staying home for Christmas.The only reason I’m going with my parents to the Caribbean is for the birds. Ivy’s coming along to keep me sane.” She replaced her glasses.
“I can’t wait.” Ivy’s countenance glowed as she stood. She took a wobbly step, arms lifting from her sides unevenly for balance. “You ready for this, Elsa?”
“Are you kidding?” Elsa stood. “I was made for this.” With a grin, she walked stiffly to the rink and stepped onto the ice. Pushing herself from the railing, she glided as far as she could before bending her knees and skating with the best of them. Out on the ice, among so many other staggering skaters, her limp was all but impossible to detect.
Dad looked at Lauren from over the top of his steaming cup. His smile seemed cautious, forcing lines into his cheeks. “Feeling better since I last saw you?”
She felt bruised, but she wasn’t angry at him. Her father had not been the villain Aunt Beryl had made him out to be. She wasn’t about to call him blameless, but he wasn’t malicious, either. He had his regrets. So did she. Lauren entrusted all of this to a smile and nod, which he returned.
“Good. Now then, have you found more to write about for theNapoleon Herald?”
