“That’s right!” Mama said, holding a document aloft. It must be the provenance.
Joe extended a hand, and she passed it to him. “If I’d known you were so interested in this, I would have brought you a reproduction of Egyptian art from the Met’s sales desk months ago,” he said. “For paperweights, they have a little black cat wearing a gold-colored collar, an obelisk that represents the one behind the museum, and I don’t know what else. There’s also some watercolor prints of interior tomb paintings.”
“Oh no,” Pop said. “That’s not the same, is it?”
For Pop’s sake, Joe hoped it wasn’t. “Where’d you get this, Pop?”
“Don’t worry.” His father sat straighter. “That right there came direct from Egypt, through none other than the Napoleon Society. I knew I could trust Dr. Westlake’s father.” He beamed at Lauren.
She looked almost as surprised as Joe was.
“I thought the Napoleon Society was in the business of collecting antiquities, not selling them—aside from those they auctioned off at the fundraising gala,” he said.
“This opportunity is for members only.”
“Members only,” Joe repeated, hoping to jog his own memory.
“Sure,” Pop said. “Doesn’t the Met offer membership levels with different benefits?”
Lauren assured him that was so.
“There you go. So does the Napoleon Society. Wait a minute, I’ll show you.”
While Pop left the living room, Mama passed the artifact to Joe, who inspected it only briefly before handing it to Lauren. Then he passed her the provenance, too. She seemed to relax as she studied them both. Good.
“It’s a beautiful piece,” she said at last. She gave the carving and provenance back to Mama, who brought it to Doreen.
“And you work with this old stuff all the time,” Doreen said to Lauren. “Isn’t that something? Whatever I touch in my line of work is usually dead and in a refuse pile within ten days.” The florist chuckled, and Joe smiled at her self-deprecating humor. He guessed that “this old stuff” didn’t really excite her. How could it, when she was likely distracted by Connor’s absence?
“Here it is.” Pop returned, a brochure in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. He set the steaming drink on the table beside Mama first, then opened the trifolded paper before passing it over. “Don’t show your mother,” he added quietly. “It’s bad manners to know how much a gift cost.”
Lauren joined him on the sofa, and he held it so she could readit, too. According to this, the cost of membership to the Napoleon Society included a bulleted list of benefits: a subscription to theNapoleon Herald; a year-long pass to the Napoleon House, to begin from its opening day, whenever that may be; a 10 percent discount on all gift shop purchases; and a handsome, engraved wallet-sized card identifying the bearer as a Napoleon Society member. Those who donated at the highest level also received through registered maila carefully packaged, fully authenticated piece of antiquity, complete with its provenance document. Each item comes direct from Luxor (formerly the ancient city of Thebes) or Cairo.
“Sal.” Mama’s voice was thick with emotion. “It’s an extravagant gift. I don’t deserve it.”
“Don’t you? All right, let me check.” He made a show of reading the brochure over Joe’s shoulder. “Sorry, no refunds. I guess you’ll have to keep it. It’s about time you were indulged, anyway. I’d give you a roomful of this stuff if I could.”
“How about a visit to the Met instead, or even a membership there?” Joe asked. “They already have fifteen rooms of ‘this stuff,’ and arranged quite nicely, too. I happen to know the curator. So do you.”
“Assistant curator,” Lauren corrected him, as he knew she would.
“In fact, Merry Christmas, everyone,” Joe said. “I’m taking you all to the Met as soon as you’d like to go.”
“And I’ll show you around if you’d like to go after the meal,” Lauren added. “We’re open today from one until six.”
“What are the pair of you trying to do, outshine me?” Pop teased.
Joe leaned forward and tapped Doreen on the knee. “Do you have any interest in the museum?” he asked quietly.
She smiled, but he felt it was more out of politeness than anything else. “Of course I do. But if I had to choose one place to go on Christmas Day...” She shrugged. “I’d rather go to the jail.”
CHAPTER
24
Lauren’s heart was as full as her belly by the time the delicious German Christmas feast was over. Afterward, she and Joe had cleaned the kitchen together while his parents and Doreen rested upstairs. It was there, while he washed dishes and she dried them, that they decided that Joe would take Doreen to see her nephew, and Lauren would play tour guide for Joe’s parents at the Met.
“I’ll miss being with you, but this is the right thing to do,” he’d said, up to his elbows in dishwater. “I hope you aren’t disappointed.”
