“ ‘Not my fault if paleontologists only look down,’ ” Ripley says, imitating Sheena’s grumpy growl. They kill themselves laughing.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” J.D. asks.
“We had a meeting with Charlie.”
“Oh, so you’re both in paleontology?” J.D. smiles at James. Pauses. Gapes. “Wait, are you JamesSmithson? Like,theJames Smithson?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Oh, wow. Wow. James Smithson, that’s wild.” J.D. sounds like he’s not quite sure this isn’t a dream. “I’m a postdoc, working on—actually, could I take you out for lunch tomorrow? I’d love the chance to pick your brain. You should come too, Ripley. I could show you two around Drumheller.”
Ripley casts an uncertain look at James. He shrugs as if to say,Up to you.
“Sure, we—” She stares at J.D., an idea forming. “We’d love to.Listen, I hate to ask, but we’re having trouble getting in touch with Charlie. Could you text him for us?”
“He was catching a flight this afternoon. You might’ve missed him.”
“Shoot. We were hoping to access the research collections tonight. James is, um, following up on something.”
J.D. looks from Ripley to James, clearly doing postdoc math: The job market is brutal, and he could score a meeting with a research luminary.
“You’re supposed to go through proper channels,” he says slowly. “But it’s you, so…just this once.”
23
J.D. escorts them down a long cinder-block hallway painted the yellow-brown of the Alberta Badlands.
“Are there security cameras?” James asks, looking up nervously.
“Only at the main entrance. Last call for the bathroom,” J.D. says, swiping his badge to open yet another set of heavy doors. “You can leave anytime before closing. The doors will automatically lock behind you.”
They walk into a high-ceilinged, windowless industrial space filled with hundreds of wide, squat metal lockers that house the smaller pieces. Bigger specimens, many of them still in plaster field jackets labeled with locations, dates, and sample numbers, are racked on open metal shelves.
“Mo’s ass,” Ripley whispers, stepping over a fair-size mosasaur resting on a wooden pallet.
“Yo’ ass,” James replies, smirking at J.D.’s curious look.
“Can we keep our phones?” Ripley asks.
“Feel free, but the signal is crap down here. It really kills your battery.” J.D. hands each of them a visitor badge. “My shift ends at seven. If you stay until closing, give me the badges tomorrow. And if you love me at all, don’t get caught. See you at lunch?”
“Can’t wait,” Ripley says and laughs when J.D. lifts her off her feet in an exuberant hug. When he sets her down, James’s smirk has vanished.
It’s weird being in a research collection when no one’s working or chatting or pushing squeaky-wheeled carts down the aisles.
Ripley grabs a cart to hold the sizable chunk of paper J.D. printed from the electronic logbook. Will was here for weeks. He accessed three hundred and nineteen drawers in over two hundred separate lockers during that time.
She and James have only a few hours to retrace his footsteps.
“My phone’s almost dead. Can you set an alarm on yours?”
James shakes his head. “Mine’s in the car. I’ll set my watch.”
“You left your phone in the car and didn’t go back for it?”
“I thought Charlie would turn up while I was outside. And then…” He exhales. “You needed me. I didn’t want to leave.”
The sound of his voice dies away quickly in the hum of the ventilation system, but Ripley feels his words echoing in her chest.
