Dance Of Death

still don't see a lot of female deans or departmental heads. And if you look at the board of trustees, well, it's basically made up of socially ambitious lawyers and investment bankers, two-thirds of them male, with little real interest in science or public education.'

'It's discouraging that a top museum like this can't do better.'

'It's the way of the world.' Nora took a bite of the salmon. It was good, just about the best she'd tasted.

'So tell me, Nora, how did you and Bill meet? I knew him at the museum back when I was still a student. He didn't seem like the marrying sort. I was fond of him, despite everything-though I'd never let him know that. He was quite a character.'

'Fond of him? When I first saw him, I thought he was the biggest jerk I'd ever met.' She smiled at the memory. 'He was in a limo, signing books in the god-awful town of Page, Arizona.'

Margo laughed. 'I can just see it. Funny, he tends to make a bad first impression, until you realize he's got a heart of gold… and the courage of a lion to match.'

Nora nodded slowly, a little surprised at this insight. 'It took me a while to figure that out, though, to cut through his 'intrepid reporter' pose. We're very different, Bill and I, but I think that helps in a marriage. I couldn't stand being married to someone like me-I'm way too bossy.'

'Me, too,' said Margo. 'What were you doing in Page, Arizona?'

'That's a story. I was leading an archaeological expedition into the canyon country of Utah, and Page was our rendezvous point.'

'Sounds fascinating.'

'It was. Too fascinating, as it turned out. Afterwards I took a job at the Lloyd Museum.'

'No kidding! So you were there when it folded?'

'It more or less folded even before it opened. Palmer Lloyd supposedly went off the deep end. But by that point I'd burned my bridges, and the upshot was I was out of work again. So I landed a job here.'

'Well, the Lloyd Museum's loss is our gain.'

'You mean, the diamond hall,' Nora said jokingly. When the plans to open the Lloyd Museum fell apart, the New York Museum of Natural History had swooped down and-with the help of a huge donation by a wealthy patron-purchased Palmer Lloyd's world-renowned diamond collection for their own gem halls.

Margo laughed. 'Don't be silly. I'm talking about you.'

Nora took another sip of wine. 'How about you, Margo? What's your background?'

'I worked here as a graduate student in ethnopharmacology. That was during the time of the museum murders-the ones Bill wrote up in that first book of his. Did you read it?'

'Are you kidding? One of the prerequisites of dating Bill was reading all his books. He didn't actually insist on it, but the hints came thick and fast.'

Margo laughed.

'From what I read,' Nora said, 'you've had some pretty amazing adventures.'

'Yeah. Who says science is boring?'

'What brought you back to the museum?'

'After getting my doctorate, I went to work for the pharmaceutical conglomerate GeneDyne. I did it to please my mother, really: she'd desperately wanted me to go into the family business, which I absolutely refused to do. Working for GeneDyne, making lots of money in a corporate environment, was like throwing her a bone. Poor Mom. She liked to say she couldn't fathom why I wanted to spend my life studying people with bones through their noses. Anyway, the money was great, but the corporate world just wasn't to my liking. I guess I'm not a team player-or an ass-kisser. Then one day Hugo Menzies called. He knew of my earlier work at the museum, and he'd come across some of my GeneDyne research papers on traditional Khoisan medicine. He wondered if I'd ever consider coming back to the museum. The position at Museology had just opened up and he wanted me to apply. So I did, and here I am.' She pointed to Nora's plate. 'Seconds?'

'Don't mind if I do.'

Margo placed another piece of salmon on her plate, took a little more for herself. 'I don't suppose you've heard about the Tano crosscountry march,' she said, eyes on her plate.

Nora looked up sharply. 'No. Nothing.'

'The museum is trying to keep it under wraps, hoping it won't come off. But I think that since you're one of the curators of the show, you should know about it. The Tanos have begun a sort of protest caravan from New Mexico to New York to ask for the return of those masks. They plan to set up in front of the museum the night of the opening, perform dances, sing songs, and hand out leaflets.'

'Oh, no,' Nora groaned.

'I managed to speak to the leader of the group, a religious elder. He was a very nice man, but he was also extremely firm about what they were doing and why. They believe there's a spirit inside each mask, and the Tanos want to placate them-to let them know they haven't been forgotten.'

'But on opening night? It'll be a disaster.'

'They're sincere,' Margo said gently.

Nora glanced at her, a retort already on her lips. Then she softened. 'I suppose you're right.'

'I really did try to talk them out of it. Anyway, I only mention this because I figured you might appreciate a heads-up.'

'Thanks.' Nora thought for a moment. 'Ashton's going to have a shit-fit.'

'How can you stand working with that man? What a dork.'

Nora burst out laughing, amazed at Margo's directness. It was, of course, true. 'You should see him these days, running around the exhibition, yelling at everyone, waving his hands, the wattle on his forearms flapping back and forth.'

'Stop! I don't want to picture it.'

'And then Menzies comes through, and with a quiet word here and a nod there, he gets more accomplished in five minutes than Ash-ton does in a whole morning.'

'Now, there's a lesson in management.' Margo pointed at Nora's glass. 'Another?'

'Please.'

She filled up both their glasses, then raised hers. 'Too bad Menzies's soft-spoken approach doesn't yet work for us women. So here's to you and me, Nora, kicking ass in that fossilized pile.'

Nora laughed. 'I'll drink to that.'

And they clinked glasses.

THIRTY

IT was exactly two in the morning when Smithback cracked open the door of his room. Holding his breath, he glanced out through the narrow gap. The third-floor corridor was deserted and dark. Easing the door open still farther, he ventured a look in the other direction.

Deserted, as well.

Smithback closed the door again, leaned against it. His heart pounded in his chest, and he told himself it was because he'd been waiting so long for this moment. He had lain in bed for hours, feigning sleep, all the while putting the finishing touches on his plan. Earlier in the evening, there had been the occasional hushed footfall outside; around eleven, a nurse had looked in on him and-seeing him motionless in bed-left him to sleep. Since midnight, there had been no sound at all outside the door.

Smithback grasped the door handle again. It was time to put his plan into action.

After his outburst with the director, Smithback had been summoned to dinner that evening as usual. He was shown to a seat and given a menu as if nothing had happened-it seemed that delusional outbursts were par for the course at River Oaks. After dinner, he'd put in his requisite hour of work detail in the kitchen, returning perishable goods to the walk-in refrigerators of the rambling kitchen complex on the mansion's first floor.

It was while on duty Smithback had managed to purloin a key to the basement.

Though he'd worked only two shifts, Smithback already had a pretty good sense of how the kitchen operated. Deliveries came in through a loading dock in the back of the mansion, and were then brought through the