‘‘Sure.’’
After a moment, Garnett’s voice came on the phone and Diane related the story a third time.
‘‘I don’t like this. You say you kept him talking long enough for the phone company to trace the call?’’
Diane hesitated a beat. ‘‘Yes. A policeman went to check it out, but I imagine he’s long gone.’’
‘‘I’ll call and tell them to talk to anyone who might have seen anybody using that pay phone.’’
‘‘I got an answer from the E-mail. You know of a policeman named Lenderman or something like that?’’
‘‘There’s a Marty Lenderman. You saying it’s him? He’s a very down-to-earth guy. I can’t even imagine it’s him.’’
‘‘The person who replied said they didn’t send the message and not to bother them, that their father was a policeman. The address was JMLndrmn. I just added some vowels to what looked like it might be the last name. Does he have a kid with the initials J. M.?’’
‘‘Sure does. Jennifer Marie. She’s only about six teen. You think she did this as a prank?’’
‘‘I don’t know. Can’t spammers hijack E-mail addresses?’’
‘‘I’ll talk to Marty. In the meantime, I’ll have some one trace where the E-mail message came from.’’
‘‘I can probably do that here.’’
‘‘Okay. All this may be just some prank, but be careful anyway. I think Raymond was probably killed for his collection. It’s pretty valuable, according to your guy David.’’
‘‘I heard him drooling over the phone.’’
Garnett laughed. ‘‘I haven’t heard of most of the guys except Satchel Paige, but that ball by itself should be worth some money.’’
* * *
The museum restaurant was a maze of tall archways made of salvaged bricks that looked like it could have been an ancient monastery library, and yet for all its vaulted height and medieval atmosphere, it felt cozy. Five dark rough-hewn wood tables sat in each of the five chambers made by four contiguous archways at right angles to each other. Booths in arched brick al coves lined the walls. Diane and Frank chose a booth.
Near the entrance in another recess sat a line of four computers—for all its Old World museum look, the restaurant was also an Internet cafe.
The restaurant was known for its great salad and fruit bar. It also had a varied menu. Diane made her self a chef salad with a fruit side dish and took it back to the table. Frank ordered a steak.
‘‘How’s Star?’’ Diane asked as she sat down oppo site Frank.
He tore off a piece of bread and dipped it in herbed olive oil. ‘‘She’s like that little girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead.’’
‘‘She’s not really horrid, is she?’’
The waitress brought Frank’s steak. As Diane ate her salad, she was beginning to wish she’d ordered a piece of red meat too. She felt the need for a lot of protein.
‘‘Star’s doing pretty good, considering her family was murdered a year ago. She wanted to go with me to the West Coast—insisted that she didn’t need any one watching her while I was in court. Can you imag ine me letting her loose by herself in San Francisco? Want some of my steak?’’
‘‘No, go ahead and eat,’’ she said, but Frank cut off a piece on the tender side and put it on her salad. ‘‘Frank, that’s the best part.’’
‘‘If you’re going to insist on burning the candle at both ends, you need to eat. So, tell me about your mummy. Know anything about him yet?’’
‘‘So far, we’ve X-rayed him. Jonas is translating the sarcophagus, though it’s probably not his.’’
Diane related what they had discovered, skipping over the details of what abscesses were like at a time when dental care was not what it is today. Frank was laughing over the story of the Victorian pickle jar when Diane took the last bite of her fresh pineapple.
Chapter 20
‘‘Nice place,’’ said Frank, looking around Diane’s os teology lab.
The white walls and overhead lighting did make the room look bright, as the shiny tables, sinks and micro scopes made it look new.
‘‘You’ve been here. You’re one of the few who’ve had the grand tour.’’
‘‘I suppose I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen into that dingy hospital look. Do you paint the walls every few weeks?’’
‘‘I’m very neat in my work. I clean all the blood spatters off my walls every day. You remember where my office is?’’
Diane led him to a corner door, unlocked it and turned on the light. The small office had pale off-white walls that, if she remembered correctly from the paint can, was called Candle Glow. The floor was green slate, the desk and filing cabinets a dark walnut. A long burgundy leather couch sat against one wall, its matching chair close to her desk. There was adequate space, but no more.
Although she needed a private office in the osteol ogy lab, it was her second office, and she hadn’t wanted to use more space than absolutely necessary. She chose the leather and wood furniture so the room wouldn’t look as hard-edged as the lab with its stark metal tables and impersonal equipment, but something about the room was still cold. Perhaps it was the lack of a carpet. She didn’t have a carpet installed because she wanted neither the static electricity nor the fibers it would generate. The walls were mostly bare—one lone watercolor of a wolf hunting in the wild.
