‘‘How did you find me?’’ she asked.
‘‘The police couldn’t locate Eric Tully and I was afraid he might have followed you, so I took a flight here. It looks like that flight was very popular for law enforcement. The marshals and the FBI were on it too.’’
‘‘I thought maybe you located me by my phone.’’ Diane was a bit disappointed.
She rubbed her leg where Joey had bitten it. Fortunately her pants were between her leg and his mouth and he hadn’t broken the skin. But it made a terrible bruise and hurt like hell.
‘‘Your phone?’’ he said.
‘‘Yes. I forgot to retrieve it,’’ she said. ‘‘I thought maybe you located me by GPS.’’
‘‘You mean this one?’’ He smiled knowingly and took a phone from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘‘It was in that little house out back,’’ he said.
‘‘You did find me by my phone. It makes me so happy when a plan finally comes together,’’ she said.
‘‘You want to eat out tonight or go home?’’ he said, putting an arm around her and kissing her temple.
‘‘I want to go home,’’ she said. ‘‘If I had ruby slippers, I’d click my heels three times. Besides, I want to finish my ice cream.’’ She went to sleep on his shoulder.
An ambulance was waiting for Kingsley, along with his wife. She was one of the most striking women Diane had ever seen outside a movie screen. She had smooth black hair, green, almond-shaped eyes, and an olive complexion. Diane heard her scolding Kingsley as they were putting him in the ambulance.
‘‘Mrs. Kingsley,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’m Diane Fallon. I’m glad to meet you.’’
‘‘Lydia, please.’’ She smiled. ‘‘I’ve told my husband that going out with other women will only get him into trouble.’’
‘‘It certainly did that,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Next time, you’re on your own,’’ Diane called to Kingsley as they were shutting the ambulance doors.
As Frank drove Diane home, he told her that the store they stopped at on the Outer Banks had called the police when no one claimed the SUV parked out front. The police traced it back to the rental company, who traced it back to the FBI. A lot of people had been looking for them.
It was dark when they arrived home. Frank parked the car in the driveway. Diane looked out the window at the house. The lights were on inside. It was her home now—at least until she found her own house. When she got out she didn’t see the shadow behind the tree until it was too late. He raised the gun and Diane thought she was dead. Her reflexes weren’t working anymore. When the shot rang out she thought she must have been hit, until the shadow man fell to the ground.
Frank rushed around the car and took a gun away from a woman Diane also hadn’t seen in the dark. She was plump, with dark curly hair and a dimpled chin and tears running down her face.
Frank then retrieved Tully’s gun vitals. He shook his head at Diane.
‘‘I followed him here because I seeing someone else. Clymene said he was a liar and I didn’t want to believe her. Little Julie told me he abused her mother. I didn’t want to believe her either. What makes a person be like him?’’ She looked from Diane to Frank for an answer. Diane didn’t have one.
Diane looked at the dead man on Frank’s lawn. It was happening here at his house just like it did at her apartment building. They took Grace Noel Tully into the house and called the police. Diane didn’t eat her ice cream.
and checked his
thought he was
Epilogue
Diane was sitting at her desk typing a thank-you letter to the Egyptian ambassador. Agent Jacobs gave all the suspicious artifacts back to Egypt, even though he never found out where exactly they came from. The murder of Randal Cunningham, Jr., was so far unsolved. Even David couldn’t find out anything, a situation he regretted, not only because it was unusual for him, but because he missed a chance to impress Kendel.
The Egyptian authorities made RiverTrail out as heroes for finding their lost artifacts. Vanessa and the board were happy with that. Diane, not looking a gift horse in the mouth, didn’t question their good luck, though she thought perhaps Jacobs and maybe Kingsley had something to do with it.
Jacobs found some of the artifacts they had ordered—the twelfth-dynasty artifacts. They were in the fire at Golden Antiquities. The stone artifacts survived. The sphinx of Senwosret III was broken in half. The stone face and bust, like the sphinx, were covered in soot. The canopic jar had burst into small pieces. The gold artifacts were lumps of melted metal. Gone to history.
There are two main philosophies of conservation— preservation and restoration. Years ago restoration was the most popular. These days it’s preservation— keeping artifacts at the state they are in currently, but not making them look like they once did before they were worn by time. Restoration often means adding modern material to the artifact, in fact, changing it from what it was.
Korey Jordan, her head conservator, was a preservationist. But he decided to try to restore these burned artifacts because they were so recently damaged and because the entire museum was grieving over their loss.
The phone rang. It was Andie.
‘‘I’ve got a transfer from the crime lab. You have a phone call from a Sheriff Maddox in Ohio,’’ she said.
‘‘Put him through,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Sheriff Maddox. Did you get the drawings of your little Angel Doe?’’ she said.
‘‘That’s what I called to tell you about, Dr. Fallon. When we got those pictures, in particular the one with her standing in that little dress, my deputy, who’s six four and weighs two hundred and eighty pounds, just bawled. Putting a face to her is really going to make a difference. People are going to respond. We are going to find out who this little girl is.’’
‘‘Neva Hurley, one of my crime scene crew, is an artist. She did the drawings,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Aging the face for the other drawing the way you did was a great idea. What I’m going to do is put it in the paper with the others and say we’re looking for someone who looks like this as a witness.’’
