Kendel stood for a long moment staring at the artifacts on the table, then at the sphinx in the crate. She shook her head, frowning.
‘‘These aren’t the artifacts I purchased.’’
She examined each piece. ‘‘There’s a passing similarity, but that’s all. These are all different dynasties.’’ She looked up at Diane. ‘‘I was so excited when I found out that the Pearle Museum had sold some of their pieces to Golden Antiquities—they were all twelfth dynasty. That’s what we are building in the Egyptian room—Egyptian antiquities that match our mummy’s twelfth-dynasty date.’’ She looked over at Diane. ‘‘I’ve never seen these.’’
‘‘Did you see anything like them at Golden Antiquities?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘No, nothing.’’ Kendel noticed the documentation lying on the opposite table. She leafed through the pages and photographs. ‘‘These are the correct provenances for the items I bought. These are the documents I verified. Do you think they just sent the wrong items?’’
‘‘Maybe,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I suppose someone could have just ...what? Read only part of the tag on an object and decided that was the one. But all six?’’ She shook her head. ‘‘We’ll certainly follow up with Golden Antiquities to verify that there was no accidental mix-up. But it looks like someone made an effort to substitute items similar to the documentation.’’
‘‘You’re right,’’ said Kendel. ‘‘This is very deliberate.’’
‘‘And we have to account for the person who called the newspaper in the first place,’’ said Diane. ‘‘How did they know something was amiss in the unopened crates?’’
Kendel turned to face Diane. ‘‘What’s this about? Why did someone go to this much trouble?’’
‘‘I don’t know. But we’ll find out,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Have you been contacted by the FBI?’’ Kendel asked. She fingered the pages, looking again at the photographs and back at the artifacts as if she could will them to change into the right thing.
‘‘No, but I expect to be. I think you need to prepare yourself for that,’’ said Diane.
Kendel nodded. ‘‘Talking to David helped a lot. He calmed me down considerably.’’
‘‘He’s good at that.’’ Diane looked at her watch. Ross Kingsley had probably gotten tired of waiting and left. No, he wouldn’t have left but probably was tired of waiting, she thought. ‘‘Kendel, I have to go talk with someone.’’ She held out her hand, motioning Kendel to follow.
Kendel looked blank for a moment, lost in thought. ‘‘I suppose I need to go too.’’
‘‘Just so you can say you were never alone with the artifacts after they arrived. It probably won’t matter, but it might,’’ said Diane.
Kendel looked at Diane with wide eyes, suddenly unsure again. ‘‘Surely they will believe that I didn’t have anything to do with this. The provenances are always reverified after they arrive—verified by someone other than me,’’ said Kendel.
‘‘I will explain our procedures in detail,’’ said Diane.
She walked with Kendel, stopping at Korey’s office. The office was mostly glass. He saw them coming and came out to meet them.
‘‘Korey, would you repack the artifacts?’’ Diane asked.
‘‘Sure thing, Dr. F,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll do it myself. Andie called up here looking for you. Something about some guy from the FBI.’’
Kendel sucked in her breath. ‘‘Oh, no. I’m not ready for this.’’
Diane put a hand on her arm. ‘‘There’s another person from the FBI here for a different reason entirely. I imagine it was he, wondering if I’d gotten lost somewhere among the displays. Why don’t you go to your office and relax. Or spend some time meditating among the collections. I find them calming.’’
‘‘That’s a good idea,’’ said Korey. ‘‘Let Dr. F figure this out. That’s what the Dark Side does.’’
Diane found Ross Kingsley on the terrace drinking coffee and watching the swans on the pond. The early spring weather was still cool. There were buds on the trees but none had blossomed yet. Diane saw a couple of runners in the distance on the nature trail just before they disappeared around a bend.
‘‘I’m sorry,’’ said Diane taking a seat. ‘‘There’s a lot going on.’’
He rose as she sat down and smiled. ‘‘So I’ve been reading.’’ He pointed to a newspaper lying on the table. He set his cup down and turned his chair around to face her. ‘‘I’ve enjoyed your museum. I don’t get much time for things like this. It was very relaxing.’’
‘‘It is—most of the time,’’ said Diane. A waitress came out of the restaurant and Diane ordered a cup of hot tea.
‘‘Mike Seeger gave me a most interesting tour,’’ he said, a knowing glint in his eye. ‘‘He’s obviously taken with you.’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘He just gives that impression.’’
Kingsley laughed. ‘‘I won’t even pretend to know what that means.’’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘‘I’ve been dying to know what in the world Clymene wanted with you. You said she was afraid that one of her guards had married someone like her? Was that an admission of guilt on her part?’’
Diane shook her head.
The waitress came out with a small teapot and a cup. She poured Diane’s tea and left them.
‘‘Clymene didn’t actually admit to anything, but it was my impression that she didn’t care if I thought she was guilty.’’
Diane gave Kingsley an account of the visit. When she finished, he sat back in his chair in amazement.
‘‘Of all the things I imagined she might want to talk with you about, I confess, that didn’t cross my mind. Do you think there is anything in it? She said what— you would think that she could recognize her own kind?’’
‘‘Yes. I think that is as close to an admission of her guilt as you are going to get,’’ said Diane.
