provenance researchers . . . or me. It doesn’t make
sense that she is involved in this.’’
‘‘Could the loading dock staff or the researchers be
in it with her?’’
‘‘Obviously not. They are the ones who discovered
the discrepancies.’’
‘‘But someone thinks you are involved?’’ said
Frank.
‘‘It looks that way. And whatever is going on is
worth killing me for,’’ said Diane.
Frank set down his cup, leaned over, and kissed Diane. Diane liked the taste of his lips and the smell of his aftershave. ‘‘He didn’t kill you,’’ he whispered close to her lips, ‘‘and he won’t.’’ He kissed her again
before he sat back and reclaimed his coffee. ‘‘Whoever tipped off the press knew what was in
the crates before they were opened,’’ said Frank. ‘‘So
the items were switched at... what’s the name of the
seller?’’
‘‘Golden Antiquities,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Either they were switched at Golden Antiquities before they left, or the crates were intercepted somewhere
between Golden Antiquities and your museum.’’ ‘‘I’m sure it was no coincidence that Golden Antiquities burned,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I agree,’’ said Frank. ‘‘They are implicated in some
way.’’ He appeared to mull over Diane’s answers for
a moment; then he changed the subject. ‘‘RiverTrail
doesn’t seem like a small museum,’’ he said. ‘‘One thing, the building is large. Another is we try
to make the best use of what we have. Like with our
Egyptian exhibit. All we really have is the mummy,
its case, and a collection of amulets that were probably
wrapped with him. It looks like a bigger exhibit because of the things we added to it, like the life-size
reconstruction Neva did of the mummy sitting crosslegged in the middle of the room, the dioramas with
models of Egyptian houses and pyramids, the computer three-D graphics of tombs and temples, the cubicles with computer tutorials on ancient Egypt. There’s
a lot to look at, but not a huge collection of antiquities.’’
‘‘Curious,’’ said Frank. ‘‘Neither problem makes
sense—the antiquities or your apartment.’’
‘‘No, and that’s why I need to get back to the museum and the crime lab. I need to know what my crew
found,’’ she said.
Frank stood and pulled Diane up with him. ‘‘It
won’t hurt you to wait a couple of hours. Take a nap.
You’ll think better after you’ve rested—and eaten
something. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten anything all
day.’’
She hadn’t, and until he mentioned it she didn’t
realize she was hungry. They went into the kitchen
and Frank made bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches. No one made BLTs like Frank—the bacon
was always crisp, the lettuce always fresh, and the tomatoes always vine ripened.
‘‘Don’t you have to go to work?’’ asked Diane after
her last bite.
‘‘I’m looking through computer files on a fraud case.
I can do it here. Neva brought some of your clothes
and girl stuff and put them in the guest room. Not
that you have to stay in the guest room,’’ he said,
