Damn, she was quick. And she hadn't said a single word loud enough for anyone else to hear. And then she waved a hand down her body, as if she was asking how she'd look in the costume. "So what are we looking for?"
Gary shrugged. "Not Naskeag stuff. Think of it as a doll about as long as my forearm, should look dirty and ragged. Pretty crude, but that's the way it's supposed to look. Caroline described it as a dressed-up coyote turd with stringy hair. Wood body, blurry face like a week-old drowned corpse, wearing a dirty cotton dress and some kind of woven cape. Natural dyes, brown and gray and black."
"Yuck. Sounds like a real beauty. This is important?"
Keep moving, keep casual. Don't attract attention. He moved on to another display, Inuit walrus ivory carvings. "She says it is. It's a religious thing, not really a god but a power. Something or someone that helps drive out ghosts and angry spirits, a guardian of the underworld. You'd have to get her to explain it, and I don't think she will. Says it's too secret. She wouldn't even tell me which tribe. Southwestern, though."
"Dead people, eh? Never had any problem with them. It's the living ones that give me trouble. Once they're dead, they've always stayed dead. Nice, that way."
That sounded like she'd tried it once or twice already. Hacking truce or not, he'd better check for unsolved corpses in her wake. Not that Morgans had any problem with killing folks that needed killing. He'd broken a man's neck a few months back, a slimeball who'd kidnapped Ellie and Mouse. Gary had been sneaking into the Pratt tunnels to free his sisters and this guard had stepped right into a Kempo takedown. Served him right.
Gary had pretty much gotten over the shakes by now. But if Jane had killed anyone, he wanted to have some idea why.
"Caroline told me that these people have a problem with ghosts. 'Traditionals' won't live in a house where someone died — they'll abandon it, let it fall down — even thieves won't go inside to steal things. They burn a dead man's clothing, saddle, bedding, anything personal the spirit might latch onto and guard. Even good people turn nasty when they die, become jealous of the living. They want to take over living bodies, want to get warm again. Skinwalkers."
"Ugh. Your people believe that, too?"
They moved on, to another Inuit exhibit, sealskin parkas and pants and boots, walrus-hide ropes attached to ivory-barbed harpoons, bits and pieces of subsistence life laid out for the white folks to ogle. "My people? Our family tradition is Welsh — I only found out about the Naskeag connection last spring. I know the Naskeags believe in magic, in witches and the power of wind and stone and flowing water. Only ghosts I've heard about are friendly ones, guardian spirits. If you play nice, they play nice."
And that was the last exhibit. No dirty ragged ugly doll in sight. Which meant his map of the security had been a waste of time. As a rule, Morgans didn't steal from museums — private stuff was usually easier to take and sell. Gary knew of special cases, like "Priam's Treasure," but that had been a commission job. And according to Ben, the damned Greek billionaire had gone and died before he paid and took delivery.
But he thought Jane wouldn't turn out to be a waste of time. He slipped an arm around her warmth, letting his hand slide down to bare skin at her middle. She snuggled against his side. "Well, you listed a dance or a movie or a dark dorm room. What's your preference?"
"So you're giving up on this fetish or idol or whatever? Dead end?"
"Not giving up, not yet. Caroline is pretty sure it came here. And it isn't an idol. She made that quite clear. It is the power, not something that represents the power. That's why the tribe needs it back. Or some group within the tribe. She wouldn't tell me more. Secrets, like I said. No names."
Jane cocked her head again, squinting in that way she had when her inner computer was running a search program. "Deep dark tribal secret, eh? If they tried a legal claim, we should be able to hack the records, at least find out who's looking. But we've been through the whole place, and I haven't seen anything like that. It's ugly enough, damned sure we'd have noticed it."
Gary nodded sideways at a set of blank double doors, leading off one end of the hall. "Storerooms, offices, workshops, a couple of conservation labs. In places like this, over ninety percent of the collection is in storage. Caroline didn't think her little dolly would be on display. It isn't 'pretty.' Next move, we search the catalog. Not by names, by descriptions. Odds are, it's called something else. Mislabeled, like you said."
She grinned back at him, eyes narrowed like a stalking cat. "Don't tell me, let me guess. The catalog's electronic, right? Searchable database, but you need a username and password so only the anthro-geeks can play with it?" She licked purple lips. "Sounds like a soft target. Forget the dance or dorm room. How'd you like to come over to my apartment and meet my pet computer?"
Bingo!
Chapter Six
The blue uniform trousers smelled faintly of soap and starch. Standing in front of Daniel's nose, they brought a refreshing change to the alley stink of old garbage and damp abandoned rotting buildings and cat piss. For almost a week now, Daniel had dreamed of soap — soap and a long, long soak in a hot bath filled to just
