Reliquary

time. Have you read all my articles since last we met?”

“I’ll have to plead the fifth on that,” Margo replied. “But I did see your pieces on Pamela Wisher. I thought the second article was especially well done. I liked the way you made her out to be a real human being, not just something to exploit. New tack for you, isn’t it?”

“That’s my Margo,” Smithback said. The waiter returned with their drinks and a bowl of filberts, then departed. “I just came from the rally, actually,” Smithback continued. “That Mrs. Wisher is a formidable woman.”

Margo nodded. “I heard about it on NPR just now. Sounds wild. I wonder if this Mrs. Wisher realizes what she’s unleashed.”

“It became almost scary toward the end. The rich and influential have suddenly discovered the power of the vulgus mobile.”

Margo laughed, still careful not to drop her guard. You had to be wary around Smithback. For all she knew, he had a tape recorder running in his pocket as they spoke.

“It’s strange,” Smithback continued.

“What is?”

He shrugged. “How little it takes—a few drinks, maybe the stimulant of being part of a mob—to strip a group of its upper-class veneer, make it ugly and violent.”

“If you knew about anthropology,” Margo said, “you wouldn’t be so surprised. Besides, from what I heard that crowd wasn’t as uniformly upper-crust as some of the press like to think.” She took another sip and sat back. “Anyway, I assume this isn’t just a friendly drink. I’ve never known you to spend money without an ulterior motive.”

Smithback put down his glass, looking genuinely wounded. “I’m surprised. I really am. That doesn’t sound like the Margo I knew. I hardly see you these days. When I do, you talk this kind of trash. And just look at you: all muscled up like some gazelle. Where’s the frumpy, slope-shouldered Margo I used to know and love? What’s happened to you, anyway?”

Margo started to reply, then paused. God only knew what Smithback would say if he knew she now carried a pistol in her carryall. What has happened to me? she wondered. But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. It’s true, she hadn’t seen much of Smithback. But it was for the same reason she hadn’t seen much of her old mentor, Dr. Frock. Or Kawakita, or Pendergast the FBI agent, or anyone she’d known from her earlier days at the Museum. The memories they all shared were still too fresh, too dreadful. The nightmares that still troubled her sleep were bad enough; the last thing she’d wanted was more reminders of that terrible ordeal.

But even as she pondered, Smithback’s hurt expression dissolved into a smile. “Oh, God, there’s no point in dissembling,” he cackled. “You know me too well. There is an ulterior motive. I know what you’ve been doing, working late at the Museum.”

Margo froze. How had it leaked? But then she checked herself; Smithback was a clever fisherman, and there might be less bait on his line than he was letting on.

“I thought as much,” she said. “So exactly what am I doing, and how did you find out about it?”

Smithback shrugged. “I have my sources. You of all people should remember that. I looked up some old Museum friends and learned that Pamela Wisher’s body, and the unidentified body, were brought to the Museum last Thursday. You and Frock are assisting in the autopsies.”

Margo said nothing.

“Don’t worry, this is not for attribution,” Smithback said.

“I think I’ve finished my drink,” said Margo. “Time to go.” She stood up.

“Wait.” Smithback put a restraining hand on her wrist. “There’s one thing I don’t know. Was the reason you were called in the teeth marks on the bones?”

Margo jerked around. “How did you know that?” she demanded.

Smithback grinned in triumph and Margo realized, with a sinking feeling, how expertly she had been baited. He’d been guessing, after all. But her reaction had confirmed it.

She sat down again. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

The journalist shrugged. “It wasn’t all guesswork. I knew the bodies had been brought to the Museum. And if you read my interview with Mephisto, the underground leader, you know what he said about cannibals living beneath Manhattan.”

Margo shook her head. “You can’t print it, Bill.”

“Why not? They’ll never know it came from you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she snapped. “Think, just for one moment, beyond your next deadline. Can you imagine what a story like that could do to the city? And how about your new friend, Mrs. Wisher? She doesn’t know. What do you suppose she’d say if she knew her daughter was not only murdered and decapitated, but partially devoured, as well?”

A look of pain briefly crossed Smithback’s face. “I know all that. But it’s news, Margo.”

“Delay it one day.”

“Why?”

Margo hesitated.

“You’d better give me a reason, Lotus Blossom,” Smithback urged.

Margo sighed. “Oh, very well. Because the teeth marks may be canine. Apparently, the bodies were lying underground for a long time before they were washed out in a storm. Probably some stray dog took a few bites out of them.”