The Five-Day Dig (24 page)

“Yes, but I didn’t come up with much. The signature looks like it was done by someone unfamiliar with the real thing – or who didn’t care about reproducing it accurately. But
I can’t think of anyone with a
motive. When we get home, I’ll talk to our colleagues.” He looked at her. “How would you feel about talking to the police?”

Again, she felt it was a good sign that he didn’t avoid mentioning the police and that he’d met her gaze as he did. Also, he
did
know Farber’s signature – if he’d forged it, wouldn’t he have done a better job? Or was she grasping at straws? “I hadn’t even thought about it,” she said. “Of course, if Farber decides he’s going to press charges against me, I won’t have a choice.”

“I think he knows that pressing charges would be absurd. Unfortunately, his jealousy of you sometimes gets the better of him, and he says things he shouldn’t.”

“Jealousy?” She stopped in the middle of reaching for a sneaker. “He has no reason to be jealous of me. As one of the biggest grant winners in the school, he has the bigwigs at Growden fawning all over him. Those people don’t even know my name.”

“But your books have both had commercial success. His have gone unnoticed outside of academic circles.” He gave her a curious look. “Surely, you’re aware that drives him ’round the bend. He tries to make himself feel better by belittling you.”

“I always took that for plain old contempt.” Tying her shoe, she considered his point. She guessed jealousy could explain Farber’s treatment of her, but it didn’t seem likely.

He got up and went to gaze out the French doors. “Onto a happier subject, how much of your father’s notebook did you read?”

She let out a humorless laugh. “Not much. Big disappointment.”

He spun back around. “How could it be?”

She hated to tell him, but what good would hiding the truth do? If everything came out later via another source, she would only look like more of an idiot. “Evidently, my father’s ‘research’ amounted to valuing antiquities for the black market. Have a look for yourself.” Getting up, she picked up the journal from the floor and tossed it to him.

He caught it one-handed, his forehead creasing. Turning the book right-side-up, he opened the front. His eyes widened. After studying the first page at length, he looked at several others. “These renderings are brilliant.”

She didn’t respond, her disillusion keeping her from admitting her father had possessed any good qualities.

While he looked through more of the journal, she retrieved a hoodie from the closet. “Shall we?”
“I suppose so.” Examining one last sketch, he set the book on the bed with care. “Perhaps you could have some of his drawings framed.”

She shrugged into the hoodie. “What would I do about the dollar figures? Crop them out?”

He shrugged. “Although the figures may imply that he was involved with something questionable, it’s not clear-cut. Many sales of antiquities are legitimate.”

“If he had worked for Sotheby’s or Christie’s, the family would have known about it.”

“In any case, you’re not responsible for his choices, and the drawings are art-quality. I would hang them in my home.”

“I wouldn’t.” But as soon as she’d said it, the thought occurred to her that her mother or one of her siblings might feel differently. She softened her tone. “It is a nice thought, though, and I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but let’s talk about something else.”

“Sure.”

On the way downstairs, he filled her in on how far he’d gotten on the purgatorium after she’d left early the day before. Then they caught a ride to the site with Dunk and Enza, who didn’t ask about either the forged letters or the journal. Instead, Dunk spoke obsessively about getting as much done as possible in the remaining two days.

Enza listened to him with concern clouding her face. “How can I help,
Duncan
?”

“For one thing, the police are cramping my style,” he said. “Whenever I run between trenches, they stop me and ruin the shot. I can’t get them to understand how important it is to keep the program exciting. Being from the same culture they are, do you have any idea how to cut through the crapola, as you Italians say?”

She frowned. “
Crapola
is not Italian. I do not know this word.”

Even Winnie had to laugh. It broke the tension.

When they got to Trench 2, she and Chaz worked quietly. As they shoveled lapilli into buckets, side-by-side, she searched her mind for anyone else connected to her that might have either tried to forward her career or set her up to look like a fraud. Her ex-husband? He’d just remarried, so she didn’t think he cared one way or another.

Once she seemed to have exhausted all of the possibilities, she forgot about the letters and let herself just enjoy her work. They had made it inside the purgatorium and were squeezed together in a narrow tunnel, along with buckets, tools and trays. Whenever a pail reached its capacity, they passed it to a student outside the archway, who conveyed it to someone else above the trench. Finds proved scarce, but the lack of artifacts made for quick progress.

At lunch in the catering area, Amara came by their table and handed them scripts for the reenactment.

As Chaz skimmed the short composition, he laughed. “I see that I’ll be sacrificing red eggs. I’ll have to ask Dunk if I need to dye them before tonight.”

 
“Signora Vaccula will prepare them for you,” Amara said, then turned toward Dunk, Jack and Enza at the next table.

Winnie reviewed her lines with a grimace. “Amara is offering up cakes. Is it just me, or do these sacrifices seem kind of measly? I wonder if I can come up with something to add to them.”

He grinned at her. “Why? Are you worried that the goddess won’t approve, and the curse will get us?”

“If you were a goddess, would you approve of these lame rites? Even I don’t approve, and I’m spiritually challenged.”

After lunch, the afternoon passed quickly, especially since Dunk urged everyone to get back to the house early to study their scripts and get dressed for the reenactment.

Winnie spent half-an-hour on her lines, jotting down a few notes on an index card to use as a cheat sheet.

Later, she took a long, hot shower. Even if nothing else about the evening proved enjoyable, being clean for dinner would be a nice change.

When she put on her tunic, she liked it better than she had expected. The draped fabric connected at the shoulders with decorative metal brooches and tied under the breasts to create an Empire waistline. She twisted her hair up into a simplified interpretation of an ancient hairstyle. Aware the camera would be on her, she also applied more make-up than Roman women probably would have had available. The costume didn’t come with footwear, but she had a pair of sandals in her luggage that would work.

When she looked at the results in the mirror in her bathroom, she smiled. After three days of traipsing around in tees, dusty cargo pants and sneakers, she felt almost Barbie-like.

Chaz will like this,
she thought – then remembered that he might have forged the letters. Even if he hadn’t, it was foolish of her to be considering an affair with him. He wasn’t going to want anything lasting, and she wasn’t getting any younger, so why waste her time? Maybe tonight she’d get an opportunity to flirt with Domenico – but at this point the thought didn’t interest her much.

On her way out of the room, she grabbed her phone, then worried that it would ruin the effect of her costume. Deciding she could live without it for a couple of hours, she set it back on the night table.

The tyet amulet lying there caught her eye and bothered her. If her father had obtained it illegally, she didn’t want the damned thing anymore.

It occurred to her that it was a goddess symbol and would make a good offering for the rites. Since she didn’t have pockets, she stashed it in her bra, along with the index card holding her notes.

In front of the house,
Domenico’s
driver told her he had supplies to drop off at the temple and offered to take her with him. While she was getting into the front passenger seat, Chaz stepped outside, his well-made, if pale, legs exposed under a toga. She pulled her gaze away while the driver invited him to sit in the back with the crates. During the ride, they exchanged jokes about each other’s costumes but didn’t say much else.

When the three of them entered the twilit temple, the aroma of cooked beef and spices made her mouth water. Detecting a hint of pine, she noticed that someone had strung garlands around the walls and set up a small evergreen tree on the pedestal in place of the missing statue.

The driver set down his crates in the center of the room near a low rectangular table surrounded by nine seat cushions arranged in a U-shape. The table held wedges of bread, dishes of sauces, cheeses, round dumplings, mini burgers and olives, both black and green.

Wearing a multilayered toga, Dunk kneeled at the keystone of the seats, pouring cloudy, purplish beer into mugs and setting one at each place. He dismissed the driver, then noticed Winnie and Chaz. “Welcome.”

Amara and Enza, looking cute in tunics, were putting out “ancient” appetizers. They added their greetings.

“
Salvete omnes
,” Chaz answered in Latin, grinning.

“This is fabulous.” Winnie turned around to view the frescoes in the atmospheric lighting. Concerns about damaging the paintings with smoke prevented the use of authentic oil lamps, so the team had made do with electric lanterns, which someone had decorated with translucent cellophane “flames” in red, orange and yellow. The effect looked a little childish but added to the mood. Smiling, she asked, “Who did the lamps?”

“Enza.” Dunk stole a sideways glance at the young woman. “She’s very artistic.”

 
“
Brava
, Enza.” Winnie sat down cross-legged on one side of the U, and Chaz took the cushion next to her. His knee brushed up against hers, but space was tight, so she didn’t bother pulling away, secretly enjoying the contact.

Dunk nodded toward the mugs in front of them. “Try my special brew.”

She looked at hers doubtfully. “Shouldn’t we wait till everyone’s here?”

“Nope.” He dimpled up. “If you’re worried that you might finish yours before we have a chance to make a toast, I doubt it. No one’s going to chug this stuff.”

“We’ll see about that.” Chaz lifted his drink and sniffed it. His eyes widened a little, but he took a sip. “There’s an interesting note of ... wood.”

“Oak-aged.” Dunk poured the last mug and set aside the pitcher. “For several days.”

Sampling hers, Winnie almost choked on the strong, earthy liquid. She had promised to play along, though, so she braced herself and forced a second taste. That one went down a little easier. “When in
Rome
…” she said.

“
Ancient
Rome,” Chaz added.

Enza tried hers and made a face. “If anyone wants extra, please take mine.”

Hank entered the room and watched the young woman as she pushed the mug as far away from her as she could reach. “Nice sandals,” he said.

She smiled and held out a leg, displaying gladiator-style footwear with straps that crisscrossed all the way up to her knee. “
Grazie
. I bought them to go with my tunic.”