The Five-Day Dig (6 page)

Apparently, meeting an Italian girl who liked archaeology trumped hanging out with his TV idol, Winnie thought, peeved at being left alone with the poser.
So much for her chance to schmooze Domenico, too.
Maybe Chaz could
schmooze
the daughter.

That prospect didn’t excite her as much.

“Your lecture was brilliant,” Dunk said.

“You think so?” Assuming he was just being polite, she sipped her drink absently.

“I daresay you’re spot-on about
nature
being akin to
neteru
.”

That comment got her attention. “You really did attend. And you listened.”

He gave her a boyish, lopsided grin that she remembered well from his old sitcom. She had never met a television personality before, and she couldn’t deny that he exuded charm like no “regular” person she knew. She began to see how he’d made it in show business.

“I’ve read both of your books, too,” he said.

Yet another reader?
This was getting weird – unless, of course, he was lying. Maybe he’d just read her bio in the lecture notes, or Domenico had been talking about her.

He snatched a glass of wine from the tray of a passing server. “I dabble in all things ancient – and not just due to my advancing age. It may be my role to speak for the layperson on the telly, but I don’t want to look completely daft.”

She nodded, though not convinced that looking daft bothered him, from what she’d seen of his show.

Sampling the wine, he leaned back in his chair. “I take it you have heard about the Roman temple on Domenico Rentino’s estate?”

“I’ve heard the rumors.”

“How would you like to see the site now? It’s only five minutes away.”

She did a double-take. He couldn’t be serious. He was a comedian, and he was setting her up for some sort of joke. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “I’d love to, but Domenico is very protective of his ruins.”

His dimples appeared again. “True, but his daughter is a fan of ‘The Dig.’ I told him I wanted to show you the temple, and he kindly offered his car and driver to us.”

She stared at him, unsure what to think. He might have been a joker, but he was also a celebrity. Presumably, that opened doors for him. “You’re kidding.”

He nodded toward the road adjacent to the garden, where a Maserati Quattroporte waited with a chauffeur inside. The driver looked over, saw them watching him, and tipped his cap.

Her jaw dropped. Dunk wasn’t joking. Excitement built inside her, but she tried not to show it. She didn’t want to fawn over a two-bit TV personality.

On the other hand, she couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. If the rumors held any truth, the ruins on Domenico’s property could be amazing.

“Ha,” she said finally. “Well, you don’t have to ask me twice.”

Q
UATTRO

A
S
W
INNIE WALKED
to the car with Dunk Mortill, the scene felt surreal – completely crazy and yet somehow natural. It dawned on her that his fame gave her a false sense of familiarity with him. She suspected that he used that quirk of celebrity to his advantage, assuming friendship with strangers whenever it benefited him.

They glided into the back of the luxury sedan, replete with new-car scent. Before buckling up, she ran a hand over the soft leather upholstery. Incongruously, a cheesy electronic dance song played over the audio system. When Dunk reached for a knob on the back of the center console, she realized the backseat had its own controls. He turned down the volume,
then
sat back, stretching out his legs.

The driver glanced at them in the rearview mirror then smoothly pulled away.

Dunk peered at her out of the corner of his eye. “What would you say if I told you that Domenico Rentino has invited ‘The Dig’ to excavate his ruins?”

Her instinct, again, was to take what he said with a grain of salt, but here they were in the back of Domenico’s car. Obviously, Dunk had made inroads with the man.

She didn’t like it. They were so close to
Pompeii
. The site could be internationally important, but instead of undergoing scholarly excavation, it would be plundered on a farce of a TV show.

That gave her a pang of personal regret. If she’d tried harder to meet with Domenico before now, maybe she could have averted this disaster. Farber had been right to call her a marshmallow.
 

She moistened her lips. “So this is the big plan to save your show that you mentioned to my teaching assistant?”

He grinned at her. “Jealous?”

Her words stuck in her throat, but only for a second. “Yes, I am. And I’m also concerned that a world-class site won’t get the scholarly attention it deserves.”

“Well, you’ve no need to be jealous or concerned.” He laughed. “We want you to be our inscriptions expert.”

Her mouth fell open in shock. Had she heard him right? She replayed the words in her mind. If he meant it, this was the wildest piece of providence to fall into her lap yet, though not necessarily one she wanted to accept. “You mean to appear on your show?”

“Yes. It’s a team effort, so you would have to try your hand at digging, cleaning finds, cataloging, and all the rest, but your most important function would be to translate any inscriptions we find.”

The ride had surpassed surreal and entered the bizarre zone. If he had been talking about a normal excavation, she would have given an arm and a leg to do it. But to be filmed on the job, struggling with details, possibly making errors
or
clashing with the other personalities? To risk all that for a show that didn’t even take science seriously?

She shook her head. “No. I wouldn’t want to be on TV.”

He gave her his most charming, television-host smile, all dimples and brilliant teeth.
“Why not?
The camera will love you.”

She looked out the window as the car pulled onto a dirt lane between two vineyards. Clouds had moved in, she noticed. Suddenly, it looked like rain. “Your show just isn’t ... me.”

“You academics always think ‘The Dig’ is beneath you.” His tone remained good-natured. “So beneath you that you’ve never even watched an episode.
Right?”

Right
.
His insight gave her pause. She had only seen a snippet or two. Was it possible she had tuned in at a bad moment? After all, Chaz had cited the program as an influence on him. She turned back to Dunk. “I’ll watch the episode on Domenico’s ruins. And if I can work behind the scenes, I’d be happy to contribute that way.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “I’m afraid it’s all or nothing with ‘The Dig.’ ”

“Then I can’t do it. But I’m flattered that you asked.” That part was true. She found it hard to believe he had approached her, of all people. Fishing a card out of her handbag, she held it out to him. “I’ll give you my card in case you want a second opinion on your translations.”

He took the card and stashed it inside his jacket. “I’m gutted. Perhaps you’ll change your mind when you see the site.”

“I don’t think so, but I’m grateful that you’re showing it to me.”

As the car pulled up and parked next to an expansive hill overgrown with brush, a dark cloud moved in front of the sun.

The driver got out and opened the door for them, glancing up at the sky. “I will await you here. It looks like rain comes.”

She frowned. “I hope we’ll have enough time to check out the site.”

“We better hurry,” Dunk said. “Come on.”

He guided her to a dirt path leading up the center of the hill. They climbed for a few minutes, then emerged in a clearing the size of a football field, only much lumpier.

She stopped and stared in awe. Parts of brick walls – obviously buried buildings – jutted out from mounds in three separate areas. Near the largest one, piles of sandy soil revealed that someone had been digging recently.

Feeling giddy, she smiled at her companion. “This is much more extensive than I pictured. Chaz will be sorry he missed it – unless Domenico’s daughter is really hot, of course.”

He laughed. “Enza is cute. And she’s one of the few people who have the run of this place. Maybe she’ll show him the site.”

A drop of rain splattered on her arm, but before she could complain about it, a blue-gray cat sauntered out of the brush and meowed at them. Reaching down, Winnie scratched its head. “What a sweet kitty! Sorry, kitty, but it’s starting to rain. We need to keep moving.”

She gave the cat a last pat and walked up to the closest section of wall. The crumbling mortar revealed triangular bricks with the points facing inward. “This is definitely ancient brickwork.”

“Wait until you see what’s inside.” He pulled a flashlight out of his jacket pocket and moved around the side of the mound.

“Inside?”
She followed him, and the cat trailed her.

He led her between two piles of lightweight pebbles of pumice that, she knew from the conference, were called
lapilli
. Between the spoil heaps, she saw the top half of an archway embedded in the ground. A plywood
board blocked the entrance. He
moved it aside and switched on his flashlight, looking back at her. “Shall we?”

The rain began to fall faster, and the cat gave a plaintive meow.

She motioned for her companion to go in first.
“After you.”

They ducked inside, along with the cat.

A chill shivered down her spine as they entered a dim room, half-filled with lapilli. On the wall adjacent to them, a well-preserved fresco peeked out from beneath the volcanic debris.

He focused his beam on it, and the figure of a woman in Roman robes came into view. With her chin held high and her expression somber, she appeared to be reading aloud from a tablet. She might have been a priestess performing a ritual.

The little hairs on Winnie’s forearms rose and tingled.
“Holy cow.”

He held the flashlight out toward her. “Here. Take the torch.”

She grabbed it and panned the beam around the room. On the opposite wall, another partly exposed, robed figure wore a creepy ancient theater mask. As she studied it, a crash of lightning and thunder outside made her jump.

Steadying herself, she said, “This place gives me chills.”

“Me, too,” he said softly, “every time I come here.”

The cat arched its back and hissed at the fresco of the mask. As it ran out the door, Winnie let out a nervous laugh. “Apparently, cats aren’t immune to the atmosphere either.”

He smiled and pointed to the figure in the first painting. “See the tablet the woman is reading in that panel?”