Rise of Sirius: VII: A Near Miss
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“Took your time getting here!” A voice greeted Reid, not coldly, as he tapped on Virgil’s office door.
Biasi was leaning on the filing cabinet on the nearest wall, face half hidden by the cloud of steam emanating from the coffee mug resting at his lips, while Virgil was absentmindedly swiveling in his chair, contemplating the foggy scene out the window.
“The cavalry is already present,” Reid noted, without pretense of teasing.
He closed the door behind him, discarding his fedora on the nearest, perfectly neat bookshelf—
“—The rack, Reid. You overslept. Coffee?”
—As always, and Homicide might have appeared and given it a dusting of cat fur, if he hadn’t moved it.
“Please, I was up well into the morning dealing with stolen artifacts, drugs, and—oh yes, so were you.”
“Watch out, Virgil!” Biasi warned, obliging Reid’s request for coffee. “Hope, where’s the ‘I-will-throw-you-over-the-banister-if-you-mention-Miss-Liljedahl’ look?”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“It is, and not wearing it means something is wrong, or else you brought Miss Liljedahl with you. I expect she’s downstairs.”
Reid glared a little, unable to fully argue.
“No. I dropped her off at Gimbels.”
Biasi’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, that’s where I take my wife. What are you buying her?”
“Nothing!” Reid retorted, then amended. “No, I wouldn’t be surprised if Aphrodite bought something for herself with her own allowance, but she and my mother are shopping for Clarity…Clarity is going to be staying with us for …a while, at least.”
He said it a trifle grudgingly, not certain why, unless it was a reluctance to find out whether it were a risk of further teasing by Biasi, who, being older than Reid, was in some ways more insufferable than Tony, for he knew what he was about and had a frustrating undercurrent of certainty and judgement for Sirius.
“How is your wife, Biasi, and the little ones?”
“Oh, Mary’s fine. Expecting our third, but I think you heard the news already. Somebody around here likes to spoil surprises.”
“Guilty as charged. Reid will defend me,” Virgil raised a hand.
“As for Mary and Andy, they’re more rambunctious every day. How’s your girlfriend-not-girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“That’s what I thought, that’s what I hear, but that’s not what anyone believes, coming from you, Hope,” Biasi smirked behind the steam of his coffee. Even Virgil was nodding in agreement.
“If I was in a tragedy like Hamlet, I would—” Reid began, but Virgil sent him a warning look over the rim of his own coffee mug.
“—What you mean is, you’ll go to the altar over your own dead body.”
“I suppose so.”
“All I can say is: try telling that to your own face when you see Miss Liljedahl next.”
“Biasi?”
“Hm?”
“You are my worst enemy. Cheers!”
“Did I call you fellows in to take an ax to each other, or do we have work scheduled?’ Virgil reminded them, not without hiding a smile. Biasi relinquished taking shots at Reid, leaving the latter to circle around the desk until, carelessly, Biasi was no longer visible to him.
“Biasi, did you check in at the lab? Any report on the drug analysis?”
“I did, and what they’ve found so far is that it’s botanical. Part of it is similar to, but not identical to, a Nymphaea Caerulea. It’s been combined with a different type of flower, the sacred lotus, and opium. There are other components that have yet to be identified. And, Hope, I think we can be sure it’s what poisoned Miss Liljedahl.”
“I thought so.” Reid found his hands clenching, thankfully hidden from Biasi by the edge of the desk.
“Your Latin is better than mine,” Virgil commented. “Assuming you understand what Nymphaea…whatever…means.”
“Were I going to a church like yours, maybe I would,” Biasi laughed. “Then again, perhaps not.”
“Reid, where’s your report?—Thank you.” Virgil took it and scanned it, ignoring the subsided drama on the other side of the desk, as Reid snatched the honey away from Biasi before he could lace Reid’s coffee with an overdose.
“What about the fire, Virgil?”
“Cleopatra has insurance, thankfully, so I think we can let it slip. There’s no way for us to step in without giving you away, Reid. But if you do this again I’m going to have to explain it was your action.”
“’Give me away,’” Reid echoed with a sigh. “Speaking of her royal highness, Cleopatra had the audacity to send me a telegram this morning and ask me to defend her right to keep Clarity!”
He slammed his hand on the table in punctuation, nearly spilling Virgil’s coffee, sloshing his own, and startling Homicide, who had pushed the habitually loosely-clicked door open to peek inside.
"Clearly she can’t expect me, or anyone else, to agree with her! She blatantly ignored child labor regulations at every turn! As of 1933, eight hours have been the maximum for a child here in New York, night work is prohibited, physical examinations are mandatory—not to mention, she shouldn't have had the nerve to call Clarity her daughter, I don't care what anyone says, and stealing all of Clarity's work—!”
“Sounds like a few bars made her slip a few more,” was Biasi’s unflinching opinion. “You won’t be surprised to hear that she’s been giving a similar impression of her intentions. How is the girl, Hope?”
Reid exhaled at that, accepting the refill of coffee offered to him. “Cleo kept her on amphetamine, and would take it away as punishment.”
“Oh boy. I can see how that is going to go,” Biasi muttered, downing the rest of his coffee and reaching for more. “Now instead of occasional episodes, Sirius will become a constant. If anything is the last thing I and the boys need, it’s that.”
“Alright, let’s call that enough, boys,” Virgil interjected. He had grown accustomed to treating them as a pair of children at times, which was silently suffered. “Reid, what were you saying last night about Cleopatra knowing your identity?”
“That’s how I would translate what she said to me, about reeds and stars. You heard it, Biasi. What did you think?”
“Same thing. Which concerns me, as Cleopatra also knows that you’re close to Miss Liljedahl either way. She could have been bait.”
“It was my thought also. Has Cleopatra shown any willingness to talk about anything?” It was a routine question. He already could guess the answer.
“Just queenly requests, as expected.”
“Of course,” Reid snorted, and rested his hands on the desk. “Virgil, I want to get back into the Obelisk and see what kind of information we can dredge up from her files. It could confirm whether all of the artifacts are accounted for, or whether any left the country—Clarity tells me they were headed to the harbor and that it’s not the first shipment, so we need to know where they’ve headed, whether it was elsewhere in the U.S., or overseas. If we could find any clues to Bruno’s whereabouts, that would help, too.”
Virgil eyed him for a moment. “Biasi? Are we certain all of the drugs are out of that eyesore?”
“As certain as we can be. Unless there’s a hidden vault; which, of course—” Biasi bowed sarcastically to Reid. “—Sirius will manage to sniff out.”
“I’m not Sirius in broad daylight unless I have to be,” Reid retorted. “Now if you feel like racing the Reinastella—and it’s just a suggestion—I wouldn’t bother.”
“Alright, boys, could you continue your spat on the drive?” Virgil pleaded, shooing them out.
The Obelisk soared stark and cold into the misted blue sky, empty, the traces of last night’s fire visible licking just up the first floor on the west side. There were a few police vehicles, several automobiles likely belonging to journalists, and an unfamiliar deep burgundy sedan that twisted purple along the sides in the light.
“One of those Rolls-Royce jobs,” Biasi commented as they parked, having taken Reid’s Deusenberg. “That’s a highfalutin’ ride.”
“A Phantom II. The Reina could probably drive it into the road,” was Reid’s observation, but inwardly he was thinking of what kind of wealthy connections Cleopatra might have—and why would someone show up today? Was it a client overly concerned about an unfinished gown? A stockholder, if Cleopatra even allowed it? Or was it a liaison, picking up any evidence in the aftermath?
Slipping in under the tape and waving a greeting to an officer on watch at the doors, Reid and Biasi avoided a gathering of journalists being briefed in the lobby and slipped up to the second floor. Officers with canines were running checks throughout the building, a final look for any hidden drugs or other connections to Bruno. Their voices echoed along with the clicks of their heels on the glossy flooring.
Biasi checked in on-scene investigator, Berkeley, who gave Reid a puzzled look when the latter neither produced camera or notepad, nor even complained about some investment made in the company. Berkeley hadn’t been at headquarters long enough to be let in on Reid’s identity; Biasi chose to continue that trajectory.
“Hope is here to, ah, ensure that we have all the necessary evidence against Cleopatra and for her daughter’s protection, as he currently has custody.”
Berkeley nodded to that and continued, “All the floors have been searched and found clear, all except the 35th. We haven’t found a way upstairs, and the elevators don’t travel to it. We’ve left Miss Ever-Ruby’s office unlocked and ready for you.”
“Let’s start with the top floor,” Reid advised. “We can search Cleo’s files on the way down.”
“And I thought I was in charge around here.” Biasi shook his head and waved for Reid to lead the way. The elevators were working, now that Cleopatra was not present to pause them. “So, tell me, are you going to change your mind about Miss Liljedahl?”
“Biasi, you’re a distraction to my work.”
“Why did you even acquiesce for me to be along?”
“Because I need your torch.”
“…Sirius doesn’t have a torch.”
“No. I need to request an allowance for one. It would come in handy,” Reid admitted.
“All these escapades, and you’ve never had a torch?”
“I borrowed Tony’s once.”
“I don’t want to know why you haven’t bought one.”
“I don’t want to walk into Gimbels, that’s why.”
“I hope you told Miss Liljedahl to buy one for you, and I hope you’re going to have to walk in when you pick her up.”
“For the last time, for her sake at least, would you mind?”
“I thought I was doing her a favor, but what do I know? It’s not like I’m married and went through the same thing on my own behalf,” Biasi shrugged, shouldering past Reid as they reached the landing.
“Here we go,” said Reid. “Clarity showed me this staircase last night.”
“Reid, I don’t want to hear anything about last night. Or any other time Sirius showed up, if that’s alright with you.”
“Beg your pardon, but shouldn’t you be asking Sirius that question? I do believe he would be offended.”
“Look, Reid, the majority of my personal interest in this case, outside of my duty and protecting citizens, is to close said case before Sirius makes another mess. If he could only hear me say that,” Biasi added, “he might decide to spare me further headaches? If Sirius didn’t have to blaze a trail of chaos and damage, I might not have to clean up after him so much. Instead, when he heads out I’m out on stand-by to not only organize picking up suspects, but clean up fires, for instance.”
“Or there’s that time you just had to blow a hole in the wall of the RMS Queen of Persia, because Captain Gables had been bribed into allowing in slave laborers, and you wanted to make a point. Which was quite useless, really, considering he was in custody a few minutes later, and you’d already freed everyone involved.”
The stairway abruptly forked as they climbed and ran into a solid wall, one path veering west, the other, east.
“Right.”
“Yes, I know.”
“No, I mean, let’s take the right.”
“—Very well. And then there was that one occasion where you felt the need to kick over three cartons of that—sparkly stuff? At the wharf, because the warehouse was being leased by by Lucky Lucchese—”
“Correction, the lease was to ‘Gloria Cosmetics,’ but the woman leasing it was bribed, if you aren’t surprised.”
“—Thank you. And—”
“—And, Lucchese was smuggling jewelry and opium in,” Reid retorted. “Spilling that ‘shiny stuff’, which Aphrodite could tell you is a new cosmetic invention called ‘glitter schnibbles’ apparently, was the least thing I could do for him in return.“
Biasi snorted at the name before catching himself. “Yes, but did you need to make everyone else suffer for it?”
“Ah yes, I remember how you and the rest of the patrol were sparkling with happiness for the week after,” Reid quipped, and sensing the mock swing Biasi took at him, ducked and let the captain punch the silk wallpaper instead.
“—Thank you, Biasi, I always knew you had it in you to find a lead!” Reid exclaimed over-brightly, as Biasi’s swing easily opened the hidden door at the end of the flight.
“You’re accidentally welcome.”
Biasi pushed the door open and popped his head out into a corridor, much like that of the 34th just below. The forking stairway proved to lead out to the same floor, one on the east side, the other on the west. The quiet was eerie, and a pass through the full length of the corridor’s route proved little helpful. There were no doors in sight, besides the one they had come into. There were, however, grim steel alcoves on the west and east sides, in which were sat statues, not unlike the one hiding the staircase on the 34th.
In the west, immediately across from the right branch of the stairs, stood an image bearing an uncanny resemblance to a nightmare; while the east held a statue of a weeping woman, marbled by cracks in the thick layer of plaster coating a granite form, which glinted through in spaces.
“I’ve had enough cases this year, but why must I have the Lady, or the—I have no idea what this is.”
“I do. It’s Egyptian.”
When Biasi looked at him proddingly, Reid shrugged. “It’s a one in a million guess.”
“I’ll never believe you.”
“Excellent. What’s your guess?”
“I haven’t the foggiest,” Biasi replied, stomping around to stand before the statue, distaste written all over his face. The crocodile head and half lion, half hippo body were not particularly interesting for study, not to mention its expression of wanting to eat whoever stood before it.
“Not the identity, the key, Biasi. There will be a trick to opening it, if it is a door. The workmanship isn’t all that bad, at least. Except there’s a double whorl on the right shoulder here instead of one,” Reid remarked, giving it a passing slap with the hat in his hand. Unsurprisingly, the statue swung outward, nearly sweeping Biasi down the stairs as he jumped back.
“I almost think you wanted me to break my neck.”
“Now, Biasi, where would be the fun in your not being here?” Reid called back, already ducking into the darkened space.
“That’s an absolutely splendid observation.” Biasi ducked in after him, finding the shadows too muddy to tell where anything was, even the floor. “Oh , wait,” he murmured, uncoupling the torch at his belt. “Let’s use this and see -”
He flicked it on and the light sparked off of the glittering emerald eyes of a second statue, so violently it seemed alive for a little space, before subsiding dully into stone and plaster.
“You picked a wonderful outing for a heart attack, Hope,” Biasi commented, sweeping the light across the otherwise stark walls. Reid was already inspecting the image, to no avail. “If that’s not another door, there’s nothing in—here?”
The last was a sharp twist in his voice as the floor dropped beneath his feet, landing them in a shallow pit with a splash. Reid sat up, elbow-deep in water.
“Well, that explains that.”
“Whatever has been explained is still as clear as mud. Elucidate.”
“I twisted it the wrong way.”
Biasi draped his dripping arms over his knee, a well-practiced patience settling over his features. “Twisted what?”
“The dog’s collar.”
“Well, maybe, you should have taken care of its teeth. Next time, please turn it the right way?”
“Just remind me.”
“Consider yourself reminded. I’m so glad we left our coats in the lobby.”
“Biasi. We could use the torch right now.”
“How enlightening.”
Biasi flicked on the torch, which he had managed to hold above the water when they had taken the plunge. The beam caught on answering flickers from the three corners of the T-shaped pool, lined with red ochre mosaics. But this time, the lights weren’t the eyes of statues, as they glided in the pair’s direction.
“Are there alligators in Egypt?” Biasi inquired, surveying the dark shadows now visible.
“Hm. I think it’s crocodiles. I heard something about crocodiles.”
For a minute they sat there, contemplating the eyes.
“What do you think? Are those real croco-gators, whatever they are?”
“Biasi, if you thought they were fake, I would have questions,” Reid snorted, rising slowly so as to splash the water as little as possible. “False animals could never be so realistic! I vote we get out of—is that thing wearing jewelry?”
“Why, Reid, if you couldn’t tell the glint of gold from scales, I would have questions.”
“I do have questions. The only explanation I can think of—” Reid jumped and caught the edge of the ledge overhead, hauling himself up and giving Biasi a hand. “—Is that they’re part of a ceremony. Which doesn’t explain very much. I’m grateful for modern-day sensibilities.”
“Such as not putting jewelry on reptiles,” Biasi wrung the water out of his cap. “R.I.P. your fedora, my friend.”
Reid flung it over his shoulder into the pit, not stopping to see whether the splashing he heard was a reptile fishing for a replacement lunch.
The room that met them was oblong from east to west, cut thin by the wider north and southern corridors. Vast pillars, again of metal forms filled by rubble and held together by plastered bricks, paraded across the room in three rows. Reid wondered if there would ever be an end to the plaster, but it certainly was economical here, if not in effect.
The walls were painted in eggshell white and red concrete, like the pool, covered by friezes of Egyptian figures, and the ceiling was bright lapis blue with a myriad of stylized stars. A channel of water ran through the pillars, among which were a few rows of seating. But the centerpiece was a massive gilt altar, behind which was set the image of the winged goddess, and a man who Reid recognized as the apparition at the Liljedahls’. Upon their heads were two great crowns, made lifelike by paste jewels and scraps of bronze set into the paint.
“Right, we need to search this room,” Biasi announced, finding a light switch for the lanterns hanging on the pillars. “You take the outer, I’ll take the inner. Go.”
“And I’m demoted,” Reid sighed dramatically and moved around the perimeter of the room, finding nothing of interest, save the fact that he came face to face with a representation of Clarity.
It had to be her, frozen in the odd statuesque style on the wall, with her strand of pink glass beads around her neck, but her dress was palest lilac with a scarf of turquoise green at the waist, and a tiara crowned by snakes and crocodiles rested on her hair. She was joining Cleopatra, denoted by a dramatic scarlet and white gown, facing Isis, Osiris, and a supposed deity whose head was a crocodile’s.
Reid grimaced at the image and moved on, trying to pull the meaning out of it; the next panel held Cleopatra, standing beside two men and a woman, all garbed as deities; and in the next, Cleopatra paid homage to her namesake, glittering in gold beside a Roman whom Reid could only assume was Marc Antony.
“Reid?” Biasi’s voice sounded strangely taut as he bent to look beneath the altar. “Have a look at this.”
Reid shook his head free of the images in front of him and joined Biasi to peer into the alcove. Illuminated by Biasi’s torch beam was a human skull, completely gilt, with a large emerald set against the brow.
Biasi exhaled when Reid did an equal double-take.
“I didn’t think Cleopatra had a morbid touch to her.”
“Clearly she does. If this is real, we’re going to have to consider this a homicide case until further notice.”
“I’ll have to ask Clarity about this,” Reid stepped back from the altar. “I suppose you’re going to make sure the skull is looked after.”
Biasi nodded. “There’s nothing else here. Let’s get back downstairs. I’ll have a team come up. As soon as you have an answer from Clarity, tell me. Why is it every time I have to pair up with you, my day gets worse?”
Reid didn’t answer that, only led the way and made sure that the door stayed open and the crocodile pit stayed closed, to prevent any unfortunate officers from falling in. He wasn’t sure if a bullet would be enough to stop those creatures.
“Speaking of guns,” Biasi began, as soon as they were out of sight of the room, “you haven’t gotten one yet.”
“They’re a little noisy.”
“What if you need a weapon at a distance, even to puncture a tire? I think you need an allowance for one.”
“If it’s for puncturing a tire, maybe. I prefer a weapon when I’m as easily in harms way as my opponent. I want to be in control of whether someone gets hurt, and I’d rather they didn’t. The war-quoits give me the flexibility and risk of self-harm I want to help keep me accountable. But, a bullet would be nice for putting out a lightbulb that’s too far away.”
“You know what. I regret suggesting you get a gun.”
“I thought so,” Reid said dryly. “Still, I’ll look into getting one. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure there’s a way to keep me from overusing it, should Sirius get in the way again.”
“I’ll make sure. The boys at the lab might have some bright ideas.” Biasi caught the edge of the statue of Bastet this time as it swung outward. “And I’m not planning on falling down the stairs. After you!”
The lobby was buzzing below when Biasi and Reid reached the second floor. The number of reporters and curious passerby had grown, and it had been necessary to set up ropes to keep anyone from digging through the stockrooms and sewing studios.
“In here,” Reid waved Biasi along and ducked hastily into Cleopatra’s office, which shut out a decent amount of the noise.
“Do you need me here?” Biasi surveyed the filing cabinets along the wall. “I ought to go talk to the boys about the upstairs. I’ll come back when I’ve finished and see if you found anything.”
“Fine, don’t trouble yourself.” Reid was already pulling out drawers and scattering anything remotely interesting onto the desk.
Biasi shook his head and left him to it.
“I return!” Biasi announced, swinging the door open and stopping, aghast. “Did a nor’easter hit this room, or was it you? Never mind.”
Reid, normally the most organized person anyone knew, had completely disregarded his ability to pile anything in a single area and had every surface space covered with files, receipts, and letters. He glanced up.
“You took your time. I’ve already been through everything. As for the nor’easter, it happens to be organized by importance. The only things important to our needs are a suspicious receipt for a plaster of paris skull, an emerald from South America, a contract with Bruno Romano dated August last year and detailing services rendered, including storage space and transportation for his drugs, and, a receipt for four smuggled Nile Crocodile infants in 1932. I’d bet anything Cleo has crocodiles on her estate.”
“…I see. Can we just…pick some of this stuff up so I can think?”
“Be my guest.” Reid collected the few papers which he had found, and spent a few minutes watching Biasi’s efforts to untangle Reid’s organizational methods and replace the papers into their original folders.
“No, no receipts go in the cabinet on the end, catalogs on the left, and - I suppose I must help.” He shouldered Biasi out of the way and had everything replaced in moments. Dusting off his hands, he said, “You’re going to ask if there was an address for Bruno. There was an address of a warehouse, which I remember burned down last September. Let me know if that skull upstairs turns out to be the plaster of paris one in these receipts. I’ll find out from Clarity, of course, if she’s up to it. As for anything else, I’ve been through everything.”
He swept his hand aimlessly in the direction of the wall behind him.
“What about that?”
“What, the jewelry case? I glanced inside. Just a few strands of pearls.”
“Are there any safes?
“Wouldn’t she keep her jewelry in it if there was? She’s not the kind to wear glass pearls.”
“You didn’t think she would have a skull under the altar, either.”
“That’s a point.”
Biasi popped open the jewelry case. “Reid, you said there were only pearls in here. Tell me why there are only two inches of useable space in a four-inch tall case?”
“A waste of wood. I didn’t find a false bottom in it.”
“Did you—ugh—pull it away from the wall?” Biasi jerked on the box, finding it heavily weighted—the claws on the box’s legs might have been lead. On the opposite face was a thin crack, and a little key, as for a music box; but when Biasi turned it, not only did music play, but a drawer popped open.
“Love letters.”
“How do you know? Why hide them?”
“The amount you know about these things! Now I can see why you didn’t bother looking at this. One does that with sentimental items, Reid. My wife has saved all the letters we’ve written to each other. They’re always tied up with ribbons, and she keeps them in a hat box in her closet, along with her properly used hat boxes.”
“Do we have to— It’s probably not important, then,” Reid muttered, about to toss them aside. He froze mid-throw and inspected a red wax seal that was split open.
Biasi rapped Reid’s hand lightly with his hat brim.
“I thought we weren’t going to pry into them.”
“I know,” Reid replied, half-guiltily as he pulled the slip of paper free.
“What did you find?”
“This cartouche—”
“Forgive me, but would you mind speaking in commoner’s English?”
“It’s a signet in hieroglyphs. This one is identical to the one on the warning note to Aphrodite the other night, I’m certain.”
Biasi paused and watched over Reid’s shoulder as Reid slipped the letter carefully out of the ribbon and unfolded it.
“June 17th, 1934—‘Dearest Cleopatra, your health and my adoration to Isis, my adored…’ et cetera, et cetera,” Reid skimmed.
“…Our search continues, and I heartily believe we shall strike upon the heading we have been hoping for.”
“I strongly suggest making provision for the first dispatch of your effects, barring hearing the negative from me before September. My suggestion is to send them by RMS Star of India to Southampton; from there, our associates will have them forwarded to myself.”
Ever yours, Osiris
“Of course there’s no real name!” Reid groaned, and passed the letter to Biasi, digging out the next with dread.
July 21st, 1934 - “Dearest Cleopatra, hail, Queen of the Nile..!”
“Must he really?”
“I write this message to inform you that the information we needed has been stumbled upon, and in our present location, we are not far from what we seek. I will further update you when all has been secured.”
Adieu, Osiris
September 1st, 1934 - “Dearest Cleopatra!”
“All is ready, and while damage has been sustained over the years, I do believe the present condition is better than we had hoped for. All is well and will be prepared, thus I remind you to send your first effects with all haste, that it may be ready by the Great Queen’s anniversary in March!”
Your Brother, Osiris
“What do you make of it?”
“Given the cartouche, forgive me, signature, I believe it has some importance. The handwriting is the difficulty: it isn’t identical to that on the note to Aphrodite. Can we have it analyzed and see who this writing belongs to? It’s a shame the envelopes are all blanks.”
“Mm. It sounds like we might know the first destination of those museum goods, but who knows the secondary location,” Biasi muttered. “We’re going to have to pull together every report of missing artifacts, and hope they’ve all been reported missing, and not going unnoticed in storage.”
“I want to know his name.” Reid refolded the letter and slipped it back inside the pack, handing it over to Biasi. “Come on, I have to go pick up my mother. And Aphrodite, I know, I know. And yes, I’ll pick up a tor—”
He stopped mid-sentence as they stepped into the hall. Coming towards them were Officer McCall and none other than Emrys Augustus Morgan.
The latter paused, light gray eyes filling with what was either amusement or bewilderment, as he studied Reid. His pale blue suit was immaculate, bronze hair perfectly waved, his own emerald silk-banded fedora in hand.
“Reid, Reid Hope, I believe,” he addressed the lawyer pleasantly, his British accent smooth and ever so slightly regal. “Fancy meeting you here! I was called in this morning to ensure that all missing artifacts have been recovered. We’ve found quite a few loitering here in this, albeit, beautiful Obelisk. Please forgive my curiosity. Why might a lawyer be on the premises?”
“I’m ensuring we have an airtight case against Cleopatra,” Reid studied him. “And against her keeping custody of her adopted daughter.”
“Ah. A tragic case. I’m sure you are the best choice, after your defense of the Lady Aphrodite. How are you getting on with that ring you brought in to the museum? I found it fascinating. I do hope you’ve solved your puzzle over it?”
“Partly.”
“Splendid, old boy, well! Keep me updated, and give my regards to dear Miss Aphrodite.” He bowed a little, and his eyes were twinkling with what was almost condescension. “I do hope she is well, and please inform her that I look forward to attending the Vanderbilts’ Winter Ball with her on the eighth. Adieu.”
He bowed again and passed by, leaving Reid to move aside, staring after him.
Biasi patted Reid’s shoulder comfortingly as the voices receded behind them, Morgan exclaiming lightly over the realism and accuracy of the Egyptian decor.
“Hey. I should have told you to watch your face when someone simply mentions Miss Liljedahl. Come on, let’s get out of this stuffy atmosphere.”
“Right,” Reid muttered, losing his desire to give Biasi a verbal jab in return, and the two parted ways outside. Biasi would remain to oversee the team heading to the top floor; for now, Reid needed to focus on the fact that he had a daughter.
Or, somewhat had a daughter, until, and unless, Cleopatra VIII had other plans.
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An exciting chapter, complete with crocodiles. Nicely done.