Her mind was in limbo. She'd borrowed a small clay tablet, a document from ancient Sumer done in pictographs, to show her class. She'd do well, she thought, to concentrate on what she was getting paid for.
"This tablet dates to the ancient Sumerian civilization," she lectured, displaying it. "So far, now, we've covered the earliest settlement in Mesopotamia, which was located between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers in what is now southern Iraq. The Sumerians were the first people to develop a written language. Who can tell me the first language they produced?"
A hand went up and she nodded at the dark-haired young man. "Pictographs."
She smiled at him. He was one of her best students, and he had every intention of one day following in her footsteps as an educator. "Very good, Mike," she said. "Pictographic writing, which used symbols to convey language, came first. Then a more sophisticated form of writing called cuneiform, emerged. This used wedge-shaped symbols to represent individual syllables of the language. It was done on a wet clay tablet that was engraved with cuneiform writing using a wedge-shaped reed called a stylus. The tablet was then baked. Thousands of these tablets were found in ancient Sumer."
"One of them was the Epic of Gilgamesh, wasn't it?" a female student recalled.
"Indeed it was, a series of stories about Gilgamesh, who was a Sumerian king, and his search for immortality. Part of this work involves a certain legend. Does anyone remember which incident in our history it correlates with?"
"The great flood," Mike replied, grinning.
“Yes." She looked at her watch. “That's all the time we have for today. Tomorrow, I'll go over the method of making paper from papyrus reed once more. Don't forget, we have an examination on Wednesday. This one will be an essay examination. If you have problems with any of this material, I'll be in my office this afternoon, or you can make an appointment to see me at a later time."
She watched them leave and wondered if she'd ever been as young as some of these students. There were a number of older ones, though, some even in their forties and fifties. The days of only young faces on campus were over, and perhaps it was just as well. You were never too old to get a degree, she mused, smiling.
She locked the Sumerian tablet in a glass case to give back to Daniel later, and collected her materials and left the office long enough to go to the rest room. On her way back, she noticed Daniel waiting at her door.
Beside him was a tall, thin young man carrying a camera. Daniel looked faintly irritable. Of course, he always did.
But he smiled at Tabby gently, their quarrel of the day before long forgotten because of the tender way he'd comforted her last night. He'd had no idea why she was upset, thinking it was because he'd argued with her. She hadn't told him, either, or broken their engagement. She would have to, eventually. She couldn't very well marry him when she might be carrying Nick's child. But she couldn't do it yet. She had too much on her mind. All the same, Daniel hadn't asked anything of her, content to just hold her while she cried. She'd made coffee and they'd talked about the book and later, he'd gone home. Nick had seen him leave, she supposed, and been too drunk to remember that he didn't give a damn about her.
It was almost funny, in a way, but she wasn't laughing.
He introduced her to the young man, adding, "Tabitha, do you have that clay tablet from Sumer? This is Tim Mathews. He's with the Washington Inquirer, and he'd like to photograph it."
She flushed, more out of having to face Daniel and pretend that nothing had changed, on top of the guilt of what she'd done with Nick, than for any other reason. But the flush made her look self-conscious and nervous.
"Of course! I meant to give it back to you. I'll just unlock my door..."
A shriek came out of the biology lab as they passed it, followed by a demanding voice. "Where have you been? You're going to be boiled one day, don't you know that? How did you do this?"
There was more muttering, something about antiseptic. Tabby didn't listen. She was too nervous.
She fumbled the key into the lock. The door opened very easily. She looked down at a mangled paper clip and absently picked it up, wondering which of her students had untwisted it and left it there.
"It's right through here," she said, leading them into the small library that flanked her even smaller office. She stopped dead.
"Well, what a nice touch this is!" the reporter grinned, hefting his .35 millimeter camera on the broken glass of the case. "You said that a clay tablet was supposed to be in here under lock and key?"
"Yes," Daniel said uncomfortably. He glanced at Tabby. "You're sure you locked the door to this room? It wasn't locked when we came in."
"I'm positive!" she said huskily. "I'm positive I did. Daniel, you have to believe me!"
"The tablet's gone, all right. Look at this. Was there something else in here, a fur pelt, maybe?" He held up a tiny sample of hair.
"I don't remember," Tabby said. She felt sick.
"This looks bad, Tabitha," Daniel said quietly.
"I know that," she murmured miserably and leaned against the wall. "Someone's out to get me."
"It does look that way. Here, I'd better take you up to the dean and let you explain this to him," Daniel said.
"Just a quick shot of you, Dr. Harvey, okay?" the reporter said quickly.
Tabby shielded her face and followed Daniel out into the hall. Her heart was rocketing into her throat. The dean would never believe this. He'd be certain that she'd broken the case and taken the artifact, to make it look like an outside job. She was innocent, but nobody was ever going to believe it now.
"I'm sorry," Daniel was saying. "I'm sorry, too, that we had an argument over Reed. I let him get to me. But this, this accusation of theft...I'll never believe it."
'Thank you, Daniel. Honestly, I didn't do it," she told him. "Why is this happening to me?" She broke down and began to cry. Daniel pulled her against him and comforted her as best he could, but she cried as if her heart was broken.
The dean listened quietly to the new development and grimaced. "And there was a reporter in there with you, Myers?" he asked sharply. "That's just wonderful." He threw up his hands. "This is going to be devastating to our reputation!"
"I didn't take it," Tabby said proudly.
"What?" He glanced at her. "Oh. No, of course you didn't, Dr. Harvey. I'm not naive enough to believe you'd risk your job and your reputation by taking two artifacts that would only be of value to a college or a collector."
"Thank you," she said softly. "But nobody else is going to believe me. And the press will have a field day with this, I'm afraid."
"That's true. It isn't going to be pretty."
"What about the trustees?" Daniel asked.
"I don't know. I'll meet with them tonight and we'll see. Go home, Dr. Harvey, and get some rest. We'll talk tomorrow."
She nodded, too tired to argue.
Daniel went out to the parking lot with her, supportive but distant. "The reporter seems to have gone, at least," he murmured. "I really hate this for you, Tabitha."
He didn't know the half of it. In the space of two days, her life had turned over.
She smiled wanly. "I hate it, too."
"Shall I come over again tonight and we can work? Would that help get your mind off your worries?"
"No," she said quickly. She had to break the engagement. What she'd done had made it possible, but she had to find the right way to break it to Daniel. Right now, her mind was in shards.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said easily. "Get some rest, dear."
"Thanks."
She got into the car and drove home. She needed to tell Nick about this new development, but the thought of even talking to him was just unthinkable.
She phoned Helen, instead, on the pretext that she couldn't reach Nick.
"A case was broken into and another artifact is gone," Tabby told her. "Now they'll be sure I did it. The thing was in my office and the door wasn't locked. They'll blame me...!"
&nb
sp; "I'll find Nick and send him right over there," Helen began.
"No! I mean, no, I won't be here. I have to leave for a while. Just...just tell him what I told you, all right?"
"I'll tell him. You're sure...?"
"I'm sure. Thanks."
"No problem. I'll be in touch."
Tabby hung up the telephone. Then she went out and drove her car back to the campus, leaving it in an isolated permitted parking space. She hailed a cab and went home, and she didn't turn the lights on all night. Let Nick wonder where she was. Anything was better than having to face him with the memory of the day before between them. Talking to him on the phone, even when he was drunk, was far less traumatic than having him look at her and see her as she had been—abandoned and totally wanton.
Nick had gotten up with a vicious headache and slept late. It was getting to be an unpleasant habit, and he had to get out of it. The scotch was gone, he noted, and didn't replace it. He had to get a grip on himself. Toward that end, he spent the day searching out leads. He made time to dash into the college and pick up a sample of animal fur that he'd found once more in Tabby's office and take it by the FBI lab. After that, he avoided the college for the rest of the day. He'd seen Tabby briefly, but he'd avoided her and she hadn't seen him. He was no more eager to face Tabby than she apparently was to face him.
He got home that evening to find a message from his sister on his answering machine. He called her, and she relayed Tabby's message.
"She couldn't get me, you say?" He looked out the window, concerned. It disturbed him that Tabby might have gone off the deep end over what they'd done together. But her car wasn't there and the lights were all off. More than likely she was at a motel, he thought furiously, so that she wouldn't have the threat of his company to talk things over. Or maybe she was with Daniel again. Maybe she was at his house tonight, trying to patch up things with him. That made Nick even angrier.
"That's what she said," Helen replied. "She sounded funny. Is she all right, Nick?"
He didn't want to think about how she was. "I'll get back to you," he told her, and hung up.
Later that evening, his old friend from the FBI lab phoned him.
"I've got some news for you about that animal fur. You sitting down?" he asked Nick amusedly.
"I am now. Shoot."
Nick listened and began to smile. Then light bulbs flashed on in his head. Could it be that simple? Tabby was going to be shocked and so were a few other people, if his theory proved true. It was a good thing no blame had been placed and no accusations had been made, or there would be plenty of red faces.
He picked up the telephone and called the dean of the college at home. He asked a few questions and made a request, which was immediately granted. He did not reveal his theory.
Now he knew what to do, and how to go about proving Tabby's innocence. It was a matter of setting a trap and springing it, in just the right way and with just the right people to witness it.
But he needed to talk to Tabby. He picked up the telephone and punched in her number, then waited impatiently. He had to know if she was at home, or if she was with her idiot fiance.
After he was ready to give up, the receiver was picked up.
"Yes?" Tabby asked quietly.
"It's me," Nick said.
Her heart leaped. She almost put the receiver down. She hadn't spoken to him since he'd called over there drunk.
"Are you still there?" Nick asked irritably.
"Yes. I'm, uh, distracted. Another artifact has disappeared."
"So Helen said," he replied pointedly. "I gather that you can't stand the thought of speaking to me these days? Can't you deal with the situation between us?"
She swallowed and sat down, still holding the telephone. "I... don't know how one deals with situations like this," she confessed. “I've never had to before."
"You don't need to remind me that I seduced you," he replied tersely. "I do have a conscience."
She took a very slow breath. "I should have said no."
“That would have been interesting," he said. "Do you think it would have stopped me at that stage?"
She blushed like a tomato. "I don't know..."
"For the record, it's very difficult for a man to draw back once he's reached that point. Even though I've never personally been that hot, I've heard about men who have."
He was telling her something, but she was too self-conscious to pursue it. She straightened. "Have you found out anything new?"
"Yes. Don't ask, I won't tell you. I have something planned for tomorrow night that will probably clear you."
"You know who did it?" she asked hesitantly.
"Yes."
"Nick...it isn't Daniel?"
"Do you love him?" he asked harshly. "I want an answer," he said when she hesitated. "Right now, Tabby!"
"As you said yourself, if I did, how did I wind up in the grass with you?"
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you," he told her. "I'm sure you've read that lust and love don't always go hand in hand."
"You should know."
"Yes," he said angrily. "I should. But since I've never experienced love, I'm hardly the person to ask for a comparison."
Her eyes closed. He was telling her that all he'd felt was lust. Her stomach flipped over.
His indrawn breath was audible when he realized what he'd said to her. "I care for you," he ground out. "You're part of my life, part of my past. We've been together forever. I wanted you, but it wasn't impersonal lust. If it had been only that, I'd never have lost control so badly that I couldn't protect you from an unwanted pregnancy."
"Unwanted on your part. You've certainly made that very clear," she said stiffly.
"I'm not ready," he groaned. "I'm restless, unsettled. I don't want to have to live in one place yet."
"I haven't asked you to."
"If you are pregnant...!"
"If I am pregnant," she said very calmly, "we'll talk about it then. I won't have an abortion, so you can forget that option right now."
He didn't say a word. He didn't know what to say. The thought of a child of his growing up without him was painful. It would be another person to risk losing. His eyes closed in fear. Lucy had loved him, really loved him, and she'd died. He didn't want anybody else to love him and die. Especially, he thought in anguish, someone he loved as well.
Tabby didn't know what he was thinking. She only knew that he was totally silent. She quietly put the receiver down before he spoke. Afterward she didn't know if he'd have said anything else or not. She told herself she didn't care.
She got out her books and prepared her lesson for the next day. Teaching anthropology was challenging. There had to be field trips, and they usually involved some physical labor. Digs had to be measured and roped off, spaded down to the plow zone, and then very carefully excavated with trowels and screens. It was laborious and challenging, but very rewarding.
The study of man was a delight. She'd become obsessed with it in college and had known very quickly that she wanted to teach it when she finished. She'd obtained her bachelor's degree and then gone straight into graduate school to work for her Ph.D. It had been a long climb, and left her no time for a social life. When she wasn't studying, she was attending lectures, going to museums, haunting exhibitions and collections. She lived and breathed anthropology. It was her greatest love, next to Nick. Now she stood to lose it. She hadn't realized how much it meant to her until it was too late.
If only she knew something about detective work! She had to depend on Nick, because he was the only person who could extricate her from this tangled web. But the sooner he did that, the sooner he'd be on a plane back to Houston. She grimaced. She didn't want him to leave, even if it meant bearing the shame and guilt longer. But she had to be realistic. What would he want with her, now that he'd satisfied his curiosity and his hunger.
She put out the light and went to bed. Perhaps things would be brighter after a night's sleep.
Chapter Seven
Tabby went through the motions of lecturing until her classes were over, but almost three days after her fall from grace, she felt as if what she'd done in the park was visible to everyone she came in contact with.
Daniel came in just as she finished, his expression faintly apologetic.
"I should never have brought that reporter in. I'm afraid I've made things worse for you," he began slowly.
"It's all right," she said without feeling. "It wasn't your fault, Daniel."
He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Listen, Tabby, we looked at engagement rings, but we never decided on one," he said after a minute. "Suppose we go to a different jeweler..."
It was the very opening she needed, and she took it. Reluctantly, but firmly, she turned to look at him. "I can't marry you, Daniel. I'm very sorry."
He scowled. "Why not?"
"I just...can't, that's all." She lowered her head. "It wouldn't be right."
He moved closer. "Tabitha, it can't be because of this theft charge...!"
"It isn't. Daniel, we're really not suited," she said miserably. "I'll still help you with your research, you know I will. But marriage is something I can't agree to. Not now."
"You won't mind helping me with the book?"
She felt even sicker that the broken engagement mattered less to him than his precious manuscript. Just as Nick had said, Daniel had probably only been using her. He was a shallow man, in many ways, with no real deep feelings. This was evidence of it.
"I won't mind."
He smiled, rubbing his hands together. "Well, that's fine, then. I'll phone you later."
He started out. Something seemed to occur to him. He turned, his gaze oddly hesitant. "You and Reed. There's something there, isn't there?"
"Not really," she said, lifting her face. "Nick wants no part of a permanent relationship."
Books By Diana Palmer Page 119