by K. B. Owen
“I’d better go and check on her,” said Miss Jenkins. “Miss Wells, could you switch the signs back to where they belong? We must get the custodian to nail them down properly.”
Just before Concordia reached the restrooms, the door marked “Ladies” was flung open, barely missing her, and a grumbling Colonel Adams stalked down the stairwell without a backward glance.
“The old codger needs taking down a peg or two, anyway. Too big for his britches,” muttered Miss Jenkins, now returned with a trembling Miss Pomeroy. “Here, Gertrude, sit down and compose yourself. He’s gone,” Miss Jenkins said, guiding her to a chair.
Miss Pomeroy gave a sniffle. “I never noticed, oh dear. How embarrassing. I would have switched the signs back if I’d realized. How long do you think they’ve been that way?”
“There’s no telling. No one has used this wing since Miss Phillips began cataloguing the collection. And it’s kept locked otherwise,” Miss Jenkins said.
Concordia rolled her eyes. “The students have gone sign-crazy, and we’ve only just begun the semester. When they’re not switching the signs, they’re stealing them altogether.”
Hannah Jenkins smiled. “Whoever took the ‘Caution: Wet Paint’ sign is going to be in particular trouble with Lady Principal Grant if she’s caught. I wonder if the Ogre ever got the paint out of her skirt.”
Concordia glanced at her in surprise. It was the first time she’d heard a faculty member using the student nickname for Miss Grant, the new lady principal. She looked around to see if Miss Grant was still here, but there was no sign of her. Thank goodness. The woman had the ears of a bat.
Some clever student had made apt use of Olivia Grant’s initials, and the name had stuck. Not that anyone could really blame the girls; the lady principal was rather ogre-ish: short, squat, sour-faced and sharp-tongued, all combined with a strict disciplinary style. Rather like a grumpy toad. Apparently, she was not beloved among the faculty, either. Concordia hoped to stay on the lady principal’s good side. If she had one.
By this point, Miss Pomeroy had calmed sufficiently for them all to leave. Everyone else had already gone, except for Dorothy Phillips, who was tidying the room, putting relics back in their cases, adjusting labels.
Good. Now she could go back to the cottage and get some work done. She followed Miss Pomeroy and Miss Jenkins to the door.
“Oh, Miss Wells?” Miss Phillips called out, before she could escape.
Drat. Concordia watched the others leave.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you if you share your father’s interest in Egyptology,” Miss Phillips continued.
“My father’s interest?” Concordia echoed blankly.
“Yes. In Egyptology,” Miss Phillips repeated carefully, as one would to a slow-witted child.
“Regretfully, he passed away more than a decade ago,” Concordia said. “He was never interested in Egypt, to my knowledge.”
“But wasn’t your father Dr. Randolph Wells?” Miss Phillips persisted.
“That’s right,” Concordia said, “he was an ancient Greek and Latin scholar, not an expert in Egypt.”
“Hmm. Dr. Wells did suspend his work in the field more than twenty years ago. No one knows why. Perhaps you were too young to remember. But growing up, you saw no displays of the artifacts he acquired? None of his writings? He never spoke of his early work?”
Concordia shrugged. Miss Phillips must have him confused with another Randolph Wells, surely? She remembered how enthusiastic her father had been about his study of early Greece and Rome. He certainly would not have been mute about a subject he loved. He never talked about pyramids, tombs, mummies, or anything of the sort.
“If you’re interested, I have a few articles of his among my books that I can show you. Just give me a few minutes to finish cleaning up first.”
“No, no—don’t trouble yourself, Miss Phillips. I really must go,” Concordia protested.
But Miss Phillips paid her no attention.
“Oh, no. Where is it?” Miss Phillips dropped to her hands and knees and crawled under the table, heedless of the dust collecting on her skirts. Concordia realized the professor was looking for something other than a scholarly article.
“What’s wrong?” Concordia asked.
“Perhaps he set it down…? Oh, this is awful. My first day as curator." Dorothy Phillips looked up in despair. “The heart amulet—it’s gone.”
purchase Unseemly Pursuits!
Also by K.B. Owen
Unseemly Pursuits, book 2 of the Concordia Wells Mysteries
Unseemly Ambition, book 3 of the Concordia Wells Mysteries
Unseemly Haste, book 4 of the Concordia Wells Mysteries
Beloved and Unseemly, book 5 of the Concordia Wells Mysteries
About the Author
K.B. Owen taught college English at universities in Connecticut and Washington, DC and holds a doctorate in 19th century British literature. A long-time mystery lover, she drew upon her teaching experiences in creating her amateur sleuth, Professor Concordia Wells. Dangerous and Unseemly is the first book of the series.
Contact:
@kbowenwriter
kbowenwriter2
kbowenmysteries.com
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Dangerous and Unseemly
book 1 of the Concordia Wells Mysteries
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Copyright © 2013 Kathleen Belin Owen
All rights reserved. This book and its contents are protected by U.S. copyright law and the laws of the nations in which it is published, sold, or distributed, and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed, in whole or in part, without permission from the author and/or publisher, except as expressly permitted under United States Copyright Law.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author and publisher.
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Cover design by Melinda VanLone, BookCoverCorner.com
ISBN: 978-0-9887880-9-1