Bound For Eternity

by Sarah Wisseman

  I needed to get more familiar with the entire database, but right now I wanted to learn the search capabilities of the program. I would look up the plaster cartonnage I'd seen with Marion, but first I wanted a listing of all the Egyptian artifacts in the museum, so I typed in "Egypt" in the country field. The computer returned three hundred and five records, all with different registration numbers but only two years of acquisition, 1924 and 1987.

  How many lots? I'd have to check with Ginny, but it looked like three lots in 1924 and four lots in 1987. That meant Egyptian artifacts were acquired on seven separate occasions during those two calendar years. What would happen if I searched by material under "artifact specifics"? I was about to key in "ceramic" when Ginny's quick footsteps sounded behind me.

  "Ginny, can you show me how to..." I began.

  "There you are. I thought you were coming at three-thirty." Ginny loomed over me.

  "I needed a break from my exhibit outline, so I came down early. I was just trying to find Egyptian ceramics, but the lot numbers are confusing."

  "You really should have waited for me. Well, move over, and I'll show you." Ginny yanked over another chair as I moved my chair sideways. Her slender hands took possession of the keyboard. Several more records appeared in different windows.

  "See, the lot numbers can be tracked separately so you can pull an entire acquisition for a specific month and year and sort it any way you'd like."

  I tried to follow what she was doing, but Ginny moved so fast that it was difficult. I found it nearly impossible to learn new computer skills just by watching- I needed to be the one wielding the mouse. Abruptly, Ginny switched to a different culture to illustrate her point, and I couldn't remember what I planned to do next.

  As the lesson went on, I realized that the impression of chaos was deceptive. Ginny knew exactly where everything was, both on the computer and in the piles of old records stacked on the desks. She really was a very good registrar.

  "Ginny, how long have you been here?" I asked, hoping to get her talking.

  Ginny smiled cynically. "Too long. I started with Dr. Parker in 1982."

  "Were you in another museum before that?"

  "Nope. I was a pampered housewife. Then things changed...I needed the money."

  That was interesting. But she wasn't offering any details, so I tried another tack. "You have family in Boston, don't you?"

  "My mother's in a nursing home in Wellesley," Ginny replied. "That's where I go on Wednesdays. It costs the earth."

  "Where's your brother now?"

  "Michael? He's on the verge of losing his job-again." Now she looked disgusted. She actually stopped typing. "He's thirty-five going on eighteen. He's a pianist, trying to keep himself by playing in piano bars. But the patrons would rather get drunk than listen to his kind of music, and he refuses to play what he calls 'elevator music.' So he gets fired. I don't think he'll ever be self-sufficient. And he keeps asking for handouts." She shook her head. "I can't afford hand-outs-maybe I should have become an accountant instead of a museum registrar." Ginny reached for her next file, clearly impatient to get back to work.

  "I've got a dad on the Cape..." I began, but I saw that Ginny was no longer paying attention. "Well, thanks for the lesson."

  "You're welcome." Ginny was fathoms deep by now and didn't even look up as I headed for the elevator.

  ? ? ? ?

  Back in my office, I was tidying up to go home, when Carl appeared.

  He strolled in, looking at the pottery books on my shelf. He pulled out Prudence Rice's book on Pottery Analysis. "Can I borrow this?"

  "Sure. But please keep it in the building. That's one of my bibles."

  "Yeah. It's good." He flipped through the book, clearly stalling. "So, you're doing the Egyptian exhibit."

  "Yes. Victor thought you had enough on your plate already and..."

  "Don't forget, it was my idea." His expression was surly.

  "I haven't forgotten. Maybe you can give me a hand once the Pueblo exhibit is up."

  Carl looked surprised at my offer, and his swarthy face brightened. "Okay. You know those cool blacktopped Amratian vases? We could do a panel on the firing technology. You know, how they buried them during the firing-upside down so the bottoms would be oxidized to red and the tops burned black."

  "Yeah, we have some of the best examples of that pottery in the country. We could tie them to Petrie's use of stratigraphy." I thought about it. "The new exhibit is primarily about burial customs, but I don't see why we can't do some reinstallation of other parts of the gallery at the same time."

  We sat down together and traded ideas for fifteen minutes or so. It was friendly, just like old times. I was relieved that he wasn't holding the Egyptian assignment against me.

  But I had relaxed too soon. As Carl was leaving, he turned around.

  "So, are you and Victor having a little fun on the side?" His mouth twisted in a sneer.

  My jaw dropped as I realized that Carl thought the only way I had gotten the assignment was to sleep with the boss.

  "Get your mind out of the gutter! I would never get involved with my boss!"

  "Ha! You mean you're better than our Miss Susie?"

  As if on cue, Susie came in, and Carl left after favoring both of us with a black look.

  "What was all that about?" asked Susie, perching her gorgeous self on the edge of my desk.

  "He thinks because I got the Egyptian exhibit, I must be sleeping with Victor."

  Susie stared. "That bastard! And that remark about me implied that I..."

  "Yup."

  "Well, I'm not-not yet." Susie didn't seem to mind displaying her aspirations to the rest of the staff. "But I'm working on it." She looked kindly at me. "Don't pay any attention to Carl. He's worried about his job."

  "I know the feeling," I replied gloomily.

  Susie winked as she slid gracefully off the desk and turned to go. "I wouldn't worry, if I were you. See you tomorrow, Lisa."

  And what did that mean, exactly? Today Susie reminded me more of a house-cat than a tiger. Plump and shiny, with well-licked fur. Accustomed to the very best cream and totally independent.

  See? I'm beautiful and I know it. You can be my friend if you like, but don't get in my way-ever.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE SLICER

  I went home alone, since Emma had a group piano lesson and I wasn't the car pool mom tonight. The mom of Emma's best friend, Caitlin, was doing the honors.

  It was getting dark earlier. I hated the change to daylight savings in the fall. I was a full-sun plant; I needed light. Coming home to a darkened apartment depressed me.

  Lugging two bags of groceries, I climbed the stairs since the elevator was out- again. I was looking forward to a glass of Lindeman's Chardonnay and a little peace and quiet before Emma arrived.

  Oh, no.

  The wood-paneled door was wide open. It looked like the lock had been forced.

  Adrenaline surging, I remembered everything I'd heard about break-ins in one quick flash, especially "don't go in, call the police."

  I banged on Magdalena's door, but no one answered. There was no one else on this floor, so I ran upstairs to the Abbott's apartment.

  Jean Abbott answered my frantic knock. "What is it, dear? You look upset."

  "Someone's been in our apartment. Can I use your phone to call the police?"

  Clucking sympathetically, my white-haired neighbor motioned to an ancient rotary phone, and I dialed 911. Then I asked Jean if she had heard any noise from my apartment downstairs, but she had been out shopping. I thanked her, and hurried downstairs to meet the police.

  A squad car pulled up seven minutes later-pretty good for rush hour in Boston. A burly officer led the way up, and made me wait in my doorway while he checked out the interior.

  "You can come in now, miss, but it's quite a mess."

  Beating back my apprehension, I entered my living room and gasped at the devastation. All the cushions were tossed
, my favorite Arts and Crafts lamp was lying shattered on the floor, and books were spilling out of the bookcase.

  I walked fearfully into the bedroom, and opened my bureau drawer. Nothing was missing there, but my freshwater pearl earrings and a gold necklace were gone from the little Chinese lacquered box. Quickly I checked the hanging jewelry case in my closet for my mother's heirloom jewelry. Thankfully, the thief had missed the really valuable items-perhaps he hadn't had enough time.

  I groaned as I discovered the TV and VCR were gone-no Sesame Street for Emma! Then I discovered my desk had been ravaged. My laptop! Then I remembered I'd left the laptop at work. All my crucial files were on it, with backups on the museum computer.

  The officer asked me to make a list of missing items. As he was ready to leave, I remembered something.

  "Officer? I don't know if there's a connection, but I saw a man across the street a few nights ago, and he seemed to be watching this building. It was the second time I'd seen him."

  He asked me a few questions, and then left after promising to call if they discovered anything.

  I stood motionless in the almost intact kitchen, wondering when reaction was going to hit me. Carefully, I poured myself a glass of California Merlot (the chardonnay was mysteriously depleted), and then put it down without tasting it. I had better put things back in order before Emma came home.

  Suddenly I panicked. Oreo! Had he gotten outside, or was he hiding? I ran into my bedroom, calling for him. No cat. Then, as I started down the hall to Emma's room, I heard a faint "meow?"

  A black and white whiskered head peered cautiously around the bathroom door. I sank down on the floor in relief, and the cat came to me. Burying my face in his soft fur, I let the fear and anger wash over me. Oreo crouched cautiously in my arms. He didn't start purring for at least five minutes, a sure indication that he'd been scared by the intruder.

  Finally, I got up. "You fail as a Watch Cat. Let's clean up."

  ? ? ? ?

  By six-thirty when Emma arrived, I had restored most of the apartment except for my own bedroom. Magdalena had called, offering to feed Emma supper and let her watch cartoons in her apartment so I could relax a little.

  Deferring explanations until later, I sent Emma down the hall to Magda's and put on some black bean soup to heat. I looked for cheddar cheese in the fridge, but there wasn't any left. Grabbing a couple of Wheat Thins to munch on, I stretched my legs out on the ottoman, intending to read the paper, but Oreo immediately jumped up on my stomach.

  Darn cat!

  He gave me his cat smile (I never believed people who said cats don't have facial expressions).

  I eyed my feline companion with some trepidation. Oreo had recently started pissing on the bath mat. He was probably just being contrary, but the robbery could make him develop a permanent habit.

  "What did you see today, chum?"

  Oreo gazed soulfully at me, dug his front claws into my stomach, and began to circle. To him, I was just heated cat furniture or a human waterbed. Tom used to say I was an abused woman-any damn cat could walk all over me. With a martyred air, I snapped the paper open above his head. I had just started on Dave Trendall's article entitled "X-ray vision: Local Museum examines a Mummy" when the phone rang. I dumped the cat and the paper and made it to the phone on the third ring.

  "Hello?"

  "Lisa? This is James Barber."

  I could feel my face flushing at the sound of his voice.

  "Hi, James. Thanks for looking over the X-rays with me."

  "No problem, I enjoyed it."

  He sounded a bit tentative. Shy, maybe? It was up to me to make him glad he'd called. I stood up straighter, as if he could see me, and tightened my grip on the phone.

  "If I don't sound properly grateful, it's because my apartment just got robbed."

  "Gosh, are you okay?" James sounded genuinely concerned.

  I felt a glow deep down. "Yes, I'm okay, and Emma didn't come home with me so she missed most of the devastation. To her, what will really matter is that the TV is gone."

  "I can just imagine what that would do to Sam. Do the police have any leads?"

  "No. It looks like the usual break-in. TV, VCR, and a little jewelry. And whoever it was tossed my desk." I described what was missing.

  "Got anything in your files someone else might want?"

  "I don't think so." There was a pause while James digested this.

  "Hmm. Could there be a connection with Marion's murder?"

  My stomach sank. "Maybe. It is really strange that the thief went through my desk when the really valuable item-my laptop-wasn't there."

  "Maybe he was pissed that the computer wasn't there and that's why he tossed your desk. Or maybe he really was looking for something written."

  "Yeah, I'd be more suspicious if my files were missing, but they aren't. But I will tell McEwan about it." We talked about the police investigation, and then James changed the subject.

  "The reason I called-the thing is, Sam's been talking about your Emma, and wants to have her over to play. I thought maybe this Saturday?"

  I struggled to keep my voice from sounding too eager. "Saturday? I think that would work. Emma's mentioned Sam several times. But she has a dentist appointment in the morning."

  "Could she come after lunch? I was thinking of taking them both to the park. There's a nice playground-with old fashioned slides and a jungle gym, not all this new-fangled red plastic stuff."

  "And one of those push merry-go-rounds?"

  "Yep. The works-all the dangerous stuff daycare centers won't allow because of possible lawsuits."

  I could hear the grin in his voice. "She'd like that. Where do you live?"

  James gave me directions to his place in north Brookline, and his phone number. "Call me if you get any more intruders, as late as you like. I'm a night owl."

  I promised I would, and did a little jig around the living room. Sam might want to see Emma, but James wanted to see me! The play date was just an excuse.

  But I'll have to tell Ellen!

  My little dance stopped abruptly. Ellen was a good friend, and the only person on the museum staff I really liked. I hadn't had the impression that Ellen had been serious about James, but I'd been afraid to ask.

  Best friends don't swipe each other's guys.

  Technically, James wasn't Ellen's guy anymore. But it looked very much like I was the "someone else," and Ellen would be hurt.

  How would I feel if Ellen started dating someone I had been seeing? Not good, but it wouldn't kill our friendship-unless she was sneaky about it.

  I was being sneaky. James was behaving honorably; he had told Ellen he wanted to stop dating her because he'd met someone new.

  But it was my job to tell Ellen that the new woman was her best friend...me.

  There was a knock on the door, the rat-a-tat-tat that was Emma's special signal. I opened the door.

  "Mommy! Magda made macaroni-and-cheese." She stopped abruptly. "Where's the TV?"

  I pulled her close. "Someone took it, honey. We were robbed."

  Emma pushed back so she could see my face. "Were you scared, Mommy?"

  "A little. But a nice policeman came, and he'll do his best to catch the guy who did it. And none of your stuff was taken."

  "That's good," said Emma matter-of-factly. "Can you read me a story now?"

  CHAPTER 13

  FIRST INTERMEDIATE PERIOD

  James opened the door.

  "Hi, come on in." He looked relaxed after an afternoon outside in the sun and wind. Sam and Emma deeply involved in some game near the stereo; they hadn't even waited to take off their coats. "We just got back."

  He looked at me hopefully. "Do you want to stay for a beer?"

  "Sure, I'd love to." I turned to my offspring. "Emma, I'm going to stay awhile. Let me take your coat off." I separated my wriggling child with some difficulty from her red jacket and dropped it on a nearby chair. Emma hardly noticed; she was so busy playing.

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