Blind Alley - Iris Johansen [79]
“It won't.” Her mind was racing, trying to think of all the things she wanted to ask. “The theater. I want to know all about the theater at Herculaneum. All I could find on the Internet was a mention that it was famous. Nothing about Cira. Surely there has to be some mention somewhere if she was so famous.”
“Two thousand years, Jane.”
“Okay, then I want to know how she lived, the flavor of the time. . . .”
“Good God, I'm not a history buff and I'm going to have a few more things to do than—”
“Then do them. I just thought during your spare time you could— Forget it.”
He sighed. “I won't forget it. I'll give you what you want. You'll have to forgive me if I put Aldo first in priority.”
“I wouldn't forgive you if you didn't.” Her hand tightened on the phone. “Do you think he's seen the articles yet?”
“It depends how often he checks these Web sites. That's why we have to keep the insertions coming and building in intensity. If something catches his eye, he'll go back and see if he can find other references. But, dammit, we have to have something in Archaeology Journal to authenticate.”
“How soon?”
“Next week would be best. The week after if necessary. It doesn't have to be much. Just a short story and maybe a picture of the statue found with the skeleton.”
“What statue? That's just part of the big lie. We don't have a statue of Cira.”
He was silent. “I do.”
She stiffened. “What?”
“I bought it from the British collector Aldo sold it to. I made him an offer he couldn't refuse.”
“Why?”
“I wanted it.” He hurried on, “Anyway, we have a statue to use in the Archaeology Journal article if they'll use it.”
“I'm surprised you're willing to lend it. Isn't that dangerous for your plans of finding the gold? It's bound to attract more attention to Cira and her life. An article is one thing, but it's a visual-oriented world and a photo prods the imagination. Look at all that fuss the bust of Nefertiti caused.”
“I'll take my chances. You can bet the place I choose to stage Cira's reconstruction won't be anywhere near Julius Precebio's tunnel.”
“That goes without saying.” Jane was silent, and then asked, “Why did you want it?”
“It was mine, dammit. It was my favorite bust of Cira and I negotiated with Guido for it as part of my cut. Aldo stole it. It was mine.”
“The Italian government would give you an argument.”
“It was mine,” he repeated. “I'll call you tomorrow night at midnight. Good night, Jane.”
“Good night.” She hung up the phone and stared thoughtfully out at the lake. Cira again.
“I wanted it. It was mine.”
“Jane?” Eve called. “Are you through talking?”
“Yes.” She turned and went into the cottage. “But he didn't tell me much more than we knew from checking the Web sites. He's worried about Archaeology Journal but he said he'd handle it.”
“Then I'm sure he will. You can't fault his skill and dedication.”
“It was mine. Aldo stole it from me.”
“I believe the word's ‘obsession,' not ‘dedication,'” she murmured. “At any rate, he's going to call me back tomorrow night and maybe we'll learn more.”
Dahlonega, Georgia
Two days later
Cira?
Aldo stiffened as his gaze flew over the words in the Florence newspaper. Only a few lines but they were enough to rivet his attention and take his breath away.
A woman's skeleton entombed and preserved for the ages.
He closed his eyes as fear surged through him in an icy tide. His worst nightmare.
If it was true. If the woman was Cira.
But it could be Cira. Found in an anteroom of the ancient theater, and what other actress had so many statues commissioned of her?
He opened his eyes, his gaze scanning the article. Be sure. Check all sources. He started jumping from site to site.
There it was again. Rome.
Maybe. Don't get too excited. This article referred to rumors of a find but no details. Nothing in Archaeology Journal.
Perhaps it wasn't true.
But if it was true then he had to face it. It wasn't only a bunch of fragile bones lying waiting for centuries to be laid to rest. It was that Medusa who