The Mask of Atreus by A. J. Hartley Page A
Authors: A. J. Hartley
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Fiction - Mystery, Antiquities, greece, Theft from museums, Museum curators
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voices was louder than the other. Cerniga? No, Keene.
You should ignore it, she thought. You've done enough snooping.
The hand dryer died with a descending whir, and the voices got clearer.
"That's what you say," Keene roared. "How the hell would I know?"
A muttered response from Cerniga, inaudible, and a single bark of laughter from Keene in reply. Then Cerniga was murmuring again, but Deborah couldn't catch the words. On impulse, she reached out and snapped off the light switch. The room was plunged into total darkness and a new silence as the extractor fan stopped. Cerniga's voice, slightly metallic from the echo of the vent, coiled out softly like smoke.
"I've already told you," he said, cool but irritated. "If you have a problem with it, talk to your captain."
86
A. J. Hartley
"I already did that," Keene shouted back, "and you know how far it got me."
"Then that's the end of it, isn't it?" said Cerniga.
"No, it damn well isn't," said Keene. "You transferred from Henry County? I called them this morning, and no one there has ever heard of you. No one."
Deborah suddenly felt cold and uncertain in the dark. The hair on her neck was prickling again as it had when she had smelled the cologne and pipe smoke at the door to her apartment.
"Your captain gave you the order to work with me," said Cerniga. His voice was steely now, as if he was restraining a great anger. "If you have a problem with it, you should take it up with him."
"Are you even a cop?" said Keene. "I saw the look on your face when I gave you those forms. You've never filled out anything like them before. I wanna see your badge."
And then someone was pulling on the bathroom door from outside, and Deborah heard no more.
CHAPTER 19
It was Tonya.
"I'm sorry," she said, not sounding so till she registered something in Deborah's ashen face. "I didn't see the light under the door so I assumed . . . Are you OK? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"It's OK," said Deborah. "I was just . . . I'm a little tired. It's been a rough couple of days. I think I'm going to . . ."
But she didn't know what she was going to do. She waved a hand vaguely and tried to smile, but the concern in Tonya's face said she wasn't pulling it off.
"You need something?"
"No, really."
"You want me to get the cops down . . . ?"
"No," said Deborah, more urgently than she had meant. "I mean . . . No. It's fine. I'll talk to you later."
And then she was walking away, down the hall, away from the staircase up to Richard's study, and down to the museum. Her pace quickened with her resolve, and by the time she was passing those ghastly specimens of Victorian taxidermy, she was almost running. She ducked into the museum office, opened the safe, and removed her passport. In two minutes she was in the lobby with the T. rex and the dragon-lady ship prow. In four she was in her car and driving away. Her cell phone was switched off, and she left it like that. She just needed to go home or at least back to her hotel. Get some sleep. Clear her head.
That won't change what you heard through the vent. That was true enough, she thought as she pulled through the lights at Buford Highway and moved toward the interstate, 88
A. J. Hartley
but maybe what she had heard would somehow make sense if she could put a little distance between herself and the museum with its strange treasures. She just needed a little time to herself.
As she turned onto I-85 heading south toward midtown, she was startled by a squeal of tires on the road behind her. She checked her mirror in time to see a dark van tear through the signal at the top of the ramp and come pelting down after her.
Atlanta drivers, she thought. Always ready to risk life and limb to get home five minutes early.
She stayed in the right lane to give him room, and wondered where to go. She had instinctively begun to head home, moving away from the Holiday Inn, which was too close to the museum. Too close to Cerniga and Keene.
Maybe I'll just
You should ignore it, she thought. You've done enough snooping.
The hand dryer died with a descending whir, and the voices got clearer.
"That's what you say," Keene roared. "How the hell would I know?"
A muttered response from Cerniga, inaudible, and a single bark of laughter from Keene in reply. Then Cerniga was murmuring again, but Deborah couldn't catch the words. On impulse, she reached out and snapped off the light switch. The room was plunged into total darkness and a new silence as the extractor fan stopped. Cerniga's voice, slightly metallic from the echo of the vent, coiled out softly like smoke.
"I've already told you," he said, cool but irritated. "If you have a problem with it, talk to your captain."
86
A. J. Hartley
"I already did that," Keene shouted back, "and you know how far it got me."
"Then that's the end of it, isn't it?" said Cerniga.
"No, it damn well isn't," said Keene. "You transferred from Henry County? I called them this morning, and no one there has ever heard of you. No one."
Deborah suddenly felt cold and uncertain in the dark. The hair on her neck was prickling again as it had when she had smelled the cologne and pipe smoke at the door to her apartment.
"Your captain gave you the order to work with me," said Cerniga. His voice was steely now, as if he was restraining a great anger. "If you have a problem with it, you should take it up with him."
"Are you even a cop?" said Keene. "I saw the look on your face when I gave you those forms. You've never filled out anything like them before. I wanna see your badge."
And then someone was pulling on the bathroom door from outside, and Deborah heard no more.
CHAPTER 19
It was Tonya.
"I'm sorry," she said, not sounding so till she registered something in Deborah's ashen face. "I didn't see the light under the door so I assumed . . . Are you OK? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"It's OK," said Deborah. "I was just . . . I'm a little tired. It's been a rough couple of days. I think I'm going to . . ."
But she didn't know what she was going to do. She waved a hand vaguely and tried to smile, but the concern in Tonya's face said she wasn't pulling it off.
"You need something?"
"No, really."
"You want me to get the cops down . . . ?"
"No," said Deborah, more urgently than she had meant. "I mean . . . No. It's fine. I'll talk to you later."
And then she was walking away, down the hall, away from the staircase up to Richard's study, and down to the museum. Her pace quickened with her resolve, and by the time she was passing those ghastly specimens of Victorian taxidermy, she was almost running. She ducked into the museum office, opened the safe, and removed her passport. In two minutes she was in the lobby with the T. rex and the dragon-lady ship prow. In four she was in her car and driving away. Her cell phone was switched off, and she left it like that. She just needed to go home or at least back to her hotel. Get some sleep. Clear her head.
That won't change what you heard through the vent. That was true enough, she thought as she pulled through the lights at Buford Highway and moved toward the interstate, 88
A. J. Hartley
but maybe what she had heard would somehow make sense if she could put a little distance between herself and the museum with its strange treasures. She just needed a little time to herself.
As she turned onto I-85 heading south toward midtown, she was startled by a squeal of tires on the road behind her. She checked her mirror in time to see a dark van tear through the signal at the top of the ramp and come pelting down after her.
Atlanta drivers, she thought. Always ready to risk life and limb to get home five minutes early.
She stayed in the right lane to give him room, and wondered where to go. She had instinctively begun to head home, moving away from the Holiday Inn, which was too close to the museum. Too close to Cerniga and Keene.
Maybe I'll just
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