“I wanted you to meet Dr. Connor Digby, our newest curator.”

The man took a step forward. He had a square jaw and classic Ivy League good looks, with a blue blazer, khaki pants, and a repp tie to match. He held out his hand with a brilliant smile.

“Nora Kelly,” she said, taking it. “Pleased to meet you, Connor.” She maintained her smile. She hadn’t been aware that appropriation had been made for another curatorial salary, although God knew the Institute could use the manpower.

“Connor is an authority on the Mogollon culture and did his fieldwork at the Casas Grandes site in Mexico.” Weingrau continued, “Nora is our resident expert in the ancient Pueblo culture of the Southwest, and she also has extensive experience in historical archaeology, in both California and New York. I’m sure you will find you have a lot of interests in common.”

“I’m sure we will,” said Digby.

“Connor has just finished up working in Mexico for INAH,” Weingrau said. “He’ll be joining the Institute as a senior curator.”

Senior curator? Suddenly things made more sense. That was her current title: if she got the promotion, that would leave an opening. So Digby would move into her current job. Did this mean she was getting the promotion? She tried to control her facial expression, remain calm and collected, not think too far ahead.

“Please, have a seat.”

They sat in leather chairs on either side of Weingrau’s desk.

Weingrau went on to describe Nora’s work with the Institute, and then she explained to Nora in more detail Digby’s experience and background, what he’d be doing, and why he’d be useful at this critical time in the Institute’s history.

Nora listened, waiting to hear about her promotion and wondering to herself how the curators would feel about Digby being brought in for a senior position from the outside. But as Weingrau went on, describing how the two of them were going to collaborate, Nora began to realize that talk of the promotion might not be on this meeting’s agenda, after all.

Now Weingrau was describing the office Digby was to have—next to hers, an office that had been vacant for a while. Nora would be glad, Weingrau knew, to show him around, introduce him to the others in the dirt herd, and help make space for him in the lab. She concluded: “You two will be working closely together. Not on the same projects, of course, but I imagine you’ll find areas of synergy.”

Smile plastered on her face, Nora nodded, careful to keep looking interested. But a new and disagreeable thought had just occurred to her. Did this mean that, instead of getting a replacement for her old job, she now had a rival for the promotion to chief ? But no, that wasn’t possible: even in the current political climate, promotions were largely based on merit and seniority. She had far more experience than Digby, had published a great deal more, and was at least five years older than him—she’d have to check his CV. Besides, there were her many years of service to the Institute to consider. She was just being paranoid … these days, not necessarily a bad thing.

Finally the meeting came to an end. Digby rose, shook her hand again, and went off to get a tour of the storage rooms. As Nora rose to leave, Weingrau asked, “And what was it you wanted to see me about?”

Christ, Nora had almost forgotten. “It wasn’t anything really important,” she said. “I went up to the site I mentioned yesterday—the one the FBI want excavated? It’s way out in the Azul Mountains. It’s a difficult location, and it’s going to take two more days of work. Will it be all right if I complete it? Bruce Adelsky has got the Tsankawi excavation well in hand. Skip will join me, if you can spare him from the institute.”

“Of course,” said Weingrau. “Take the days—even more if you need them. This is just the sort of thing we should be doing to help rehabilitate our image with the community. Thank goodness,” she added, “that we now have Connor to take up the slack.”

Nora left the office with that last sentence ringing in her mind.

10

CORRIE WAS SURPRISED when Morwood readily agreed to her proposal—until it occurred to her that maybe he was just happy to get her out of the office for a couple of days. If that was the case, so be it: she’d treat this case as if it were the most important in the world, and not betray a hint of the dismay and frustration she felt. Nora had worked things out with her assistant, Adelsky, and saw to it he had a list of assignments that would keep him busy running the dig for at least a couple of days.

They had returned to the ghost town two evenings before, with all the necessary gear and food. Nora had worked from dawn until dusk the following day and had been at it again that morning at six. By sunset she’d finished uncovering the body and the surrounding basement floor. Now, at ten that night, they were sitting around a pleasant fire after consuming a well-earned steak dinner. Nora was an experienced camper, and her brother, Skip, had come along to cook, tend the camp, and provide musical entertainment. Corrie found him a decent enough guy, tall and gangly with an unruly mop of brown hair, poorly cut. He was an excellent cook, and the tents he set up were as tight as a drum. Corrie liked how he fussed around camp, making sure everything was perfect. And while his guitar strumming and renditions of old cowboy songs weren’t likely to get him a recording contract, Corrie found it nice to be out there, under a bowl of stars by a dying fire, listening to unfamiliar melodies on an out-of-tune Gibson. His most endearing quality, Corrie thought, was an insatiable curiosity, and once he’d heard the story about the miners who had died trapped in the cave-in, he wouldn’t rest until he’d visited the ruined cemetery, examined every tombstone, and asked dozens of questions, most of which Corrie couldn’t answer.