Last Breath

“She is the best trained dog I’ve ever seen,” Co

“Do you think one of Damien Cross’s relatives will want her?”

“I guess that’s always a possibility.” Co

Sweet Thing wagged her tail and licked Daria’s bare leg below the cuff of her shorts.

“I love her. It’s going to be tough to give her up,” Daria admitted. She opened the front door and held it for Co

When she and the dog had entered the house, Co

“Good point.” Daria locked the door and followed Co

She took plates down from the cupboard and placed them across from each other on the table.

“Knife? Fork?” She paused, her hand on the drawer where the flatware was kept.

“For pizza?” He frowned. “What’s the point?”

“Well, you never know. My sister ca

“That’s why napkins were invented.”

“I don’t think we have napkins, but I do have paper towels.” She ripped a few sheets from the roll and folded them.

“We do need forks for the salad, though,” Co

“I can use anything. Or nothing, for that matter.” Daria brought two bottles of water and two forks to the table. “God, that smells so good. I didn’t realize how hungry I am.”

“Dig in,” he told her, and she did just that.

“How did you know I love pepperoni?”

“There were too many choices, so I went with an old standard.”

“This is really good, Co

“I guess you don’t get much practice.”

“Every dig I’ve been on for I don’t know how many years has always had a cook. Meals were always prepared for us, three times a day. I guess maybe you’re the same, since you travel a lot?”

“I’m a pretty good cook.” He gri

“Maybe while you’re here, I’ll get to judge just how good you are.”

“Count on it.”

“Feel free. My kitchen is your kitchen.”

“I’ll remember that.” He nodded. “So you had a good day, did you?”

“I had a great day. I feel guilty about having such a wonderful day in light of everything that’s happened. I can’t stop thinking about how those people died, and all because of the art objects they bought. Objects that have a direct tie to me. To my family. And yet, just to see these artifacts in the state in which they were discovered…” She shivered slightly, a look of awe on her face. “To see a statue that’s wrapped and crated, standing where it had originally stood, centuries ago, in a temple wall. Inside one of those wooden crates is a golden diadem that the photos show was taken from the wrapped remains of a woman who had died over two thousand years ago. Unfortunately, her remains were left behind, so we don’t know anything about her, except that she was wealthy enough or important enough to have owned this wonderful golden crown.”

“Maybe she was the queen of Shandihar. You said it was a matriarchal society.”

“I don’t think they had royalty the way we think of it. I think the priestesses were the only ‘royalty’ in this society. Maybe by studying the artifacts I’ll learn more about the culture.” She sighed. “That’s one of the problems with removing artifacts from their place of origin without taking into consideration the context. I know from reading Alistair’s journals that he felt he was way ahead of others of his time in trying to preserve as much as possible.”

“That’s why he had a photographer along with him, why he wanted so many pictures taken.”

“Absolutely, and that was brilliant on his part, to use the latest technology in that way. Modern archaeologists might argue with some of his other methods, but he was ahead of his time in that regard. Much of what we’ll learn about Shandihar, we’ll learn from studying the photos.”

“Photography being what it was back then, it must have taken forever to take them all.”

Daria nodded. “I really admire my great-grandfather for having the patience to wait while each piece was photographed several times before he moved it. I can only imagine how his hands must have been itching to touch, to hold…but he did the right thing. The photographs taken in context along with his journals and his letters to my great-grandmother give us a picture of this expedition that is pretty much unheard of for that time.”

“I’ll bet it would make a fascinating book,” Co

“That’s exactly what Louise is hoping for.” Daria gri

“You can’t blame her. She’s faced with a daunting task.”

“I don’t blame her. My first reaction was, this is history, these were real people with real lives, and I’m not sure we should be profiting from them.” Daria sipped her water. “On the other hand, it’s nothing that museums and galleries don’t do all the time. And if the university is to keep going, they’ll have to use whatever resources they have. Alistair’s find is a fantastic resource. It wouldn’t make sense not to capitalize on it.”

She opened a foil pack of dressing and drizzled it on her salad.

“So what did you learn today that you didn’t know this morning?” she asked.

“I learned that Cavanaugh will be back in town by the end of the week, and will meet with me then. He said he didn’t want to discuss his dealings on the phone, especially since he had no way of knowing whether or not I was who I said I was. Smart on his part, actually.”

Daria nodded. “Especially in light of what’s been happening to people with a co

“Yes, but again, he declined to talk about it on the phone. So we’ll see what he has to say when we sit down with him.”

“We? I get to go with you?”

“You know more about these artifacts than I do. I think we’ll learn more if you’re along.”

“Great.”

“I’m having a report run on Casper Fe

“You think he was the one who stole the items in the first place?”

“I think he’s the place to start.”

“You’ve been busy. Anything else?”

“I learned that Madeline Cathcart of Marion, Massachusetts, is alive and well and under guard at this very moment,” he told her. “And I had the computers from all of the victims confiscated and sent to my office for our computer whiz to check out.”

“You think maybe they were contacted by the killer?”

“It’s worth a look.” He shrugged. “You never know what you’ll find, or what you’ll learn about a person when you start following their footsteps down the old information highway. Polly is still interviewing Mrs. Cathcart. If anyone has contacted her, we’ll know who, and how the contact was made. She called to let me know she was at the house and Mrs. Cathcart was unharmed, and the cylinder was still in her possession.” He paused, then asked, “What exactly is this cylinder, anyway?”

“It’s like a regular cylinder. Thin, hollow tube?” When he nodded, she said, “But this one is made out of clay. When the clay was wet, someone-probably a scribe-wrote on the cylinder. It could contain a description of an event or a person, or a story, or it could even contain laws or customs.”