Dance Of Death

"So how are things at the museum?" he asked. "You whipping them into shape over that new show?"

"I'm only the junior curator, which means I'm mostly a whippee."

"Ouch."

"Here we are, six days from opening, and a quarter of the artifacts haven't even been mounted yet. It's a zoo. I've got only one more day to write label copy for thirty objects, and then I have to curate and organize an entire exhibit on Anasazi burial practices. And just today they said they want me to give a lecture on southwestern prehistory for the lecture series. Can you believe it? Thirteen thousand years of southwestern prehistory in ninety minutes, complete with slides." She took another bite.

"They're asking too much of you, Nora."

"Everybody's in the same boat. Sacred Images is the biggest thing to hit the museum in years. And on top of that, the geniuses that run the place have decided to upgrade the museum's security system. You remember what happened with the security system the last time they had a blockbuster exhibition? You know, Superstition?"

"Oh, God. Don't remind me."

"They don't want even the possibility of a repetition. Except that every time they upgrade the security for a new hall, they have to shut and lock the damn place down. It's impossible to get around-you never know what's going to be closed off. The bright side is that in six days it'll be over."

"Yeah, and then we'll be ready for another vacation."

"Or a stretch in a padded cell."

"We'll always have Angkor," Smithback intoned dramatically.

Nora laughed, squeezed his hand. "And how's the Duchamp story going?"

"Terrible. The homicide captain in charge is a woman named Hayward, a real ballbuster. Runs a tight ship. No leaks anywhere. I can't get a scoop to save my life."

"I'm sorry, Bill."

"Nora Kelly?"

A voice broke in, vaguely familiar. Smithback looked up to see a woman approaching their table-small, intense, brown hair, glasses. He froze in astonishment, and so did she. They stared at each other in silence.

Suddenly, she smiled. "Bill?"

Smithback gri

"GeneDyne. I was, but corporate life wasn't for me. Great money, but no fulfillment. So now I'm back at the museum."

"I had no idea."

"Just started six weeks ago. And you?"

"Wrote a few more books, as you probably know. I'm now at the Times. Got back from my honeymoon just a few weeks ago."

"Congratulations. Guess that means you won't be calling me Lotus Blossom anymore. I assume this is the lucky woman?"

"She sure is. Nora, meet an old friend of mine, Margo Green. Nora works at the museum, too."

"I know." Margo turned. "In fact, Bill, no offense, but I was actually looking for her, not you." She stretched out her hand. "Perhaps you don't remember, Dr. Kelly, but I'm the new editor of Museology. We met at the last departmental meeting."

Nora returned the handshake. "Of course. I read all about you in Bill's book Relic. How are things?"

"May I sit down?"

"To tell you the truth, we…" Nora's voice trailed off as Margo took a seat.

"I'll only be here for a moment."

Smithback stared. Margo Green. It seemed like another lifetime, it was so long ago. She hadn't changed much, except that maybe she seemed more relaxed, more confident. Still trim and athletic. She was wearing an expensive tailored suit, a far cry from the baggy L. L. Bean shirts and Levi's of her graduate student days. He glanced down at his own Hugo Boss suit. They had all grown up a little.

"I can't believe it," he said. "Two heroines from my books, together for the first time."

Margo cocked her head questioningly. "Oh, really? How's that?"

"Nora was the heroine of my book Thunderhead."

"Oh. Sorry. Haven't read it."

Smithback kept smiling gamely. "What's it like to be back at the museum?"

"It's changed a lot since we were first there."

Smithback felt Nora's gaze upon him. He wondered if she assumed Margo was an old girlfriend and that perhaps there were certain salty things he'd left out of his memoirs.

"Seems like ages ago," Margo went on.

"It was ages ago."

"I often wonder what happened to Lavinia Rickman and Dr. Cuthbert."

"No doubt there's a special circle of hell reserved for those two."

Margo chuckled. "What about that cop D'Agosta? And Agent Pendergast?"

"Don't know about D'Agosta," Smithback said. "But the word around the Times foreign desk is that Pendergast went missing under mysterious circumstances a few months ago. Flew to Italy on assignment and never came back."

A shocked look came over Margo's face. "Really? How strange."

A brief silence settled over the table.

"Anyway," Margo resumed, turning once again to Nora, "I wanted to ask your help."

"Sure," Nora said. "What is it?"

"I'm about to publish an editorial on the importance of repatriating Great Kiva masks to the Tano tribe. You know about their request?"

"I do. I've also read the editorial. It's circulating the department in draft."

"Naturally, I've run into opposition from the museum administration, Collopy in particular. I've started contacting all the members of the Anthropology Department to see if I can build a united front. The independence of Museology must be maintained, and those masks must be returned. We've got to be together on this as a department."

"What is it you want me to do?" asked Nora.

"I'm not circulating a petition or anything quite so overt. I'm just asking for informal support from members of the department if it comes to a showdown. A verbal assurance. That's all."

Smithback gri

"Just a minute," Nora said.

Smithback fell silent, surprised at the sharp tone.

"Margo was speaking to me," Nora said dryly.

"Right." Smithback hastily smoothed down an unrepentant cowlick and retreated to his drink.

Nora turned to Margo with a rather chilly smile. "I'm sorry, I won't be able to help."

Smithback stared from Nora to Margo in surprise.

"May I ask why not?" Margo asked calmly.

"Because I don't agree with you."

"But it's obvious that those Great Kiva masks belong to the Tanos-"

Nora held up a hand. "Margo, I am thoroughly familiar with them and with your arguments. In one sense, you're right. They belonged to the Tano and they shouldn't have been collected. But now they belong to all of humanity-they've become a part of the human record. What's more, taking those masks out of the Sacred Images exhibition would be devastating this late in the game-and I'm one of the curators of the show. Finally, I'm a southwestern archaeologist by training. If we started giving back every sacred item in the museum, there'd be nothing left. Everything is sacred to Native Americans-that's one of the beautiful things about Native American culture." She paused. "Look, what's done is done, the world is the way it is, and not all wrongs can be righted. I'm sorry I can't give you a better answer, but there it is. I have to be honest."