Heather Graham - The Dead Room

“Of course,” Brad agreed. Leslie thought he sounded skeptical, but Brad de facto disliked anyone who worked for a development company.

“Then,” Greta reminded Hank, “there were the records we found at the Morgan Library. Records that indicated a church had stood on the spot before it burned to the ground. At the time, this area was heavily populated with immigrant families, struggling to get by. Up the street, there was once a Catholic church. Down this way, there was another Episcopal church, not to mention Trinity and St. Paul’s. Remember, everyone went to church in those days.”

“Right, Greta. Anyway,” Hank said, flashing a grin at Professor Laymon, “the decision was made that our good friend here should head the project, and all work has been stopped, the areas where the finds were made have been cordoned off, and you’re all set to go. And—” he offered another of his broad smiles to Leslie “—we have two of the city’s most esteemed archaeologists on the case, along with whatever hordes the professor cares to hire.” He turned to Brad. “So do speak highly of us to the press, please.”

Greta laughed softly; Leslie smiled. It seemed to her that Hank was honest enough, even if she didn’t always trust developers herself.

“You know, construction workers need to make a living, too,” Robert piped in.

“Right. Some of us poor slobs are just worker bees,” Ken said.

“Yeah, poor Ken. You’re just the average worker bee, right?” Leslie teased.

He laughed. “Okay, so, I’m a lucky, well-educated worker bee. Talk to Robert, here, though, if you’re looking for a guy who has worked his ass off—sorry, Greta—to get somewhere, and despite all he’s done, he’s got a tough job, nowhere near enough respect and a lousy paycheck.”

“Hey!” Robert protested.

“Oh, we cops are suddenly well paid?” Ken said.

“Could be worse,” Robert told him.

Ken groaned.

“Besides, I doubt you intend to be a cop forever,” Robert said.

“Do you have political aspirations?” Leslie asked, sipping her wine.

“Not this year, I assure you,” Ken said. “Greta, this is absolutely delicious. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“Well,” Greta said, waving a hand in the air, “we want Leslie to feel that the police are with her if she ever needs them, right?”

“Greta is really worried about you staying at the house alone,” Robert told Leslie. He didn’t add and so am I. He didn’t need to. She could see it in his eyes.

“Hey, I know New York City. I’m street smart,” Leslie assured them both.

“Anyone can need help,” Robert said.

“Should I be afraid for some reason?” Leslie asked. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“No,” Robert said.

“Well, we still haven’t gotten to the bottom of those local disappearances,” Ken said.

“Leslie doesn’t need to worry. She doesn’t exactly fit the profile,” Robert said.

“There’s still been no break in the prostitute case?” Leslie asked. “Is that what you’re talking about?”

“No, no break,” Ken said. He hesitated. “Matt had people concerned, but no one has picked up where he left off.”

“Since Leslie is hardly likely to start walking the streets soliciting, I don’t think she needs to worry too much about that,” Greta announced. “I mean, personally. Of course we all need to worry in the larger sense.”

“Maybe there’s a modern-day Jack the Ripper out there,” Brad offered.

“Jack the Ripper got his kicks by letting others discover the butchered bodies of his victims,” Robert said sharply, then flushed, hearing his own tone. “Sorry, this is a real sore spot with me. We’re just not getting anywhere. And whenever we think it might have stopped, we get another distant relative, hooker friend or embarrassed john down at the station, talking about a girl who’s just vanished.”

“Maybe they’re just moving on,” Brad suggested.

“I wish that were the case,” Robert said. “I just don’t believe it.”

“Why aren’t we finding any bodies, then?” Ken asked him.

“I don’t know,” Robert said. “I didn’t mean to make you uneasy, Leslie,” he added, turning to her.

“You didn’t. I have a state-of-the-art alarm here, remember?” she asked, smiling.

But Robert still seemed disturbed as he stared at her.

Shortly afterward, their dishes were removed and coffee was served, along with a delicious apple cobbler. As dessert was set down, Leslie decided that she was going to lighten the mood. “So…anything new and exciting going on in anyone’s social life?” she asked.

Apparently it wasn’t the right light question.

“What social life?” Ken asked. “Do you have one of those, Robert?”

“Sure, I’m here for dinner tonight,” Robert said. “Thanks to this gracious lady,” he added, reaching across the table and squeezing Greta’s hand.

“Greta’s whole life is social, but since she works so hard at it, she doesn’t have an actual social life, either,” Hank teased.

“Nonsense,” Greta said. “I’m a happy woman. I love working for my causes, especially history. And you, Ken. You’re at every social event.”

“Ah, but is that a social life?” Ken asked.

“Sorry I asked,” Leslie said.

Finally the coffee was cleared, the dining room and kitchen were immaculately cleaned, and all that was left was the aroma of the dinner that had been. Since everyone seemed reluctant to leave, Leslie decided that it was time to ask them to go.

She feigned a yawn. “Oh, sorry. Hey, we do start tomorrow morning, right, Professor?”

“Are you trying to kick us out?” Brad asked.

“I can’t really kick you out. It isn’t my house. But, yes, please leave. I need to go to bed,” she told him, grinning.

Robert Adair looked at Brad. “I guess she’s serious.”

“Looks like,” Brad agreed with a shrug.

There were a lot of goodbyes, with everyone making sure she had their numbers programmed into her cell phone and forcing her to promise that she would call right away if she needed anything.

Greta insisted on walking through the downstairs and making sure the caterers had cleaned up to her satisfaction and turned off all the appliances, and that the doors and windows were all locked. She explained the alarm and gave the code to Leslie, while the others hovered in the entryway. At last, even Greta was willing to admit that all was well.

“Now, tomorrow is Monday. The house opens at ten, so Melissa Turner arrives at around eight-thirty—she’s in charge of ticket sales—and Tandy Goren and Jeff Green—the historical guides—usually get here a bit after. Melissa comes in and makes her coffee early. She’s one of those people who likes to get to work ahead of schedule so she can take her time. She’s a sweetheart—you’ll love her. Just don’t be startled when you hear voices early.”

“I may already be gone,” Leslie said. She looked at Laymon. “What time are we meeting at the site, Professor?”

“Take your time tomorrow. Ten will be fine,” Professor Laymon said. “You know where it is?”

“Down the street. I don’t think I can miss it.” She smiled.

“Yes, well, just dial my cell if you don’t see where we are. I want to make my general assessment, then I’ll get you and Brad going while I take care of hiring some grad students and start with the other what-have-yous.”

She nodded, waiting anxiously for them to leave.

Ken Dryer brushed sandy hair from his forehead and took her hand. “I’m still a cop,” he said huskily. “You know you can count on me if you need anything.”

Let go of her hand, dickhead!

Ken frowned suddenly, then shrugged. “Call me.”