Iris Johansen - Blind Alley

“Musical comedy? I always think of ancient theater as being Greek or Roman tragedies. For that matter, weren't most of the actors men?”

“Not by the time Herculaneum's theater came into being. Women came into their own and they dropped their masks and faced the audience. It was a magnificent theater with marble walls and columns made with the finest materials available at the time. The actors and actresses became almost as popular as gladiators and were welcomed into the beds of the town elite and even an occasional emperor.”

“And Cira was able to climb that ladder.”

“She climbed as high as she could but there was a stigma connected with being an actress that she would never have been able to overcome. There were strict laws regulating the marriages of actors and actresses and isolating them from the rest of society.”

“No wonder she tried to carve out a little security for herself.”

“A chest full of gold was more than a little security. Particularly during that age.”

“They treated her like a plaything, with no substance or rights,” she said fiercely. “It was natural that she'd want to make sure that could never happen again.”

“I'm not arguing. It was just a comment. I admire her. More now than ever. Hell, I don't even know how she ever got to be an actress. The performances were free and open to all citizens of Herculaneum. Except slaves. Cira was born a slave, and wouldn't have been permitted to even watch a play.”

“And she worked and worked and rose to be a star, damn them.”

He chuckled. “Yes, she did.” He repeated, “Damn them.”

Companionship. Warmth. Togetherness. This was even more potent than the physical magnetism he managed to exert over her. To hell with it, she thought recklessly. They were thousands of miles away from each other. It was safe to take more from him. “What else did you find out about—”

“That's all. I was understandably more concerned about what Sontag was saying than I was about ancient history. More later.”

She smothered the disappointment. “Of course. Sontag was much more important. I'll talk to you tomorrow night then.”

“Now that you've wrung me dry, you're through with me?”

“I should be so lucky. You're not a man who'd allow that to happen. I've got some thinking to do and I can't do that while I'm talking to you.”

“Heaven forbid that I interfere with your ruminations. Good night, Jane.” He hung up.

She pressed the disconnect and leaned back in the swing, her mind whirling with images.

Slaves. Actors and actresses striding flamboyantly through the streets of Herculaneum. Satyrs with fake phalluses cavorting on marble stages.

Aldo waiting in the shadows with his knife drawn.

No, that had nothing to do with the theater where Cira had made her magic.

Yes, it did. The images of past and present seemed to be merging, overlapping, she realized in panic.

Then stop it.

She drew a deep breath and cleared her mind of everything but Joe and Eve and this dear, familiar place where she had lived for so many years.

And Aldo.

Aldo was the real threat. Not something that happened centuries ago.

Okay, it was better, more clear.

And perfectly natural that she had been swept down into the whirlpool of images Trevor had drawn for her. Now it was over and she had to keep it at bay while she dealt with the problems Aldo presented.

And she had to deal with them. She couldn't sit here any longer and wait to be summoned to Herculaneum like the helpless slave Cira had been all those centuries ago. She was no slave and she had to move .

She reached for her laptop and flipped it open.

Joe was sitting on the couch when she came into the cottage two hours later, paperwork spread on the coffee table in front of him.

“Where's Eve?”

“She went to bed.” He looked up and then stiffened as he saw her expression. “Any problem? I thought it was going well. What did Trevor say?”

“Not much. He's busy. But he said we have to move fast.”

He studied her. “And that means?”

“It means I may need your help. No, I will need your help.” She rushed on, “And you won't like it, but it's going to happen. It has to happen.”

He didn't speak for a moment, and then said quietly, “Then why the hell don't you stop standing there like a drama queen and tell me what you're talking about.”

FIFTEEN

Jane opened the car door as Joe drew up before the brick building. “Why don't you park and I'll go inside?”

“No way.”

“I told you I wanted to do this alone, Joe.”

“You can do it alone. After I check out the office and make sure it's safe.” He smiled crookedly. “That's the job you gave me and that's the job I'm doing.” He parked in a spot near the building. “Now you can jump out and be as independent as you please as long as I'm right behind you.”

Jane ruefully shook her head. “Joe, do you know how weird that sounds?”

“It works for me.” He got out of the car. “Get moving.”

She started quickly toward the double glass doors of the entrance. “As long as you stay behind me. I don't want to scare him off. You can be intimidating.”

“I wish I could intimidate you.” He opened the door for her. “And you're beginning to be a little intimidating yourself.”

She shook her head. “Not me.” She moved toward the girl dressed in jeans and a tunic sweater who was sitting at a desk in the foyer while Joe leaned against the wall, his gaze focused on the row of desks and cubicles to the left of the foyer. “Hi, I'm Jane MacGuire. I called this morning and made an appointment with Samuel Drake.”

A smile lit the girl's freckled face. “Hi, I'm Cindy. Sam said to send you right in.” She lifted the phone and pushed a button. “She's here, Sam.” She hung up and nodded. “Go for it.”

Both the receptionist and the office itself breathed casualness and informality. The attitude was encouraging and exactly what Jane had hoped it would be. “Thanks.” She walked toward the door that bore only the brass letters S. Drake and opened the door. “I appreciate you seeing me, Mr. Drake. I promise I won't take long.”

“Sam.” Drake rose to his feet. He was tall and lanky, dressed in khakis and blue T-shirt, and looked not a day over thirty. “Take as long as you like.” He grinned. “It probably won't do you any good, but I'll enjoy the show. Your phone call interested me and I'm a simple soul who doesn't need much to intrigue him.”

She didn't believe that for a minute. He might be easygoing but there was keen intelligence in those blue eyes. She braced herself for the fight to come. Study him, search out any weakness, and use it. Ambition? Perhaps. Security? She doubted it. It could be he just wanted to be liked and respected. That would be easiest to handle. Sit down and chat for a few minutes and see if he revealed anything. “Then maybe I can entertain you for the next quarter hour or so.” She smiled and moved toward the visitor's chair beside his desk. “Or maybe we can entertain each other. You're very young to hold down such an important position. It makes me feel much more comfortable about approaching you. I have to admit I was a little nervous. . . .”

She phoned Trevor that night when she got back to the lake cottage. “We've got Archaeology Journal .”

“What?”

“You heard me. Drake is going to run a short article in this week's issue about Sontag's find. It won't be a total confirmation but close enough. He wants you to e-mail him a photo of the bust of Cira. He promised he'd blur it so that Aldo wouldn't recognize it as the one he sold to that collector. He'll need it right away if he's going to insert the story in—”