The Diviners (19 page)

“I hear they feed you in Sing Sing,” Evie muttered. “Three squares a day.”

“Evangeline,” Will said with a sigh. “Charity begins at home.”

“So does mental illness.”

Will drummed his fingers on the back of a chair. “It was wrong to take Evangeline’s money, no matter how dire your straits at the
time. However, you acted quite nobly in returning the museum’s property when you didn’t have to. I’d never thought about security for the museum before.” Will scratched his head, looking around at the precious books.

“If you don’t mind my saying, sir, you can’t be too careful these days.”

“I’ll say.” Evie glared at Sam.

Will nodded, thinking it over. “Very well. How would you like an honest job at the museum? There’s plenty to be done, and you could stay here at night to thwart any unwanted thieves.”

Evie whirled around to face Will. “Unc!
He’s
a thief!”

“Yes. So he is. Are you a good thief, Sam?”

Sam smiled. “The best, sir.”

“A good thief in need of a job,” Will mused. “I suppose you may start right away.”

“Will, Evie’s right. You don’t know him, and he’ll only be in the way,” Jericho said quietly. “I could keep watch if you need me to.”

“I don’t think that’s wise, Jericho,” Will answered quietly. Evie didn’t know what he meant by that, but Jericho’s face went stony. “We can always use an extra hand, especially now that we’re investigating a murder.”

“A murder?” Sam said. “Sounds exciting.”

“They might be investigating
yours
pretty soon, pal,” Evie warned.

“Yes, well, I do hope you’re not averse to hard work,” Will said.

“Nothing better than an honest day’s work, I always say, sir.”

Will checked his watch again. “I am now nine minutes late. Jericho, could you return Mr. Lloyd’s coat and show him to the filing, please?”

A thoroughly irritated Jericho retrieved Sam’s coat from the closet and handed it over a bit roughly.

“He is
enormous
,” Sam whispered to Evie. “What do you feed him?”

Evie leaned close. “I’m on to you, pal. You so much as whistle off-key and I promise I will personally give you the bum’s rush. You won’t even have time to grab your hat.”

“Well.” Sam nodded, slipping on the coat. “I
am
pretty fond of this hat. Nice to see you again, Sister.”

“The pleasure was all yours,” Evie said and ran to catch Will. Behind her, she could hear Sam whistling “Am I Wasting My Time on You?” He was whistling off-key, and Evie had the distinct impression he was doing it deliberately.

“Unc!” Evie called. She caught up with Will at the front door.

“Evie, can this wait? The ladies of the Ancient Order of the whatever-it-is—”

“Phoenix,” Evie supplied.

“
Phoenix
are expecting me, and if I can’t hail a taxicab, I’ll go from being forgivably late to being egregiously late.”

“Unc, you can’t let Sam Lloyd work here. Not with all those priceless artifacts! He’s likely to rob you blind.”

“It’s precisely those qualities that could prove useful.”

“What do you mean?”

“From time to time, the museum has to be… clever in ferreting out objects, stories, and people before anyone else gets there. It’s delicate.”

“You expect me to believe that there are other people who want those creepy things?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“He’s still a thief.”

“A thief who reads Kierkegaard is an interesting thief, indeed.”

“But Unc—”

“Evangeline, not everyone starts life in a comfortable house on a comfortable street in Ohio,” Will said pointedly.

The comment stung. Why was Will defending Sam Lloyd, a common criminal, over her? After all, Sam was a stranger; she was family. Weren’t family supposed to protect their own? But he’d sided with the opponent, just like her father and mother had sided with Harold Brodie instead of defending their own daughter. If Uncle Will wanted to be foolish, well, that was his affair. She’d been stupid to try to intervene.

“I hope you’re right about him,” Evie said and went back to the library. She glowered at Sam once for good measure and then settled in at the long table, checking through stacks of newspaper reports and books, searching for anything that might shed light on the strange murder of Ruta Badowski.

When she’d had enough, she sneaked out her copy of
Photoplay
.

“So, is Clara Bow running away with Charlie Chaplin?” Sam read over her shoulder.

Evie did not look up. “Why don’t you take it and read it for yourself? You seem to be skilled at taking things. In fact, why don’t you carry it with you on your way out?”

Sam snickered. “Now, why would I leave such a sweet deal? Besides, I’d hate for you to miss me, sister.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Let’s put that phrase to the test, shall we? I’ll get your hat.”

“No can do. Your uncle needs my help. Look at all this stuff—who knew there were so many superstitious charms? Like this—love charm of the Hopi. Oh, I better not let you hold this, sister. You might get goofy for me.”

“That’ll be the day.”

“I’m counting on that day.”

“I hope you can count pretty high, then,” Evie said.

He leaned in a little closer. Evie could see the flecks of amber in his eyes. “Admit it—you liked that kiss.”

“You owe me twenty dollars.”

“Cash or check?” he said cheekily. Even the dullest Ohio girls knew that bit of lingo:
Kiss now or kiss later?

“Bank’s closed, pal.”

Sam nodded. “Check, then.” Whistling, he headed for the library doors. Evie followed him up the wide, curving staircase that led to the museum’s second floor.

“Can I help you, sister?”

“I’m making sure you don’t leave with half the museum.”

“Just have to iron my shoelaces,” he said, nodding toward the men’s room at the top of the stairs. When he reached the men’s room door, Evie stood outside, her arms folded across her chest.

“Honestly, I’d invite you in, but I’ve managed to avoid getting arrested for petty theft. I’d hate to go to the Tombs for perversion.”

“Whatever it takes to get you out of my uncle’s museum,” Evie quipped. “I’ll wait.”

“Suit yourself, doll.”

In the museum’s musty lavatory, Sam washed his hands and left the tap running. Whistling, he sat on the cracked tile floor and watched the shadow of Evie’s feet under the slit of the door as she paced. She’d get bored eventually. He opened Jericho’s wallet, which he had lifted while the blond giant was occupied in the stacks. Trusting fella. That was a dangerous habit—trust. Sam removed a five-dollar bill, replacing it with two singles. It was the oldest trick in the book: If you stole the Abe’s cabe outright, the
other fella could make you for a thief. But if you took a large bill and left some singles, the mark would think he’d spent the big dough and just didn’t remember getting change.

From his jacket pockets, Sam removed two small silver ashtrays, which he’d managed to take from the library unnoticed. These he hoped to sell later to a disreputable pawnbroker on the Bowery for a few bucks. For now, he wrapped them in one of the bathroom’s hand towels and hid them behind the toilet bowl. He had big plans, and plans took time and money.

Evie’s shadow disappeared. Sam opened the door a crack and saw that the hallway was empty. He closed the men’s room door again, turned off the tap, and stared at his reflection in the tall wooden mirror. Two shocks of his dark hair hung down on either side of his gold-flecked eyes. The devil-may-care expression was gone, and in its place was one of hard determination.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Sam Lloyd. Tell me where she is, or…”

Sam stopped. Though he’d played the scene over in his mind many times, he was never really sure what he would say when that day came. He only knew that he wouldn’t be going in blind. Sam pulled up his pants leg and removed the gun strapped there, turning it over in his hands, examining the barrel, feeling the tension in the trigger. He opened the chamber and spun it around. There were no bullets yet. The ashtrays would bring enough for those. This job at the museum had been a stroke of good luck, easier than hustling magic tricks on the streets of Times Square. All he had to do was hold on for a little while—long enough to find out who needed to pay for what had happened to his family. And they
would
pay.

In the mirror, Sam was scowling. He looked older than his seventeen years. He straightened his collar, eased the scowl into a hard smile, and raised the gun, taking aim at his reflection.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Sam Lloyd. Tell me where she is, and I might let you live.”

Sam heard footsteps and hurriedly replaced the gun in its holster. The door swung open and Jericho came in. Sam made a show of washing his hands. “Something the matter?”

“I seem to have lost my wallet.”

“Aw, gee. Tough break, pal,” Sam said. “Want me to help you look?”

Jericho squinted at Sam, evaluating the offer. “Thanks.”

Sam accompanied Jericho through the museum, making a show of looking, pointing out spots where a wallet could possibly hide. When they reached the library, he shook it free from his pants leg near one of the many bookcases. It wouldn’t do for Sam to suddenly find the wallet; he needed to make Jericho think he’d found it himself.

“Did you look up here, big fella?”

Jericho frowned at the phrase
big fella
. He took the spiral staircase to the second floor and walked the stacks until he spied his wallet on the floor. “I found it,” he called. He opened the wallet and frowned. “I could’ve sworn I had five dollars. But there’s only two here.”

“Gee, that’s rough. Better hold on to those rubes,” Sam said evenly.

Evie skimmed the pages of a book titled
Religious Fervor and Fanaticism in the Burned-Over District
. The author appeared to have written the book with the express purpose of putting his audience to sleep, and Evie had difficulty retaining anything she read. She resorted to skimming the pages, stopping suddenly when she
came to an illustration near the back. There was the same symbol used in the murder. The inscription read
THE PENTACLE OF THE BRETHREN, BRETHREN, NY, C. 1832
.

The telephone rang, echoing through the empty museum. Evie turned down the corner of the page to show Will later and ran for the phone.

“Hold a moment. I’ll connect you,” the operator said. There was a click and a hiss, and then Theta’s voice crackled over the wires.

“Hiya, Evil. It’s Theta. Listen, you still want to catch the show?”

“And how!”

“Swell. I’ll leave a pair of tickets for you and Mabel at the theater for tonight’s show. There’s a party in Greenwich Village after, if it’s not past your bedtime.”

“I never go to bed before dawn.”

“Attagirl! And Evil, wear your best glad rags.”

“They’ll be the gladdest rags you ever saw.”

In the privacy of Will’s office, Evie jumped up and down. Finally! Tonight, she and Mabel would be out with Theta and her smart set. She danced back into the library, humming a jazzy number.

“What just happened to you? You win the Miss America contest or something?” Sam said. He gathered Evie’s book into a tall stack of volumes to be reshelved.

“I will be the guest of Miss Theta Knight at the Globe Theatre for Mr. Ziegfeld’s latest revue tonight, and at a private party afterward.”

“Swanky. Need a date?”

“Private party!” Evie sang out. She reached up and grabbed her scarf and hat from the giant stuffed bear’s paw, where she’d hung them earlier.

“Say, I was wondering, either of you know anything about this?” He pointed to the newspaper clipping on top of the stack, about the girl with the sleeping sickness.

Evie glanced at it as she tied the scarf into a loose bow at her neck. “It’s one of Unc’s strange scraps. He collects these odd little ghost stories. That’s his job, I suppose. Why do you ask?” Evie said.

Sam forced a smile. “No reason. Just trying to keep up.”