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“No thanks needed, I’m quite happy to do so. It’s not every day that I meet another local academic interested in ancient history and language. Your predecessor spent precious little time with us here, so I was pleased to oblige.”
Ginny’s hopes skyrocketed. “Was pleased to oblige? I don’t suppose that means you already sent in the request?”
Mr. Wehbe chuckled and waved at something—or someone—in his office. “Like I said, it’s not every day that someone requests that our little museum borrow tablets from the basement of the Ashmore Museum in Oxford, England. Fortunately, as you are no doubt already aware, I’m still on excellent terms with the curator there and visit my former place of employment several times a year. In fact, only last week I was there for a brief conference.”
As Mr. Wehbe spoke, movement at the edge of her vision distracted Ginny from the curator’s words. Colin Tapping stood only a few feet away from where she’d left him, gazing at a reproduction of the Wedding at Cana late-Renaissance painting.
Surprise and confusion flared in Ginny’s senses. Was he eavesdropping on her conversation? She shook her head to dislodge the thought. Maybe he really did have an interest in the artwork. Who was she to think otherwise when she’d just met the man yesterday?
“Professor? Is everything all right?” Mr. Wehbe regarded Ginny with concern.
“Sorry, sorry.” Ginny snapped back to reality. “No doubt you heard about the disturbance on campus at the library last night. I spent most of my evening in the hospital and giving a statement to police, and I’m still a little stunned, I suppose.”
“Oh! I read about it in the paper this morning but somehow I didn’t make the connection. I’m so sorry to hear you were involved. I do hope you take some time to recover. I’m surprised you’re here this morning.”
“I’m fine,” Ginny said, waving his concern off with a pinched smile. After all, she’d truthfully been through much worse in the car accident twenty years ago. “But you were saying?”
“Ah, yes. I’m saying I have the tablets here. I received clearance and was able to bring over the tablets you requested. There is, however, a caveat.”
Ginny gaped at the curator. “They’re here? Right now? And I can study them immediately?”
“Well, yes and no.”
From the curator’s office, a gentleman emerged wearing a well-fitted brown tweed suit and Panama hat and carrying a hefty brown leather satchel. He appeared to be at most in his midforties or early fifties. He strode forward and offered his hand to Ginny as Mr. Wehbe made the introductions.
“Professor Anderson, please meet Dr. Hilden. Hilden, this is the ancient history and language professor I’ve been telling you about. She’s the one working on a theory concerning the location of King Ramesh’s summer palace in the Kingdom of Amar.”
Dr. Hilden smiled warmly and took Ginny’s outstretched hand in a firm handshake while she continued to gape at the both of them, struggling to make sense of the moment. Dr. Hilden? The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Pleased to meet you, Professor Anderson.”
The curator cleared his throat before continuing, a nervous quaver in his voice. “I wanted to be able to clear this with you ahead of time, but Dr. Hilden is here in an official capacity from the University of Amar. He’ll be functioning as a consultant on your work at the request of both the Ashmore Museum and the Amar government. The Amarans were hesitant to approve the request to move the tablets from their safety at Ashmore in England to our little museum in Pennsylvania, but we were able to reach an agreement. Dr. Hilden is a specialist in Amaran history, much like you, but—”
“Less linguistic background.” Dr. Hilden tapped on the brown bag he carried. “I have clearance to hand these select tablets to you so long as they don’t leave the vicinity of the museum or the college at any time. We’ll have you sign a few documents before you head out with them, but ultimately you and I will share responsibility for their safety.”
Ginny couldn’t believe it, for several reasons. As delighted as she was that she’d received approval to study these ancient tablets so quickly, it felt a bit insulting that the Amarans thought she needed a babysitter to care for their precious artifacts. How many papers had she written on Amaran history and language already? She was well-known among her peers for her work in this area. She had nothing but the utmost respect for Amar’s history, and was in fact trying to enrich it with her discovery. But from the sound of things, if she tried to argue her point, Dr. Hilden would be back on an airplane and she’d lose the chance to see the tablets forever, save traveling to the Ashmore Museum in England or the University of Amar. A part-time professor’s salary didn’t exactly allow her extravagances such as jetting off to another country on a moment’s notice.
“Dr. Hilden happened to be at the conference at the Ashmore, as well,” said Mr. Wehbe. “Quite a coincidence, yes? Anyhow, Professor Anderson, I imagine you’d like to get started as soon as possible.”
Contact information was exchanged and Ginny signed what seemed like a novel’s length of documents declaring her responsibility for the artifacts on foreign soil, and she set a meeting with Dr. Hilden for later that afternoon. When the dust from the whirlwind surprise finally began to settle, Ginny found herself standing outside the curator’s office with a satchel full of ancient tablets in hand.
She took two steps forward, prying her attention from the bag, only to discover Colin Tapping stood directly in front of her, arms folded across his chest.
And this time, he did not look pleased.
* * *
“Productive meeting, I assume?” He approached her, nodding at the heavy leather satchel slung over her shoulder.
She frowned at him. “You can’t be finished seeing the museum already. Were you eavesdropping on me?” Her eyebrows pinched together as she tried to step around him.
He fell into step beside her. “No, but I do owe you an explanation.”
She stopped and looked him up and down. “You didn’t come here to see the art at all, did you, Professor Tapping.” Her tone turned flat, making her question a statement.
“I did, honest. And please, stick with Colin. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the professor title.” He held the door open so she could pass through. She’d hoisted up the satchel and clutched it tight to her chest. “But as we arrived, it dawned on me that you may still be in danger. The police aren’t sure where the stun grenade that was thrown last night came from, but the fact that somebody had access to one and used it with possible intent to harm is disconcerting. I hoped you’d allow me to keep an eye out for you on your way back to the campus.”
Ginny didn’t look at him as she carefully traversed the museum steps, gripping the handrail for balance. “The police I spoke to last night suggested Donna may have fainted and hit her head, before the grenade thing. She’ll be in the hospital for a few days to have her condition monitored, but it could have been much worse. I thank God it wasn’t.”
“Agreed. But it doesn’t explain where the grenade came from.”
She stopped at the base of the steps, then turned to face him. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t feel like I’m in danger. This isn’t an area of town where many exciting things happen, you know?”
Colin paused his ongoing visual scan of the museum grounds and nearby parking lot to focus on the woman standing in front of him. He felt a tug in his chest, part of an ingrained need to protect someone who might be in danger. Twelve years of doing that in various capacities in the Service didn’t simply vanish with the change of position.
“I’m glad to hear that. I also