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“Nick, are you awake?” she asked, opening the door enough to poke her head in.
The bed was empty and rumpled. No sound issued from the bathroom. The curtains were still closed, but Nick was not there. Taking a quick look to make sure nobody noticed, she slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. Unabashedly, she rummaged through his suitcase and the chest of drawers. Deft fingers lifted while curious eyes peeked. She paused, her hand to her chin, then dropped to her knees to look under the bed. She drew out a large Viking broadsword with a plain brown leather grip, long enough for two hands, barely any hilt and a broad two-edged blade. Hefting it, she felt it immediately in her shoulders, for although she was strong, this was a warrior’s weapon. “I wonder where you got this,” she whispered, returning the blade to its hiding place. She felt hurt, hoping to have been the one to present him with his first sword.
In the kitchen she picked up a cup of coffee and a croissant before descending back to the lab. Nick was hunched over a computer, looking up when he sensed her presence. “Good morning,” he said when she leaned down to kiss his stubbled cheek. “You’re up early.”
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, sitting across from him.
“A little. I want this over. I want the bastard who orchestrated this.”
“Poor Lucy. We had such great plans while I was in the city. She was so excited.” She waited, thinking about her dear friend, then added, “It’s a horrible reason, but I am glad to see you again.” She felt as if she was baring her heart to him.
Nick looked up from the screen and considered her statement and the open look on her face. He thought of a cutting remark but couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I’m glad you’re still alive,” was the best he could manage, his feelings in turmoil, his stubbornness waging war with his heart.
She had a million questions to ask him but knew that he would not answer them now. It would be fun to worm the answers out of him in the coming weeks and months. Sighing, she realized with Nick, it might take years. Moving over to a computer, she checked to see if Grace had received her email yet.
***
The sun worked its steady way across the sky as Bert slept. Around noon, the first streaks came through the window, creeping across the floor and up the side of the bed, tickling Bert’s nose. He moved his head, which worked for a short time until the rays caught up and began their insidious brushing again. Scratching his nose, his brain slowly woke up. Glancing at the clock, he looked down at his wrinkled clothes as the previous day’s events flooded back. He sighed.
Stepping out of the shower Bert rubbed away the fog on the mirror and looked pensively at his reflection. More than a few wrinkles circled his eyes and his cheeks seemed to be sagging into the same jowls he remembered on his father. He brushed his hair, and looked at the number of hairs caught in the bristles. Craning his neck, he could see the bald spot growing on the back of his head. His mother’s brother had been completely bald by forty-five, so Bert felt slightly mollified, but when he noticed the number of grey hairs in his beard as he shaved, he stopped, put his hands on the counter and said to himself, “Growing old sucks. I don’t see what Wolfe is complaining about. He still has all his hair.” He turned in the mirror, looking down at his still-lean body. “At least I haven’t gone soft yet.”
He noticed that his guests’ rooms’ doors were open, and he followed the scent of coffee down to the kitchen. Pouring himself a mug, and grabbing a banana and some yogurt from the fridge, he descended to the basement lab where he found Amanda in front of one computer and Nick in front of another. “So your looks never change?” he said by way of greeting. The morning paper sat on a desk, so he riffled through it.
“Did you think Amanda had a lot of plastic surgery?” asked Nick.
“No, of course not. I assumed she was a beautiful woman. You however obviously got immortal too late. You’ll always be ugly.” He leaned over to peck Amanda’s cheek. “Unlike Amanda.”
“You stay the age you were at your first death,” explained Amanda. “Everything heals, sometimes quickly, sometimes slower.”
“How long have you owned the penthouse?” Bert asked, leaning against a book shelf filled with disks, still scanning the newspaper. “And how do people not find out?”
“It was a gift from the lovely man who had the hotel built. It’s left to a niece, or cousin. In ten or twenty years I can come back and live there again. In the meantime, it will be cared for.”
“Is twenty questions over?” Nick sounded grumpy. “No, Bert, nothing in the papers. The police here are very good at covering up stories which cast them in a bad light. Amanda, any word yet about the blood sample?”
“Not yet, what do you have?”
“The original police report. Lucy died of a single gunshot delivered by my weapon. The gun had no fingerprints, which means I wiped it. Why did I stay? Only fingerprints in the place were Lucy’s. Mine weren’t anywhere, not on the door, the elevator buttons, anywhere. Why was I so careful and yet I was there?”
“You’re a lousy criminal?” suggested Bert. At Nick’s look, he continued, “You didn’t do it Nick. I’ve known you for fourteen years and there is no way you shot Lucy! Do you have any memories yet?”
“The last thing I remember was being in Tangiers, finishing up the embassy job with you.”
“That was four days ago. Then we came here to set the security we set up for the new exhibit at the museum. We took a flight through London to here, which is why your clothes were in your room.”
“I was wondering about that,” said Nick. “But no, I don’t remember this house at all.”
“Speaking of clothes, I need some,” added Amanda. “Can you go get my suitcases from the penthouse?”
“Sure, Amanda. I want to take a look at the place myself anyway. The cops may have missed something. Why were you coming to town?” Bert questioned, his mind working.
“Just to visit Lucy,” answered Amanda, turning back to the computer screen. “Come on Grace, check your email.”
Nick turned in his chair and looked from Bert to Amanda. To Bert he said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Before his friend could answer, he turned Amanda’s chair back so she was facing him. “Is there a jewel or two that just happen to be in town?”
“Why do you assume I’m still a thief! I told you I was a lawyer now.” Amanda swatted Nick’s hands away from her chair.
“You could have the paperwork for a doctor and an Indian chief too, and you’d still be a thief. It’s what you’ll always be!”
Bert shook his head and sat down at the third computer in the room. As Amanda and Nick continued to bicker, something clicked. “Nick you really don’t remember, do you? Think man, why we came to town. A special exhibit from the Hermitage is at the Royal Metropolitan Museum. Catherine the Great’s artwork, coronation coach, furniture, and jewels.”
“Amanda!” Nick’s voice demanded.
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