The Cabinet of Curiosities

There was another sharp comment from the wife. Lee ignored her. He went into the back, and returned a few minutes later, laying two leases in front of her. They were in Chinese. There was a silence.

“Need reference,” said the wife stolidly, switching to English for Nora’s benefit. “Need credit check.”

Nora ignored her. “Where do I sign?”

“There,” the man pointed.

Nora signed Betsy Winchell with a flourish on both leases, and then handwrote on each lease a crude receipt: $6,600 received by Mr. Ling Lee. “My Uncle Huang will translate it for me. I hope for your sake there’s nothing illegal in it. Now you sign. Initial the receipt.”

There was a sharp noise from the wife.

Lee signed his name in Chinese; emboldened, it seemed, by the opposition of his wife.

“Now give me the keys and we’re done.”

“Have to make copy of keys.”

“You give me those keys. It’s my apartment now. I’ll make the copies for you at my own expense. I need to start moving in right away.”

Lee reluctantly handed her the keys. Nora took them, folded one of the leases into her pocket, and stood up. “Thank you very much,” she said cheerfully, holding out her hand.

Lee shook it limply. As the door closed, Nora heard another sharp irruption of displeasure from the wife. This one sounded as if it might go on for a long time.

THREE

NORA IMMEDIATELY RETURNED to the apartment below. O’Shaugnessy appeared by her side as she unlocked the door. Together, they slipped into the living room, and Nora secured the door with deadbolts and chains. Then she moved to the barred window. Two nails stuck out from either side of the lintel, on which someone had once hung a makeshift curtain. She removed her coat and hung it across the nails, blocking the view from outside.

“Cozy place,” O’Shaughnessy said, sniffing. “Smells like a crime scene.”

Nora didn’t answer. She was staring at the floor, already working out the dig in her mind.

While O’Shaughnessy cased the apartment, Nora made a circuit of the living room, examining the floor, gridding it off, plotting her lines of attack. Then she knelt and, taking a penknife from her pocket—a knife her brother, Skip, had given her for her sixteenth birthday and which she never traveled without—eased it between the edges of two bricks. Slowly, deliberately, she cut her way through the crust of grime and old floor wax. She rocked the knife back and forth between the bricks, gently loosening the stonework. Then, bit by bit, she began to work the closest brick from its socket. In a moment it was free. She pulled it out.

Earth. The damp smell rose toward her nostrils. She poked her finger into it: cool, moist, a little slimy. She probed with the penknife, found it compact but yielding, with little gravel or rocks. Perfect.

She straightened up, looked around. O’Shaughnessy was standing behind her, looking down curiously.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Checking the subflooring.”

“And?”

“It’s old fill, not cement.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s outstanding.”

“If you say so.”

She tapped the brick back into place, then stood. She checked her watch. Three o’clock, Friday afternoon. The Museum would close in two hours.

She turned to O’Shaughnessy. “Look, Patrick, I need you to get up to my office at the Museum, plunder my field locker for some tools and equipment I’ll need.”

O’Shaughnessy shook his head. “Nothing doing. Pendergast said I was to stay with you.”

“I remember. But I’m here now, safe. There must be five locks on that door, I won’t be going anywhere. I’ll be a lot safer here than walking the streets. Besides, the killer knows where I work. Would you rather I went uptown and you waited here?”

“Why go anywhere? What’s the hurry? Can’t we wait until Pendergast is out of the hospital?”

She stared at him. “The clock’s ticking, Patrick. There’s a killer out there.”

O’Shaughnessy looked at her. Hesitated.

“We can’t afford to just sit around. I hope you’re not going to give me a hard time. I need those tools, and I need them now.”

Still, hesitation.

Nora felt her anger rise. “Just do it. Okay?”

O’Shaughnessy sighed. “Double-lock the door behind me, and don’t open it for anybody. Not the landlord, not the fire department, not Santa Claus. Only me. Promise?”

Nora nodded. “I promise.”

“Good, I’ll be back ASAP.”