The Dead Room. Heather Graham
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greens, a tomato salad. Red wine. A very nice and very traditional meal.
“No one has turned vegetarian on me lately, have they?” Greta asked worriedly.
They all shook their heads as Hank started to answer Brad’s question.
“Well, we haven’t come across any coffins or bones—we’re leaving that to you,” he said, helping himself to the potatoes. “Gravy?” he asked. Ken Dryer passed over the gravy boat.
“What our first worker came across was a set of wooden teeth,” Hank explained.
“Wooden teeth?” Leslie echoed.
“Just like the pair of George Washington’s in the Smithsonian,” Hank said.
“Poor people didn’t generally have false teeth,” Leslie said.
“They’re very rough, and only preserved because they happened to have been wrapped in a scrap of tarp, like something a soldier might have had,” Hank said. “I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but that’s what the first guy on the site, someone from the museum, said. Anyway, there was more. A few pieces of jewelry, costume stuff, and poor costume stuff at that. And a couple of tiny crosses—those were actually real silver. We stopped work right away, of course.”
“Of course,” Brad agreed. Leslie thought he sounded skeptical, but Brad de facto disliked anyone who worked for a development company.
“Then,” Greta reminded Hank, “there were the records we found at the Morgan Library. Records that indicated a church had stood on the spot before it burned to the ground. At the time, this area was heavily populated with immigrant families, struggling to get by. Up the street, there was once a Catholic church. Down this way, there was another Episcopal church, not to mention Trinity and St. Paul’s. Remember, everyone went to church in those days.”
“Right, Greta. Anyway,” Hank said, flashing a grin at Professor Laymon, “the decision was made that our good friend here should head the project, and all work has been stopped, the areas where the finds were made have been cordoned off, and you’re all set to go. And—” he offered another of his broad smiles to Leslie “—we have two of the city’s most esteemed archaeologists on the case, along with whatever hordes the professor cares to hire.” He turned to Brad. “So do speak highly of us to the press, please.”
Greta laughed softly; Leslie smiled. It seemed to her that Hank was honest enough, even if she didn’t always trust developers herself.
“You know, construction workers need to make a living, too,” Robert piped in.
“Right. Some of us poor slobs are just worker bees,” Ken said.
“Yeah, poor Ken. You’re just the average worker bee, right?” Leslie teased.
He laughed. “Okay, so, I’m a lucky, well-educated worker bee. Talk to Robert, here, though, if you’re looking for a guy who has worked his ass off—sorry, Greta—to get somewhere, and despite all he’s done, he’s got a tough job, nowhere near enough respect and a lousy paycheck.”
“Hey!” Robert protested.
“Oh, we cops are suddenly well paid?” Ken said.
“Could be worse,” Robert told him.
Ken groaned.
“Besides, I doubt you intend to be a cop forever,” Robert said.
“Do you have political aspirations?” Leslie asked, sipping her wine.
“Not this year, I assure you,” Ken said. “Greta, this is absolutely delicious. Thank you so much for inviting me.”
“Well,” Greta said, waving a hand in the air, “we want Leslie to feel that the police are with her if she ever needs them, right?”
“Greta is really worried about you staying at the house alone,” Robert told Leslie. He didn’t add and so am I. He didn’t need to. She could see it in his eyes.
“Hey, I know New York City. I’m street smart,” Leslie assured them both.
“Anyone can need help,” Robert said.
“Should I be afraid for some reason?” Leslie asked. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“No,” Robert said.
“Well, we still haven’t gotten to the bottom of those local disappearances,” Ken said.
“Leslie doesn’t need to worry. She doesn’t exactly fit the profile,” Robert said.
“There’s still been no break in the prostitute case?” Leslie asked. “Is that what you’re talking about?”
“No, no break,” Ken said. He hesitated. “Matt had people concerned, but no one has picked up where he left off.”
“Since Leslie is hardly likely to start walking the streets soliciting, I don’t think she needs to worry too much about that,” Greta announced. “I mean, personally. Of course we all need to worry in the larger sense.”
“Maybe there’s a modern-day Jack the Ripper out there,” Brad offered.
“Jack the Ripper got his kicks by letting others discover the butchered bodies of his victims,” Robert said sharply, then flushed, hearing his own tone. “Sorry, this is a real sore spot with me. We’re just not getting anywhere. And whenever we think it might have stopped, we get another distant relative, hooker friend or embarrassed john down at the station, talking about a girl who’s just vanished.”
“Maybe they’re just moving on,” Brad suggested.
“I wish that were the case,” Robert said. “I just don’t believe it.”
“Why aren’t we finding any bodies, then?” Ken asked him.
“I don’t know,” Robert said. “I didn’t mean to make you uneasy, Leslie,” he added, turning to her.
“You didn’t. I have a state-of-the-art alarm here, remember?” she asked, smiling.
But Robert still seemed disturbed as he stared at her.
Shortly afterward, their dishes were removed and coffee was served, along with a delicious apple cobbler. As dessert was set down, Leslie decided that she was going to lighten the mood. “So…anything new and exciting going on in anyone’s social life?” she asked.
Apparently it wasn’t the right light question.
“What social life?” Ken asked. “Do you have one of those, Robert?”
“Sure, I’m here for dinner tonight,” Robert said. “Thanks to this gracious lady,” he added, reaching across the table and squeezing Greta’s hand.
“Greta’s whole life is social, but since she works so hard at it, she doesn’t have an actual social life, either,” Hank teased.
“Nonsense,” Greta said. “I’m a happy woman. I love working for my causes, especially history. And you, Ken. You’re at every social event.”
“Ah, but is that a social life?” Ken asked.
“Sorry I asked,” Leslie said.
Finally the coffee was cleared, the dining room and kitchen were immaculately cleaned, and all that was left was the aroma of the dinner that had been. Since everyone seemed reluctant to leave, Leslie decided that it was time to ask them to go.
She feigned a yawn. “Oh, sorry. Hey, we do start tomorrow morning, right, Professor?”
“Are you trying to kick us out?” Brad asked.
“I can’t really kick you out. It isn’t my house. But, yes, please leave. I need to go to bed,” she told him, grinning.
Robert Adair looked at Brad. “I guess she’s serious.”
“Looks