“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.