Evie walked through the day in a haze of nerves. The museum had never been busier, it seemed, their attendance made doubly large because of Solomon’s Comet. The whole city was abuzz. Mayor Walker had asked New Yorkers to dim their lights just before midnight so that the comet could be seen without a haze during its once-in-a-lifetime appearance. Many New Yorkers had already pulled their chairs and cushions—even mattresses—onto the tar beaches of their buildings’ rooftops or small terraces. The five-and-dimes sold out of their hats and blowers. Nightclubs advertised special raffles to be held at midnight and offered drinks like the Solomon’s Sensation and the Falling Star. There was even a bathing-beauty contest that promised to crown a Miss Comet. It was as if someone was hosting a party and all of Manhattan had been invited. But Evie wasn’t feeling celebratory; if they didn’t do everything just right, this would be the end. John Hobbes would be here to stay, and hell would come with him.
When the last patron had gone from the museum, Evie locked the doors and she, Sam, and Jericho gathered in the library. It was seven o’clock. The comet was to make its way across New York’s skies at one minute before midnight. Jericho rested on the settee, still weak from the previous night’s ordeal.
“Are you feeling all right, Jericho?” Evie asked a bit shyly. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m… jake, thanks,” he said, trying out the word with a smile.
Sam watched the two of them from the sidelines. Something had happened up in Brethren beyond their finding the pendant and escaping from the new faithful. And Sam didn’t like it.
“Gee whiz, I’m a nervous wreck,” Evie said. She flipped on the radio. The Paul Whiteman Orchestra was playing a special hour of hot jazz dedicated to “Old King Solomon.” The merry songs felt out of place given their purpose tonight.
“There’s something I don’t get,” Sam asked. “How come he didn’t make the tenth offering yet? You think he’s going to do the last two offerings together, tonight?”
Evie bit at her fingernail. It was odd. “I don’t know. All I know is that if we burn the pendant tonight and repeat the incantation, we get rid of John Hobbes forever.”
Will burst into the library carrying a bag of supplies. “I’ve got what we need here.”
He handed Evie a piece of chalk and Sam a can of salt. “Evie, draw a wide circle on the floor, and a pentagram inside it. Sam, you go around the perimeter of the room with the salt, please.”
There came a knock at the museum’s front door, very loud and very insistent.
“What now?” Evie said. “Don’t worry—I’ll tell them the museum is closed for the evening.”
She was stunned to find Detective Malloy at the front door. He was not full of his usual gallows humor. In fact, his expression could only be called grim. Evie felt her stomach drop. Flanked by several officers, he walked right past her on his way to the library. Will paled when he saw them.
“There’s been another murder,” Malloy said. “Mary White Blodgett was found out at Coney, in the Tunnel of Love. Same markings as all the others. Her tongue had been cut out.”
“ ‘At the sight of the Beast, the widow offered lamentations until her tongue was stilled….’ ” Evie said softly.
“The Lamentation of the Widow. The tenth offering,” Sam said.
Will looked pale and sick.
“Mrs. Blodgett’s daughter said she’d been visited by you and a young lady two days ago. Said you were asking all sorts of odd questions about John Hobbes,” Malloy continued.
“It’s true,” Will said.
“You didn’t think to share that with me, Fitz?” The detective sounded hurt and angry.
“I didn’t think… It wasn’t relevant. I was playing a hunch.”
“I get paid to follow hunches,” Malloy said. “And I told you to stay away from the case. And if I ask you whether you have Ruta Badowski’s other shoe buckle in your museum, you would say what?”
“I would say that’s preposterous,” Will answered.
Malloy’s face was grim and a bit weary, as if he’d been told of the imminent death of a sick friend. “I’m asking you as a friend, Will.”
Will’s gaze was steely. “As I said, preposterous.”
Malloy nodded slowly. “I hope you’re right. Mind if we have a look around, Professor?”
Already, the police were swarming the museum, emptying drawers and opening cabinets. An officer nearly dropped a figurine and Will called out, “Could you be careful with those, please? Those are priceless artifacts.”
Another officer reached into Will’s desk drawer and pulled out Ruta Badowski’s shoe buckle. “It’s here. Just like the note said.”
“How did that…?” Will stood perfectly still for once, as if he’d been nailed in place. “Wait a moment—what note? What are you talking about?”
“Can you tell me how evidence from a murder victim got into your museum?” Malloy didn’t blink.