Her Knight at the Museum

Chapter Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

Emily was supposed to meet Rose and another person at eleven thirty at the Nichols Board of Trustees Suite at the museum. They were going to have a tech check with her PowerPoint and the microphone before the symposium, where she’d deliver her presentation. But Emily arrived a little after eleven, wearing a silky top, a black skirt, and pumps, with a twenty-ounce cup of French roast in her hand. She’d put her hair up because it needed washing, and because she didn’t want to keep pushing it out of her face while she was reading from her PowerPoint. The top was black, to hide any accidental coffee spills, and the pumps had low heels, so she wouldn’t trip in the short distance from one of the tables to the podium. She wasn’t usually clumsy, but anyone could have an accident when they were operating on zero sleep.

When she’d come back to the apartment the night before, still frustrated, but with a cooler head, Griffin hadn’t been there. She figured he’d taken a walk himself. But after an hour had passed, she’d started to worry, and she hadn’t stopped. At three or four in the morning, she’d called the police, even though they were the last people she wanted to talk to. They’d told her that a grown man staying out all night wasn’t something they needed to investigate.

Now, she was beginning to droop. Maybe the concealer she’d practically applied with a trowel was hiding the dark circles under her eyes.

She’d half expected to find the room still locked, but she opened the door and found it empty, with a couple dozen tables draped with white tablecloths. It was, of course, the first time she’d been there. Guests could only access it by a private elevator; it was reserved for special events like this symposium. All these people who knew about art were coming to hear her speak, and she wished they weren’t.

She wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered dazzling views of Millennium Park and the glass and steel skyscrapers beyond, sparkling in the morning sunlight. Griffin was wandering somewhere out there in the city. The knots of anxiety and regret in her stomach tightened. What was she even doing here, going through the motions, when he was lost…or maybe in trouble?

“Hey! You’re here early.”

Emily turned around at the sound of Rose’s voice. Her friend had a big purse slung over her shoulder and was carrying a tripod in one hand.

“Are you excited about your presentation today?”

Excited was about the last word Emily would’ve used. She felt weighed down by dread.

“I think I’m going to cancel.” As soon she said it, she was sure it was the right thing to do.

“ What? What’s going on?”

“Griffin and I had a fight last night, and he left.” Rose’s eyes widened in alarm, doing nothing to assuage Emily’s own fears. “I mean, I left and went to a café, and when I came back, he was gone.” She wondered, for the hundredth time, if she’d been clear enough about the fact that she was just taking a breather because she didn’t want them to yell each other.

“Oh my Goddess.” Rose plunked the tripod down on the floor and came closer. “He’s been out all night? Did you try calling him?”

“Of course I did!” Her voice came out sharper than she’d intended. “Sorry. Yes. I think that burner phone I gave him is out of minutes.” Emily sat down in one of the chairs and pinched the bridge of her nose, as if that might squeeze some new solution into her brain.

“Okay, let’s stay calm.” Rose sat next to Emily. “It’s not like he’s a lost baby deer. He’s a big, strong guy.”

“Especially because he’s wearing his armor,” Emily mumbled. “Or at least, it’s not at the apartment.”

“See, that’s good! The man invaded France, Emily. He knows how to handle himself.”

“Right. But do you think…Is he coming back?” As she asked, she felt a stab of hopelessness.

“Of course he is! He’s crazy about you. He probably just needed to think some things through. He’s gone through so much…God, he’s probably traumatized.”

“He is ,” Emily said, almost in a wail. “And I got mad at him for not going through with the Medieval Legends audition!”

“He didn’t go ? Why?”

“He decided it was beneath his dignity.” Rose rolled her eyes, and Emily continued, “He hadn’t really thought about it as an acting job before yesterday—I mean, I hadn’t really, either—and I think he has a really bad opinion of actors.”

Rose’s face screwed up. “Why?”

“Because they were basically the lowest of the low then. I guess I’d read something about that before, but I don’t know…I didn’t think about it. I mean, he loves movies, and St. George’s feast day where they show off their armor…” Rose narrowed her eyes in confusion, but didn’t interrupt. “I was reading more about it last night, and they didn’t even let actors into churches, and they were always putting them in the stocks…” Emily sagged back in her chair. “I’m such an idiot.”

“You are so not an idiot. You can’t remember everything about medieval life, all the time.” Rose squeezed Emily’s shoulder. “And you’ve had a lot on your mind.”

“What if I never see him again?”

“You’re going to,” Rose insisted. “I promise.”

Emily looked hopelessly at all the empty tables. “We can cancel this, right?”

“No! There’s nothing you can do about Griffin right now.”

“But if he calls—”

“You can give me your phone. I’ll put it on silent, and if a call comes through, I’ll step out and take it. Once we’re recording, I don’t have to do anything.”

“Okay, but—”

“You’ve worked on your presentation for weeks . And if you flake at the last minute, you’re going to embarrass Jason.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Emily admitted. Even though Jason always seemed as chill as a Chicago winter, the supposed sculpture theft had to have been a nightmare. “But I’m going to embarrass him either way, right? Standing up here talking about medieval sculpture, when a lot of people think I stole one?”

“But that’s the thing,” Rose said. “If you’re a no-show, everyone’s going to say it’s because you’re guilty. You can’t let these bastards get you down.”

“ Ugh . You’re right.” Emily straightened in her chair and took a fortifying swig of her giant coffee. Then she stood up. “I should practice.”

She stood up at the lectern and went over her introduction while Rose adjusted her iPhone on the tripod near the back of the room. The tech guy arrived and then the other two speakers; a guy about her age and a woman several years older.

“Hi,” Emily said to them both. “I’m Emily Porter. I’m an art conservator here.”

They exchanged an incredulous glance, even though Emily hadn’t gotten the impression that they’d met before. It was only a moment, and then they introduced themselves, too, but it told her that they’d heard of her—because they thought she was an art thief.

Emily sat down next to Rose at one of the tables as the tech guy fiddled with the microphone. Then he opened the door to the room.

A crowd of people stood on the other side. They flooded in—two hundred of them at least. Did these things usually attract so many people?

“Break a leg,” Rose whispered and took her place behind the tripod.

Jason sat down next to Emily and they exchanged good mornings. Terrence and people she didn’t know immediately joined them at the table, so she wasn’t going to have the opportunity to continue her conversation with Jason from the other day. She’d been convinced after their talk that Jason knew Griffin was the sculpture come to life. But hours later, she’d convinced herself of the opposite: that Jason would never believe such a thing, because he was a sane, rational person.

There weren’t enough seats for everyone who’d arrived, and people staked out places along the walls to sit or lean. At twelve o’clock sharp, Jason strode to the podium at the front, welcomed everyone, and mentioned how excited they were about the new medieval exhibit. Emily had been sure her boss would say something about the so-called theft. How could he ignore it, when it had made front-page headlines, and when probably half the crowd was here to gawk at her as a result? But he merely gave her a gracious introduction.

She was sick of feeling embarrassed. And guilty. She’d rescued a man from eternal punishment, and even though none of them would understand that, she knew who she was. That was enough reason to hold her head up high.

“Good morning,” she said and then gave them all a bright smile. Some of them were probably podcasters. The hell with them. “I’m so excited to talk to you about how to date medieval sculpture.”

The PowerPoint slides advanced smoothly on the screen. She’d included a few new bits of information: things she’d learned from Griffin. When she discussed codpieces, the audience really perked up.

“We never think of people wearing codpieces before 1475, and they weren’t a part of the armor,” she noted. “But if you take a look at this bas-relief panel from Normandy, and this effigy in St. Peter’s church in Lowick that dates to the early 1400s, you can see the padding. I imagine this was for protection in battle, rather than vanity.” A few people in the crowd smiled.

At the end of the presentation, the group applauded. Jason had a gleam of approval in his eyes. Emily’s face flushed again—but now, it was with pride.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’d be happy to answer any questions—”

“FBI. Everyone stay where you are,” a loud baritone voice boomed from the back.

Every person in the room swiveled around to look. The two FBI agents Emily had seen before, both wearing dark suits, strode into the room, followed by two other guys in navy T-shirts.

Emily froze at the podium, staring. What was happening? They were coming straight toward her. Her legs were shaking. That was so strange. Really, she was perfectly calm. Wasn’t she? She grabbed onto the podium for support.

The man said, “Emily Porter, you’re under arrest for the theft of a major artwork.” One guy in a navy T-shirt with gold letters that spelled out FBI , like a name tag, walked right past her…No, he was behind her; he took her wrist and clicked a cold steel cuff around it, and then the other one.

I’m dreaming. This isn’t happening.

But it was. He ushered her past Jason and Terrence, who both looked aghast, past audience members taking photos with their phones, and said, “You have the right to remain silent…Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“This is bullshit !” Rose’s voice rang out, followed by a chorus of gasps. She took two long strides toward the officers.

Emily snapped out of her nauseated daze. “Rose, don’t!” The last thing she needed was her friend to get in trouble, too. “If he calls, tell him what happened, and tell him I’m sorry!”

Rose nodded, her face flushed, her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t say anything!”

The big guy who’d put handcuffs on Emily let go of her arm as they stepped out into the hall. Why had they sent four people to arrest her? Did these people seriously think she was a threat? It was a very good thing Griffin wasn’t here. He would’ve lost his mind.

She spiraled even deeper into despair. Where was he? Would she ever see him again?

This was crazy. The FBI couldn’t possibly have any actual evidence against her. What had changed? Why now? As they marched her down the stairs, they attracted the stunned attention of museumgoers.

“I gotta admit, I’m impressed,” said the other guy in a T-shirt, speaking for the first time. “It took a genius to get that sculpture out of here.”

He wanted her to tell them how she’d done it. Because they still didn’t exactly know. Anger rose up in her.

“Rose was right,” she said as they passed the Chagall windows. “This is bullshit.”

The woman in the dark suit said, “In that case, do you want to tell us what happened?”

“No, I want to call my lawyer.”

“You can call them once we get you processed.”

“Probably a good idea, if you’re guilty,” her partner added.

He was goading her, and she knew it. But she’d had it.

As they headed to the side entrance, she said, “You know what, though? I’ll tell you exactly what happened.”

All four of them looked to her.

“The sculpture was actually a medieval knight who had been turned to stone by a sorcerer,” she said.

“All right, very funny,” the man in the suit said.

“You wanted to hear this,” she said as they went out the side doors where a black van was parked. “He visited me telepathically in my dreams, and then I broke the spell with a kiss, so now there’s no statue.”

As one of the guys in T-shirts slid the van door open, the woman in the dark suit said kindly, “Listen. You’ve been through a rough divorce, you’ve got no record, you clearly love medieval art. The most you’re going to get is a slap on the wrist. You might want to think about telling us the truth.”

A new shudder of fear went through Emily, but she pushed it away. “I already did. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”