Page 41 of The Stolen Queen

Charlotte turned the doorknob and entered a small antechamber with a secretary’s desk that had a towering stack of files on top and an empty wooden chair behind it. More files were scattered on the floor by a narrow bookshelf, and what looked like several days of mail were piled on a chair in the corner. In contrast to the mess, the walls were bare other than a couple of framed prints by Jacob Lawrence and Charles White. Intrigued, she stepped closer, only to realize that they were originals, not prints.

“Finally!”

She spun around. A man who looked to be in his sixties stood in the adjoining room, rifling through the top drawer of a file cabinet. Tenny Woods, she presumed.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been waiting. I need you to go through the files out there and find me all that mention Benin or Nigeria.” Mr. Woods’s voice was low and growly.

“I’m sorry?”

He shifted his weight impatiently, hands resting on the drawer. “You’re from the temp agency, right?”

“No. I’m an associate curator at the Met Museum, Charlotte Cross.” She walked into his office. “I was hoping I could have a minute of your time.”

Mr. Woods’s office was filled with thick art books, like Mr. Lavigne’s, but instead of being carefully lined up on antique bookshelves, Mr. Woods’s were stacked on chairs, lying on the floor, many splayed open, others riddled with bookmarks.

The man slowly made his way behind his desk. “Sorry about that. My mistake.” He was tall and skinny with graying temples and large hands. He wore a navy blue jacket with a handkerchief neatly arranged in the breast pocket and gestured for her to take a seat. “So, what is it you’re here for, then, Miss Cross?”

Where to begin? “There is an antiquity on loan at the museum that I believe is stolen, and I want to find out who owns it.”

“Isn’t this something you should take up with Mr. Lavigne?”

“I tried. But he won’t tell me who it is. Apparently, they prefer to remain anonymous.”

“That’s their right, of course.”

“I realize that. But it’s important I find out the answer.”

“I see. Let me ask you, why would the owner lend something out in the first place if it’s stolen? Seems rather risky.”

He had a point.

“It was so long ago that the theft occurred, maybe they think enough time has passed.”

“Usually it takes about a decade before a stolen antiquity hits the market. How long has it been in this case?”

“Forty-one years.”

He let out a long whistle. “I see.”

“Are those originals in your foyer?” she asked.

“They are. My parents lived in Harlem during the Renaissance and became patrons for several artists. Lucky for me, they had a good eye and passed on not only their collection, but also their interest in art.”

“How did you become an investigator of art?”

“My thesis in grad school was on repatriation of stolen African art, and eventually I began to wonder why I was writing about it instead of doing something about it.” He checked his watch. “Tell me more about your particular case.”

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. If she wanted Tenny Woods to look into her case, she’d have to fill him in on the details. It helped that he was a stranger, and she reminded herself that this was just another story to add to his files. Whatever pity or judgment she saw behind his eyes was not anything she had to fix. It was all business. “Back in 1936, when I was working in Egypt at the Valley of the Kings, we uncovered a tomb and found two mummies and a broad collar. The broad collar was destined for the Egyptian Museum at that time. This week, the broad collar showed up at the Met as the anonymous donation I told you about.” After Charlotte had realized it was the same one, she’d stopped by the Met library and looked through the Egyptian Museum’s most recent catalog. “It’s listed in the index in the Egyptian Museum’s catalog, still, to this day, even though it’s clearly not in the museum’s possession.”

“Interesting. But then why areyouhere, instead of a representative from the Egyptian Museum? It wasn’t stolen from you.”

“I don’t think it ever made it into the Egyptian Museum in thefirst place. The two men who I believe took the broad collar happened to oversee the museum’s documentation at that time. They could have made a false entry to cover their tracks.”

Mr. Woods eyed her warily. “The antiquity you describe isn’t the only one of its kind out there. Are you sure it’s the exact same item you found?”

“Yes, because the markings on it were unique. It had the cartouche of Hathorkare on the clasp and was missing one of its amulets.”

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