As she headed for the exit, Robert set a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”
As she emerged from the crypt, a group of workers backed away in a single body. She smiled and waved. “I’m fine,” she said reassuringly. “Go on back to work—we’ve got a lot to do.”
With Joe holding her arm and Brad on the other side of her, they walked across the site in the direction of the back exit. Suddenly she stopped, pulling him to a halt with her.
“Wait!” she demanded.
“What?” Joe asked.
She looked around. “Who found me?” she asked quietly.
Brad frowned. “Laymon and I. You were flat on the ground, unconscious. We were really scared, Leslie.”
“You were together?”
“Yes, why?” Brad asked.
“No one else was in there with me, right?”
“No. Why?” Brad asked, looking puzzled.
“Right. Of course.” She forced a smile, said goodbye to Brad as he joined Dryer and started walking again.
Joe and Leslie departed via the rear and in a few minutes they were approaching Hastings House.
The morning rush was on and the sidewalks were full. Odd. Around the site, she couldn’t move without someone stopping her. Here—even dirty and tousled—she was barely noticed. Serious, almost grim-faced businessmen and women were headed to their financial district offices. One man looked so depressed that she wanted to tell him to lighten up.
She looked at Joe, who wore a frown, as well. She smiled. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t shower yet,” she told him.
He glanced at her and seemed surprised by her easy grin. “What happened in there?” he asked.
She frowned. “A chunk of ceiling fell. Hey, that place has been buried for a century. Not even the Pyramids have survived without some damage, and this place was nowhere near that well built.” She was trying to make him smile. No dice.
“I wonder if you should be working that dig.”
“What are you talking about? It’s what I do.”
He shook his head.
“In fact,” she said thoughtfully, staring at him, “how did you happen to be there?”
He stared straight ahead and didn’t answer.
“Joe?”
“I don’t know,” he said at last, almost unwillingly.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I mean, I don’t know. I just…” He stopped speaking, shook his head again. “I just had a feeling I should go find you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. Instinct, fluke—I don’t know.”
“Well, that was really sweet of you,” she said.
“Sweet?” He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Yes, it was very nice of you to worry.”
He didn’t reply to that, but his strides increased.
“Hey, slow down. I’m a fast walker, but I’m practically running to keep up with you,” she said.
“Sorry.”
Then they were at the house. It wasn’t officially open yet, but the door was ajar and Melissa popped out just as they started up the steps.
“Leslie, are you all right?” she cried anxiously, hurrying out to greet her.
“Fine,” Leslie said, frowning. “What—”
“The news announced that there had been an accident,” Melissa said, then gave Joe a strange look. “You went from here to the site?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow,” Melissa said, looking at him in wonder.
“Hey there, is everyone all right?”
Leslie looked toward the entrance. Jeff Green, in complete Colonial grab, was standing in the doorway, his face wearing an expression of concern. Leslie had to smile. He could have been an eighteenth-century gentleman, standing on his porch to survey his domain. He reminded her a little bit of Ichabod Crane at that moment, rather than Washington, because, seen from below, he was so tall and lean.
“Everything’s fine,” she said as he, too, stepped outside. He ruined the impression of historical perfection when he reached into his Colonial jacket pocket and produced a pack of Marlboros. He lit up, still frowning. “Melissa and I had the TV in the office on and we heard what happened. That policeman—Dryer—came on to say that everything was all right, but that’s what the cops always say. We couldn’t help being worried.”
“Thanks for your concern. I’m pretty dirty and I’ve got a headache, but that’s about it,” Leslie said.
“Well—” Joe began.
She stepped on his foot. He looked down at her, brows lowering. She stared at him, and he smiled in understanding. She was grateful, but growing weary of constantly saying that she was fine.
“Where’s Tandy?” Leslie asked, changing the subject.
“Unless we have school groups or a major tour scheduled, she takes Wednesdays off and I have Thursdays, and we both take Sunday,” he explained.
“We pull in our biggest crowds on Friday and Saturday,” Melissa explained. “We should be open on Sundays, too.”
“The Sabbath?” Jeff protested, sounding convincingly Colonial. Then he grinned. “Hey, I like my Sundays off.”