Grim Shadows (Roaring Twenties #2)(20)

An elderly woman came around the counter, smiling in their direction.

Adam nodded to her before speaking to Stella. “Take it to Mrs. Berkovich. You can play after washing up.” He moved his hands to sign the word “wash” and pointed at the woman. Stella grabbed the toy and Mrs. Berkovich escorted her to the back.

“It’s times like this when I think Miriam would’ve done a better job,” Adam said wistfully as he watched his daughter disappear.

Adam’s wife died of influenza a year after Stella was born—almost three years ago, now. The three of them had been friends since they were kids. Her death had devastated Adam. It had happened within a few months of Lowe’s parents dying in the car crash, so Lowe and Adam grieved together. But though Lowe could say he’d come to terms with losing his parents—mostly—Adam never truly got over Miriam. And Lowe was worried he never would.

“I’ve told you a thousand times, it’s not a defeat to hire a nanny.”

“And I’ve told you a thousand more that I’m not taking a handout from the Magnusson family. I’m a watchmaker, not a bootlegger. I do the best I can.”

“You’re a goddamn genius with metal, is what you are. And if we can pull this off, we’re going to make so much cash, you might be the one giving handouts.”

“I’ve heard that a thousand times from you as well,” his friend said, his mouth curling at the corners.

“We made a pretty penny off the crocodile statue forgery.” Never mind that Lowe’s uncle screwed up the paperwork, or that Monk wanted his head for it. None of that was Adam’s problem.

“And I spent it paying off Stella’s family debts.”

“You’re a better man than I, Goldberg.”

Adam playfully slapped him on the arm. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

After Mrs. Berkovich brought steaming bowls of soup, fresh bread, and half-sour pickles pulled from fat wooden barrels near the counter, Lowe retrieved the amulet base. The strange, disconcerting vibration it emitted grew louder as he unwrapped it. “Take a look.”

Adam whistled in appreciation. “This is it, eh?”

“What do you think? Can you do it?” Lowe glanced at Stella playing with the windup cat. She didn’t seem to “hear” the amulet, which was probably a good thing. Adam didn’t comment about it, either.

“May I?” Adam asked, pulling out a pair of jewelers’ eyeglasses with extended magnifying lenses.

“Be my guest. I can’t stand to touch the thing. Gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

Adam turned it in his hand, leaning closer for inspection. “Same strange red tarnish to the gold as the crocodile statue, but completely different method of casting.”

“A thousand years older, different place. Pay close attention to the hole at the top.” Lowe pulled out a black pocket notebook from his suit and roughly sketched the finished shape of the amulet with the four crossbars stacked on the top—or how he theorized it would look, based on known descriptions and other djed pillars depicted in stoneware and jewelry from that time period.

“A curator at the de Young Museum looked at it—daughter of the antiquities department head.”

“The one who offered to buy it?”

“The very one. I just came from seeing her.” Lowe tapped his fingertips on the table and felt Adam’s eyes boring into him. “Came from seeing her father, I mean. Her and her father.”

Adam made a guttural noise that was both judgmental and amused. “Pretty?”

“The father?”

“Screw you.”

“Hadley, then.”

“Oh, Hadley,” Adam drawled. “Ech. One day home and you’re already on first-name basis? Damn you and your crazy Viking height and that lying smile of yours. What does she look like?”

“She’s interesting.” Well, she was. And he didn’t really know how to describe her. Part of him wanted to tell Adam about the “cock” slip and the astounding shape of her ass, but some irrational part of his brain selfishly wanted to keep it all for himself.

“Fine, don’t tell me. Is her father still buying this from you?”

“Even better. The man claims he found the crossbars that fit into the top. His dead wife hid them around the city years ago. He wants me to track them down and sell him this so he’ll have the whole thing.”

Adam looked at him above his magnifying spectacles. “How much?”

Lowe told him.

“No.”

“Oh, yes,” Lowe confirmed. “And God willing, if I find them, I want you to copy each piece exactly.”

“It’ll take me a couple of weeks to forge this one.”

“That’s fine. The crossbars will be smaller. Less detail.” Lowe slipped his friend an envelope with a rather hefty wad of bills he’d pilfered from Winter’s petty cash that morning; he’d have to replace it when Bacall’s check cleared. “Money to purchase the gold. And keep that thing in the warded vault, Adam. Just in case anyone comes sniffing around.”

“Why would anyone have reason to?”

“Well, for one, Monk is furious about the paperwork for the statue.”

Adam raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Your uncle and his schemes. Are we in trouble?”