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Savannah tore her gaze from the little girl before she begged to hold her. She made a show of glancing at her watch. “I need to get back to TGU. I hope you’ll consider Hez for your condo.”
Jane smiled and set her daughter down. “It’s a done deal. I have the lease agreement with me if you’re ready to sign, Hez.” Her smile faltered when she looked at Savannah.
“Thank you so much.” Savannah swallowed past the constriction in her throat. “I—I need to go now.”
Hez’s gaze swung to her, concern creasing his face. He opened his mouth, but she was out the door before he could say anything. She shook her head, ashamed that she couldn’t hold herself together. But she didn’t slow down until she was at the bottom of the staircase and heading for the sound of the waves and the scent of water.
God had given Jane a beautiful daughter but had taken Savannah’s. The harsh reality settled in her heart that she didn’t just blame Hez. She blamed God. She had sensed him with her, but he could have prevented all of this from happening. Why hadn’t he?
Chapter 9
Hez left his new “office”—actually labeled a storage room on the floor plan—and made the ten-minute trek across campus to the history department offices in Connor Hall. Gaggles of students hurried along the weedy brick paths linking the old limestone-and-brick buildings. Hez weaved his way among them, marveling at how young they looked. Three weeks ago, he’d felt like he hadn’t really changed since he left college fifteen years ago. Now he felt like an island of almost middle age surrounded by a sea of youth.
He reached Savannah’s office, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” she called.
He opened the door and walked in. Built-in bookshelves along two walls held neat rows of scholarly treatises on pre-Columbian North America, Savannah’s main area of specialty. A smaller bookcase by her desk was stuffed with the classic fantasy and horror stories she loved. There was her old boxed set of The Lord of the Rings, the bindings cracked and worn from a dozen readings. A familiar-looking book lay open on the top of the bookshelf, and he smiled: Seamus Heaney’s translation of Beowulf that Hez had given her for her birthday while they were engaged. They’d read it aloud to each other one stormy weekend, savoring the poetic rhythms in the ancient tale of monsters and mead halls.
Savannah sat behind her desk, smiling back at him. She wore a cream blouse and khaki slacks that gave her a crisp, professional appearance but didn’t hide her curves. A picture of Ella faced him from the credenza, stabbing his heart. The anniversary of her death was in two days, and he’d been trying not to think about it.
“Did you see Beckett’s email to the history faculty?” she asked. “That should make these interviews easier.”
He focused on Savannah, glad to be distracted from the picture behind her. “No, my university email isn’t working yet. What does it say?”
She turned to her computer and read, “Dear colleagues, the provost’s office is investigating whether certain items may have been improperly removed from the collections commonly known as the Willard Treasure. Please cooperate with the investigation and make yourselves available for interviews upon request. The provost’s office will be assisted by Professor Savannah Webster and recently hired law instructor Hezekiah Webster.”
Hez grimaced at the power play. He and Savannah weren’t “assisting” Beckett’s investigation, and the interviews had been Hez’s idea. Plus, it hadn’t really been necessary to point out that he was a lowly “instructor,” which put him at the bottom of TGU’s academic pecking order. Still, Savannah was right that this would make their job easier—none of the professors on her list could refuse to talk to them now.
“Great,” he said without enthusiasm. “Who do you want to talk to first?”
“Let’s start with old Charlie Hinkle. His office is just down the hall.”
They left her office and walked a few paces down the corridor and entered a room that was more fire hazard than office. Stacks of paper and books covered every available surface, including most of the floor. A narrow clutter-free corridor led back to a battered old desk, behind which sat what appeared to be a living garden gnome, minus the pointy hat.
“Good morning, Charlie!” Savannah said, brightening the dusty room with her smile. “Do you have a few minutes?”
The gnome looked up from an enormous book festooned with yellow sticky notes. Rheumy brown eyes peered from under bristling white brows. “Ah, Savannah. Of course I have a few minutes for you.” He gestured at two chairs, each of which held a foot-high stack of papers, books, and magazines. “Sorry for the mess. Feel free to clear those off and have a seat.”
“That’s all right,” Savannah said. “Hez and I only need a few minutes of your time. We’re here about some missing items from the Willard Treasure. Did you see Beckett’s email?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Hinkle shifted in his seat. “I, um, I’m sorry about that.”
Hez’s ears perked up. “Sorry about what exactly?”
Hinkle pointed at the tome he’d been reading when they came in. “I’m updating my book on late Aztec pottery, and I may have borrowed one or two pieces from the warehouse without, um, formally checking them out.”
“Which pieces?” Savannah asked.
“Oh, they’re over here.” Hinkle pointed to a spot behind his desk. He lifted a small orange vase with a jaguar-shaped handle. “The others are a little too big to pick up.”
They picked their way around the desk, with Savannah in the lead. Half a dozen pots, dishes, and other items lay haphazardly on piles of paper. She snapped pictures of the items with her phone.
A stone sculpture of a flat-nosed man’s head wearing a helmet sat on a small table. Hez pointed to it. “Can I see that?”
Hinkle glanced at it in surprise. “Oh, that’s not from our collection. It’s not even Aztec. That’s a loan from the University of Alabama.”
Hez nodded. “I’d still like to see it. Could you hand it to me?”
