The Five-Day Dig (12 page)

“Mephitis?”
Winnie whispered to Chaz. “I’m not familiar with that goddess, but I do kn
ow
mephitis
is the genus for skunks
. Her name seems to mean ‘stench.’ ”

He leaned close to her and responded in a low voice. “She’s connected with volcanic vents of poisonous gas, so she has an air of sulfur about her.”

“Ah, I see. Maybe that’s why the Romans replaced her with Venus.”

He muffled a laugh. “And if she had anything to say about them replacing her, maybe that’s why
Pompeii
got wiped out.”

At their next stop, she enjoyed seeing the forum with its open space and enormous broken pieces of architecture. But when they continued to the area near the large theater, the column-lined street next to it sparked memories from her visit with her family. In the moonlight, the setting felt alive, and uneasiness brewed inside her.

They walked into the seating area of the open-roofed arena, and she remembered sitting on one of the benches with her father telling her about the pantomimes, farces and Greek plays the Pompeians watched there.

As she stood staring at the stage, Chaz stepped up beside her, reciting Euripides: “
When good men die, their goodness does not perish, but lives though they are gone. As for the bad, all that was theirs dies and is buried with them.
”

A tear swelled in her eye and rolled down her cheek. She swiped at it – but not before he saw it.

He frowned. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?
With your father.
I’m so sorry I chose that quote.”

“No, it’s perfect for the setting.” She sniffed. “It’s funny that Shakespeare wrote the opposite: ‘
The evil men do lives after them;
The
good is oft interred with their bones.
’ ”

He nodded. A moment passed,
then
he said,
“
It makes you wonder if Shakespeare got Euripides wrong or was playing on his predecessor’s words.”

“I love Euripides, but Shakespeare’s version fits my father’s case better.” She let out a rueful laugh. “At least I hope so. I don’t actually know what went down with him. He drowned in the Tyrrhenian. They never found him.”

Passing by, Liz motioned for them to follow her toward the exit. “Come on. We’re moving on to the
Temple
of
Isis
.”

“Go on without us,” Chaz said. “We’re going to cut out early. We’ll meet you out front when the tour’s over.”

She stopped, looking surprised, but after glancing at Winnie’s face, she nodded. Pulling a business card out of her handbag, she handed it to him. “We should only be another half-hour, but call my cell if you need me sooner.”

Winnie shook her head at him. “You can’t miss the
Temple
of
Isis
because of me.”

“I’ve seen it before.” He jammed the card in his pocket, then put his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the theater exit with Liz beside them.

His touch felt warm and protective. Though she deplored her lack of will, Winnie couldn’t resist leaning into him. Liz dropped back behind them,
then
disappeared.

Outside the theater, she let him guide her away from the group and back toward the Marine Gate. The distraction of the physical contact anchored her mind in the present, and her lapse into emotion faded as they retraced their steps.

Going through the turnstile forced them to step apart, and once they passed through, she kept her distance. She fished in her bag for a tissue to dry her eyes, then looked up at him and smiled. “I’m fine now. Thanks for getting me out.”

“Glad to be of service.”

“Don’t try to tell me
it’s
part of your job,” she joked.

He shook his head, his face serious.
“No, not this.”

They stood on the modern sidewalk with cars zipping by and street vendors calling to them from across the road. The grip of the past – both its good parts and bad – was broken. Would a day come when she could view memories of her father at
Pompeii
with the same pleasant nostalgia she felt for the ruins themselves?
she
wondered.

“There’s a wine bar across the street,” Chaz said. “Want to grab a drink? We can keep an eye open for the crew from Weiland from one of the street-side tables.”

She agreed, and they made their way over.

After getting a couple of glasses of Chianti, they sat down, staring at the lighted walls of the ancient town. In
Pompeii
’s last years, its need for fortification had waned under
Rome
’s protection, and parts of the walls had been knocked out to make way for luxurious homes for the wealthy. Even in ruins, the lavish villas looked fabulous.

She sighed. “Imagine what this view was like when the river Sarno still flowed through here, instead of this congested road.”

“That must have been something, but we’re lucky even to have this view.”

“True.”

They sat quietly, enjoying their good fortune until the tour group began filing out of the gates across the street. Spotting their companions among the first to leave, they waved.

Liz saw them and led the others over to join them.

Some of the other tourists made their way to the bar, too, and the atmosphere bustled.

While the five of them sat chatting about the tour, their guide and an older man wearing a badge marked
volontario
or “volunteer” stopped by the table and asked if they had enjoyed it.

“Very evocative,” Liz said.

“And informative?” the guide asked.

“Sure, but we work in the field, so we were already familiar with the site. We came to
Italy
for the
Conferenza Archaeologica di Campania
.” She pointed her thumb toward Winnie and Chaz. “And these lucky folks from
Growden
University
are staying for an excavation at the Rentino estate.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “That is fortunate.” He revealed that he was a retired professor of archaeology and had always wanted to explore the Rentino property.

“The project is limited,” Winnie said, embarrassed that they'd stumbled into a position he had dreamed of his whole life. It wasn’t fair. “We only have five days to work in a designated area.”

“Five days?
Ridicolo.
”

She laughed. “It is ridiculous.”

He wished them well, and the pair started to move on, but she called for them to wait. “You’re both veterans of local archaeology. Is there any chance you knew my late father, Royston Price? He worked in the area twenty years ago.”

“Price, you say?” The man exchanged a confused look with his colleague.

The woman shook her head slightly. “It’s not the same man. She said her father passed away.”

He turned back to Winnie. “I’m afraid not.”

She was about to ask what Price they did know when her phone lit up on the table. The screen revealed she had a text message from Sam. When she glanced up again, the tour staffers were approaching another table.

Eager to see what her brother had to say, she checked the message.

“
just
letting u know i’m ok.
2 busy to write much now.
be
in touch soon.
x
.”

She made a face. “Well, I finally heard from my brother, but he’s too busy to tell me what he’s up to. Typical, but at least I know he’s alive.”

Remembering the tour staffers, she looked around for them but couldn’t spot them.

Oh, well
, she thought. Price was a common name. She doubted their acquaintance was related to her.

They stayed another hour,
then
drove back to the hotel. The Weiland team got off at Floor 3,
then
she found herself alone with Chaz. Only too aware that he would be gone for the next week, she vowed not to cast any wistful looks his way.

They walked down the hall without speaking. While they had sat in the wine bar waiting for the others, their silence had felt comfortable, but now
an awkwardness
hung between them. Not speaking when you had nothing to say was one thing; not speaking because you were afraid of what you might say was another.

She stopped at her door, and he waited while she fumbled for her key in her bag. “Thank you for buoying me up tonight,” she said, too conscious of how close he was.

“My pleasure.
Thank you for letting me
crash
your outing with your friends.”

“Such as it was.”
Locating the key, she held it up to show it to him with a self-conscious smile. “Have a safe trip.”

His gaze on her felt heavy. “Will you be all right in
Italy
on your own? You wrestled with some memories tonight.”

“Sure.” She tried to shove the key in the lock but failed. “Liz will be here for a few days. After that, I’ll cram on Roman initiation rites for ‘The Five-Day Dig.’ ”

He leaned one hand on the doorframe near her shoulder, practically enclosing her with his arm, like he had when he walked her out of
Pompeii
.

She froze and looked up at him. The intensity of his gaze made her suck in her breath. He
couldn’t
be thinking about kissing her.

The elevator bell dinged, and Farber stepped into the hall carrying an open laptop. “Ah, Charles,” he called. “I hoped I’d catch you before bed. I’m having trouble checking in online for my flight.”

Chaz dropped his arm and sighed. “Why didn’t you just call me?”

“I was in the business center anyway, so I thought I’d run up.” He handed his laptop to Chaz,
then
looked at Winnie. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“No, I’m on my way to bed.” She managed to unlock her door and open it. “Goodnight, guys. Have a safe trip.”

Over the top of the laptop, Chaz grimaced at her. “I’ll see you next week. If you need anything, let me know.”

“I will.” She stepped inside the room and shut the door behind her, leaning against it. Her breathing came quick. Instead of feeling relief, an ache curled inside her.

Don’t even think about it
, she warned herself. She needed something to distract her before she started imagining all sorts of impossible things.

She went to the dresser, pulled her laptop out of a drawer, and plugged it in.
Might as well get started on her research.
The more she knew about Roman mystery religion, the less of a fool she would make of herself on TV.

Other ways she might make a fool of herself were beyond even considering.