Eclipse Bay

in the shot.”
    “Never would have guessed that the helmet on the sixteenth-century suit was the real thing.” Notch spread his hands. “Like, who knew, man?”
    Cady cleared her throat. “How did it come into the, uh, museum’s collection?”
    “I found it right after we bought Military World from old man Belford. He had it stashed away in the back room. I polished it up and added it to the rest of the outfit. Seemed to match, y’know?”
    “I see.” She tapped one finger against the photo while she considered her options. As much as she wanted to take on another assignment for Lost and Found, she had a reputation to maintain. One had to draw the line somewhere. She did not trace reproductions.
    Surreptitiously she glanced at her watch. She might be able to catch the one o’clock flight if she left Military World within the next forty-five minutes. She could be home in time for dinner.
    She turned back to Easton. Something in the way he was watching her told her that he had noticed her checking the time. She summoned up what she hoped was an expression of professional interest. “What did the insurance people say when you notified them about the theft?”
    Notch and Dewey exchanged uneasy looks.
    Mack did not move. “There’s a slight problem with the insurance situation.”
    She sighed. “In other words, the helm was uninsured?”
    Notch made an awkward sound deep in his throat. “Things have been a little rough lately, financially speaking. Dewey and me had to economize and make some cutbacks, y’know? Sort of let some of the insurance go.”
    “Not that the insurance company would have covered the helm for anything like its true value, anyway,” Dewey said quickly. “If we’d had coverage, it would have been for a reproduction, not the real thing on account of we didn’t know it was genuine, if you see what I mean.”
    “I don’t want to be rude,” Cady said gently, “but what makes you think the helm is a genuine sixteenth-century piece?”
    Dewey and Notch stared at her, open-mouthed.
    “You’re supposed to be an expert,” Dewey said. “Can’t you tell from looking at it?”
    She made a bid for patience. “This is only a photograph. There is no way I or anyone else can use it to determine whether or not the helm is genuine.”
    Notch looked stricken. “But Mack here said that you knew your stuff.”
    “Old armor is very popular right now,” she explained. “A lot of the well-heeled early retirees in the software industry are collecting it like mad. Guess it reminds them of all those sword-and-sorcery video and computer games they love to play. Prices are going through the roof. Unfortunately, antique armor is fairly easy to fake. Bury a piece of steel in the ground with some acidic substance for a while and, presto, you get aged armor.”
    Notch bristled. “Are you sayin’ our helmet is a forgery?”
    “I’m saying that is an extremely likely possibility.” Cady spread her hands. “Even the experts get burned a lot when it comes to armor. And the business of creating counterfeits isn’t exactly new. A lot of the best reproductions of antique armor were made in the nineteenth century. By now, the steel has taken on the patina of genuine age and can easily pass for the real thing.”
    “I still say our helmet is the real thing,” Notch declared.
    Cady slanted a quick, searching glance at Mack. He moved his head in the smallest of negatives. He was staying out of the argument; letting her handle the clients.
    Summoning up her best professional expression, she turned back to Notch and Dewey. “Why are you convinced that the helm is genuine when every other piece in your collection is a reproduction?”
    “Simple.” Dewey rocked triumphantly on his heels and looked shrewd. “Someone stole it.”