Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

Robinson just try to ask me out on a date?
    Thunder rocked the building and the lights briefly dimmed, as if the heavens had just answered her question.
Yes, he did.
    She gave an amazed shake of her head and looked down at the stack of old accession ledgers. They contained the handwritten lists of antiquities that the museum had acquired through the decades, and she had been slowly making her way down that list, locating each item and assessing its condition. Once again, she tried to focus on the task, but her mind drifted back to Nicholas.
    Do you like movies?
    She smiled.
Yes. And I like you, too. I always have.
    She opened a book from decades before and recognized Dr. William Scott-Kerr’s microscopic handwriting. These ledgers were a lasting record of each curator’s tenure, and she’d noted the changing handwriting as old curators left and new ones arrived. Some, like Dr. Scott-Kerr, had been with the museum for decades, and she imagined them growing old along with the collection, walking the creaky floors past specimens that over time would have seemed as familiar as old friends. Here was the record of Scott-Kerr’s reign, recorded in his sometimes cryptic notations.

    —Megaladon tooth, details of collection unk. Donated by Mr. Gerald DeWitt.
    —Clay jar handles, stamped with winged sun disks. Iron Age. Collected at Nebi Samwil by Dr. C. Andrews.
    —Silver coin, probably 3rd C
BC ,
stamped with Parthenope and man-headed bull on reverse. Naples. Purchased from private collection Dr. M. Elgar.

    The silver coin was currently on display in the first-floor gallery, but she had no idea where the clay jar handles were located. She made a note to herself to hunt them down, and turned the page, to find the next three items listed as a group.

    —Various bones, some human, some equine.
    —Metallic fragments, possibly remnants of pack animal harness.
    —Fragment of dagger blade, possibly Persian. 3rd C.
BC ,
Collected by S. Crispin near Siwa Oasis, Egypt.

    She looked at the date and froze at her desk. Though thunder crackled outside, she was more aware of the thudding of her own heart. Siwa Oasis. Simon was in the western desert, she thought.
The same year my mother was there.
    She reached for her crutches and started up the hall to Simon’s office.
    His door was open, but he had turned off the lights. Peering into the gloom, she saw him sitting near the window. The weather had taken a violent turn, and he was gazing out at the lightning. Fierce gusts rattled the window and sheets of rain splattered the glass as though tossed by angry gods.
    “Simon?” she said.
    He turned. “Ah, Josephine. Come and watch. Mother Nature is providing us with quite a spectacle today.”
    “May I ask you something? It’s about an entry in this ledger.”
    “Let me see it.”
    She thumped across the room on her crutches and handed the book to him. Squinting in the gray light, he murmured: “Various bones. Fragment of a dagger.” He looked up. “What was your question?”
    “Your name is listed as the collector. Do you remember bringing home these items?”
    “Yes, but I haven’t taken a look at them in years.”
    “Simon, these were collected from the western desert. The blade’s described as possibly Persian, third century BC .”
    “Ah, of course. You want to examine it for yourself.” He grabbed his cane and pushed himself to his feet. “Well then, let’s take a look and see if you agree with my assessment.”
    “You know where these items are stored?”
    “I know where they should be. Unless someone’s moved them elsewhere since I last saw them.”
    She followed him up the hall, toward the ancient elevator. She had never trusted the contraption and usually avoided taking it, but now that she was on crutches she had no choice but to step in. As Simon closed the black grille cage, she felt as if the jaws of a trap had suddenly snapped shut. The elevator gave an alarming shudder and slowly creaked down to the basement level, where she was relieved to step out safely.
    He unlocked the storage area. “If I recall correctly,” he said, “these items were quite compact, so they’d be stored on the back shelves.” He led her into the maze of crates. The Boston police had completed their survey, and the floor was still littered with wood shavings and stray Styrofoam peanuts. She followed Simon down a narrow passage into the older section of the storage area, past crates stamped with the names of enticingly