The Keepsake: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

read its contents. Afraid that, once she opened it, her life would change. For this one last moment, she could still be Josephine Pulcillo, the quiet young woman who never spoke of her past. The underpaid archaeologist who was content to hide away in the Crispin Museum’s back room, fussing over bits of papyrus and scraps of linen.
    I’ve been careful, she thought. So careful to keep my head down and my eyes on my work, yet somehow the past has caught up with me.
    Taking a deep breath, she finally tore open the envelope. Tucked inside was a note with only six words written in block letters. Words that told her what she already knew.

THE POLICE ARE NOT YOUR FRIENDS.

SIX
     
    The docent at the Crispin Museum appeared ancient enough to be exhibited in a display case herself. The gray-haired little gnome was barely tall enough to peer over the counter of the reception desk as she announced: “I’m sorry, but we don’t open until exactly ten AM . If you’d like to come back in seven minutes, I’ll sell you the tickets then.”
    “We’re not here to tour the museum,” said Jane. “We’re with Boston PD. I’m Detective Rizzoli and this is Detective Frost. Mr. Crispin is expecting us.”
    “I wasn’t informed.”
    “Is he here?”
    “Yes. He and Miss Duke are in a meeting upstairs,” the woman said, clearly enunciating the title
Miss
and not
Ms.,
as though to emphasize that in this building, old-fashioned rules of etiquette still applied. She came around from behind the counter, revealing a plaid kilt-skirt and enormous orthopedic shoes. Pinned to her white cotton blouse was a name tag: MRS. WILLEBRANDT, DOCENT. “I’ll take you to his office. But first I need to lock up the cash box. We’re expecting a large crowd again today, and I don’t want to leave it unattended.”
    “Oh, we can find the way to his office,” said Frost. “If you’ll tell us where it is.”
    “I don’t want you to get lost.”
    Frost gave her his best charm-the-old-ladies smile. “I was a Boy Scout, ma’am. I promise, I won’t get lost.”
    Mrs. Willebrandt refused to be charmed. She eyed him dubiously through steel-rimmed spectacles. “It’s on the third floor,” she finally said. “You can take the elevator, but it’s
very
slow.” She pointed to a black grille cage that looked more like an ancient death trap than an elevator.
    “We’ll take the stairs,” said Jane.
    “They’re straight ahead, through the main gallery.”
    Straight ahead,
however, was not a direction that one could navigate in this building. When Jane and Frost stepped into the first-floor gallery, they confronted a maze of display cases. The first case that greeted them contained a life-sized wax figure of a nineteenth-century gentleman garbed in a fine woolen suit and waistcoat. In one hand he held a compass; in the other, he clutched a yellowed map. Though he faced them through the glass, his eyes looked elsewhere, focused on some lofty and distant destination that only he could see.
    Frost leaned forward and read the plaque at the gentleman’s feet. “‘Dr. Cornelius M. Crispin, Explorer and Scientist, 1830 through 1912. The treasures he brought home from around the world were the beginnings of the Crispin Museum Collection.’” He straightened. “Wow. Imagine listing that as your occupation.
Explorer.
”
    “I think
rich guy
would be more accurate.” Jane moved on to the next case, where gold coins glittered under display lights. “Hey, look. This says these are from the kingdom of Croesus.”
    “Now
there
was a rich guy.”
    “You mean Croesus was for real? I thought he was just some fairy tale.”
    They continued to the next case, which was filled with pottery and clay figurines. “Cool,” said Frost. “These are Sumerian. You know, this is really old stuff. When Alice gets home, I’m going to bring her here. She’d love this museum. Funny how I never even heard of it before.”
    “Everyone’s heard of it now. Nothing like a murder to put your place on the map.”
    They wandered deeper into the maze of cases, past marble busts of Greeks and Romans, past rusted swords and glinting jewelry, their footsteps creaking on old wood floors. So many cases were crammed into the gallery that the passages between them were narrow alleys, and every turn brought a fresh surprise, another treasure that demanded their attention.
    They emerged at last into an open area near the stairwell. Frost started up the steps to the second