Three Fates

rolls. “He collects mythological art. Something he started doing on one of his business trips to Greece some years ago. He’s in shipping.”
    “Is that so? A handsome, wealthy Irishman, with an interest in your field. And you haven’t called him ? ”
    “Oh, I couldn’t.” As if flustered, Tia stared down at the tablecloth and fiddled with the collar of her jacket. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable calling a man. I never know what to say anyway. Besides, I think he was disappointed I couldn’t give him any help with the Fates. The statues, that is. I was very helpful with the myths, if I do say so myself. And with one of them at the bottom of the Atlantic, they’d never be complete, would they?”
    “No.”
    “I suppose if they were—complete, that is—they’d be quite valuable.”
    “Quite.”
    “If Henry Wyley hadn’t taken that trip, at that time, on that ship, who knows? But then again, that’s fate. Maybe you could find one of them, if they still exist or ever did. You must have all kinds of sources.”
    “I do, and I happen to have an interested client. I always hate to disappoint a client, so I’m doing what I can to verify their existence, and to track them down.”
    Anita nibbled delicately on a roll as she watched Tia. “I hope you won’t mention that to—was it Malachi?—if he calls you again. I wouldn’t like him to scoop me on this.”
    “I won’t, but I don’t think it’ll be an issue.” Tia put a lot of wind into her sigh. “I did tell him I’d heard, oh, some time ago, that someone in Athens claimed to have Atropus. That’s the third Fate.”
    With her heart pounding at her own improvisation, Tia carefully studied her salad for flaws.
    “In Athens?”
    “Yes, I think someone spoke about it last fall. Or maybe it was last spring. I can’t quite remember. I was doing some research on the Muses. Those are the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne. They each have their own specialty, such as Clio, who—”
    “What about the Fates?” Anita demanded.
    “What about the what? Oh.” Tia laughed a little and sipped her water. “Sorry, I suppose I tend to run off on tangents. It’s so irritating to people.”
    “Not at all.” Anita imagined herself just leaning over and choking the boring twit to death over her salad. “But you were saying?”
    “Yes, it must have been in the spring of last year.” Face intent, she dribbled a stingy amount of dressing on her salad. “I really wasn’t looking for information on the Fates, certainly not on the art pieces. I only paid attention to be polite. This source I contacted . . . what was his name? Well, it doesn’t matter as he wasn’t nearly as much help as I’d hoped. With the Muses, that is. But during the conversation he mentioned that he’d heard this person in Athens had Atropus. The statue, not the mythological figure.”
    “I don’t suppose you remember the name of the person in Athens?”
    “Oh my, I’m not good with names.” With an apologetic glance at Anita, Tia forked up salad. “In fact, I don’t think it came up at all, as it was just something mentioned in passing. And it was so long ago. I remember it was Athens only because I’ve always wanted to go there. Plus, it seemed logical that one of the statues would be there. In Greece. Have you ever been?”
    “No.” Anita shrugged. “Not yet.”
    “Neither have I. I don’t think the food would agree with me.”
    “Did you mention this to Malachi?”
    “About Athens? No, I don’t think I did. It didn’t occur to me. Oh my! Do you suppose I should have? Maybe, if I’d thought of it, he’d have called me again. He really was terribly handsome.”
    Idiot, Anita thought. Imbecile. “Anything’s possible.”
     
     
    TIA FELT GIDDY. The way she imagined a woman might feel after committing adultery in a sleazy motel with a younger, unemployed artist while her stuffy, dependable husband presided over a board meeting.
    But no, she decided as she quick-footed it into her apartment building, that sort of giddiness would come before the actual adultery, on the way to the sleazy, rent-by-the-hour motel. After, you’d feel guilty and ashamed and in need of a long shower.
    Or so she imagined.
    Still, she’d lied, deceived—and figuratively screwed someone—and she didn’t feel guilty in the least. She felt powerful.
    And she liked it.
    Anita detested her. Did people think she couldn’t tell when they found her boring and annoying and basically