“I know, I know. The best friend.” Quentin did the up-and-down thing. My five-ten frame towered over him, so his eyes just focused at the level of my breasts and worked their way south to my knees before lifting back up to meet my glance. “The sex crimes prosecutor. Nina talked about you for the entire flight yesterday. That’s an interesting job you’ve got. We ought to have a chat sometime, just the two of us. Like to hear more about what you do.”

Quentin turned to exchange his empty wineglass for a full one, and I gave him a nod as I walked away. Nina blew him a kiss and followed me.

“That’s the guy who’s running this show?”

“Worked with Spielberg for twelve years. He’s absolutely ingenious at designing interactive materials and futuristic movie images. Makes inanimate objects look like flesh and blood. He sees things in ways that nobody else does.”

“That much was obvious to me.” I stood on tiptoes, looking over heads and shoulders for any sign of Jake. “Did the big guns at the Met and Natural History ever meet Quentin before today?”

“You think we wouldn’t have done a deal if they had?”

“Have you lost your mind? This museum was founded by old men. Very rich, very white, very Presbyterian. Natural History was pretty much the same. The good old boys may be dead and buried, but this place isn’t exactly run by the most diverse crowd in town.”

“Somebody on the project did his homework. Our advance group managed all the hands-on work to get this event up and running. Probably the preppiest-looking film team I’ve ever seen west of the Mississippi. Hired a white-shoe law firm here to handle the contract work. Saved the outing of Quentin for tonight’s gala, the big announcement.”

“How’d that go?”

“Listen to the buzz. The trustees, the press, the upper crust-whoever these people are, they seemed thrilled about the news.” Nina steered me to the small recess at the center of the taller building, the gateway to the Temple of Dendur. She was looking for a quieter place to tell me about the presentation that I had missed.

“Do you know Pierre Thibodaux?” She pointed to the podium, where a tall, dark-haired man was being led away from a small group of museum officials. He motioned to his colleagues with a raised finger and stepped into the adjacent corridor.

“Only by reputation. New guy in town.” Thibodaux had replaced Philippe de Montebello as director of the Met less than three years ago.

“He’s taken all the meetings with our advance crew himself. This show is his baby. Brilliant, mercurial, handsome. You’ve got to meet him-”

“Ladies, you can’t be leaning against the building, y’all hear me?” a security guard said.

We walked out of the narrow opening and searched for another quiet nook.

“Let’s get out of this wing so we can have a normal conversation. There are as many living, breathing jackals in here tonight as there are limestone ones standing sentry over all the Egyptian galleries. I somehow think poor Augustus didn’t foresee when he built these monuments that they would become the most prized cocktail space in Manhattan.”

I could tell that Nina was annoyed with me, as she tried to follow me back down the steps.

“Who’s Augustus? What the hell are you talking about? The temple is Egyptian, right?”

I had been coming to the Met since my earliest childhood, and knew most of the permanent exhibits pretty well. “Half right. It was built near Aswan, but by a Roman emperor who ruled that region at the time. Augustus had it erected in honor of two young sons of a Nubian chieftain who drowned in the Nile. I hate to dampen your enthusiasm, Nina. I’ve just been around too much death today not to wonder why we find it appropriate to organize our festivities in and around the tombs of all these ancient cultures. Wouldn’t people find it offensive to have the next cocktail party at Arlington Cemetery?”

“Sorry they’re not serving scotch tonight, Alex. Take it easy, will you? We can leave any time you’d like. Who’s the old dame hanging on to Jake?”

He had spotted the two of us and was making his way to the foot of the platform on which we stood. A silver-haired woman with lots of dangling sapphires-from earlobes, wrists, fingers-had grasped Jake by the arm and was bending his ear about something. I stopped on the bottom step and fished in my purse for some coins to toss in the moat.

“Look out for that crocodile, darling. The most dangerous creature in Egypt, the embodiment of the essence of evil.” Jake held out his hand to lower me down as I tossed a few quarters in the water, for good luck. The ebony croc mocked the gesture, his gaping mouth posed for eternity, seeking something meatier than the quiche that was being circulated around the room.

I kissed Jake’s cheek, which was already covered with the shapes of pursed lips in a variety of colors. “I don’t mind that you’rein loco husband for Nina, but who’s the rest of my competition?”

“That last woman? Just one of the trustees. Didn’t catch her name. Gushing about how exciting the joint show is going to be and asking whether the networks are covering the fireworks tonight.”

“Fireworks?”

“There’s supposed to be a preview, a five-minute sound-and-light show to kick off the news about the bestiary exhibition. Here comes Thibodaux. He’ll do the honors.”

Instead, the director walked straight toward us, smoothing his jacket with one hand and his hair with the other. “Nina, may I have a word with you? Do you know where Quentin is?”

“I’ll find him for you. Pierre, I’d like you to meet my-”

“Enchanté.”He greeted us tersely but his eyes searched the room over my shoulder. He and Nina broke away, retracing our steps to look for the producer.

I glanced at my watch. “Soon as we tear her loose, think you’d treat your two dates to burgers at ‘21’?”

“My chariot awaits you, madam.”

Nina, Quentin, and Pierre had their heads together at the top of the stairs. The director did a double take over his shoulder as Quentin pointed down at me. Nina was shaking her head in the negative and trying to block me from Quentin’s line of sight. You’re right, pal. Whatever it is, keep me out of it.

Pierre Thibodaux didn’t wait for the others to descend the two tiers of steps.

“Miss Cooper? Mr. Vallejo just told me that you’re a prosecutor. May I have a moment with you, alone, for some advice? Do you mind, Mr. Tyler?” This time, no guard admonished us as Thibodaux led me back up to the platform, removed the rope between the two pillars at the entrance of the Temple of Dendur, and stepped into the quiet archway.

“You’re a bureau chief in the Manhattan district attorney’s office? I need your help in dealing with the police tonight.”

“Here, at the museum?”

“No, actually, in a freight yard. I’m going to make a few remarks to close the evening and send all these people on their way. We’ll forgo the drama of the UniQuest Productions pyrotechnics. The last thing we need tomorrow is any bad publicity linked to our splendid new show.”

“Perhaps I can make a call to the proper-”

“There’s a shipment of exhibits going abroad, stored in containers for transit. It’s a very routine occurrence for us. Crates go in and out of the country all the time. Exchanges with other museums, items we’ve deaccessioned or loaned to foreign institutions. Happens regularly.”

“I doubt there’s anything that I can help you with. If you’ve got a problem with Customs-” I said, as Thibodaux continued to speak over my objection.

“What doesn’t usually happen is that one of the ancient sarcophagi was opened for inspection a few hours ago. There was supposed to be a mummified princess in the coffin, Miss Cooper. Twelfth Dynasty, Middle Kingdom. A couple of thousand years old and quite valuable. Instead, there’s a corpse inside. Someone has substituted a body, I’m afraid. A few centuries younger than my princess, no doubt, but just as dead.”