A Shred of Truth by Eric Wilson Page A

alternate exit? Aside from some suspicious behavior, I’d done nothing wrong. Maybe I could get to my car and simply slip away.
    Nope. Couldn’t take that chance just yet. If the bag clutched in my hand contained more clues on this little treasure hunt, it might lead to another spot here on the grounds. I couldn’t mess this up. The bag’s contents warranted at least a few seconds of investigation.
    Still running, my feet hit a slope of grass and slipped from beneath me. I landed hard, juggling and cradling the stuff in my hands, careening on my backside toward the base of a fountain. With a bone-rattling jerk, I came to a stop.
    As good a spot as any. You take life’s lemons and make lemonade.
    I loosened the bag’s leather straps and peeked inside. Something glittered. Something smooth and polished. My cupped fingers brushed against paper before scooping the item into the daylight.
    A Fabergé egg?
    I’d seen many just like it in the exhibit hall, but this couldn’t be an authentic one. The shape, size, and array of gemstones around the deep blue oval all looked genuine and expensive, but it seemed too light. And I knewfrom the brochure how rare they were. Fifty-odd imperial eggs existed in the entire world, and only a few remained unaccounted for after the assassination of the Romanovs during Lenin’s revolution.
    Sure enough. On the bottom, a sticker read “Fauxbergé.” A clever fake. It was probably available at the gift shop in the restaurant.
    What was the point of this then? Was there another message inside?
    In the museum’s exhibit, plaques explained how Fabergé’s master craftsmen had designed these things originally to hold trinkets and treasures, revealed by the use of concealed mechanisms. I ran my fingers along the row of fake diamonds, felt for a seam in the translucent enamel surface.
    Nothing obvious. Maybe this jutting jewel on top?
    The squawk of a radio just up the hill interrupted my search.
    I pressed back against the cool stone of the fountain, felt the spray dotting my face. No doubt the rent-a-cop was gathering his buddies, tightening the trap. My Honda was close now, but even if I reached it, I’d still have to pass the guards at the front gate. And, of course, ditching the car to escape on foot would leave my license tag to be traced, like a giant finger pointing to the place my brother and I share off West End Avenue.
    Not much time. My options were limited.
    I wrapped the razor in the envelope and stuffed it in my pocket. I removed the clip from my gun, ejected the chambered round, then slid the deadly components far back beneath a bush that bordered the fountain, and scooped dirt and bark over the pile. I marked the location in my mind for later retrieval.
    Breathe, evaluate, act rapidly
.
    As the guard’s large gut came into view, I realized my way out. Standing, I smoothed my shirt and headed toward his voice.

    “Sir,” I called out. “Excuse me.”
    “Take it easy now! Hold it right there.”
    “Did you see where she went?”
    “Where she … Listen, bud, you keep your hands where I can see them.” The security man puffed out his chest, sucked in his belly, then brought his hand to his mouth and spoke into his transmitter. “Yes sir, cornered him over here near the Perennial Garden.”
    Cornered me? I’d practically hopped into his lap.
    In a show of remorse, I let my shoulders slump a little and said, “Should’ve kept my mouth shut. That’s what I should’ve done. But no, I went and told her everything. You know the girl I’m talking about, the one I was kissing in the museum.”
    The guard studied me with obvious misgivings.
    “She just left in a huff. Can’t blame her,” I continued. “I should’ve never said a word, especially after last time.”
    “Last time what?”
    “It’s a free country, right? So what am I supposed to do, never look at another woman? Impossible, right? Tell me that’s possible.”
    “You admitted to looking at other