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The guard eyed them, slightly confused. “What names to announce?”
Remi stepped forward. “Longstreet,” she said, giving her maiden name.
Sam added, “Mr. and Mrs.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Longstreet,” he intoned, and he waved them through.
Sam moved Remi quickly from the door, planning to get lost in the crowd before anyone realized what had happened. Especially if Fisk connected the contact by security to them. “That worked out well,” he said once they were safely inside and there didn’t seem to be anyone coming after them.
A liveried waiter passed
by carrying champagne flutes and Sam took two, handing one to Remi. “Here’s to beautiful women who are good actresses.”
“And handsome men who can think on their feet.” She touched her glass to his and sipped as they strolled through the atrium, neither of them wanting to waste any time mingling.
Sam glanced back as they exited toward the gallery with the display.
Remi asked, “Something wrong?”
“We probably stirred a hornet’s nest by siccing those guards on Avery’s man.”
“If we’re lucky, we can get in and out before we get stung.”
“Let’s hope so,” he said as they neared the gathering of guests just outside the new exhibit. He took in their surroundings, searching for anyone who looked the least bit suspicious. He noticed a few undercover security guards, something to be expected. He dismissed them as a threat, instead looking for anyone who might be working for Avery or Fisk.
So far, so good.
A woman at the entrance of the gallery handed them a colored, tri-fold pamphlet.
Remi looked over hers. Sam took the moment to examine the guests milling about inside the long room. No one seemed to be paying them the least bit of attention.
“Fascinating,” Remi said.
“What is?”
She pointed to the pamphlet. “Considering what this display is focusing on, you’d think they would’ve come up with a different name for the event. It’s formally called the Illegitimate Royal Children of England.”
“Somehow I don’t think that would have the same cachet as A Royal Night at the Museum.” He looked around the room and noted a large number of older patrons. “Some of these people might have a hard time writing the official version in their checkbooks.”
Remi laughed. “Good point, Fargo. Shall we see what all the fuss is about?”
He took her arm, and they strolled through the exhibit, set out chronologically by year and by the family associated with it.
About midway through, they reached the display that contained the items donated by Grace Herbert-Miller and her cousin and they stopped, took their time giving everything a thorough examination. There were paintings, a suit of armor, weaponry, and jewelry, just to name a few of the many items. If the cipher wheel was there, it wasn’t in plain view.
“You take photos,” Sam said. “I’ll watch for Fisk.”
She used her phone and snapped pictures of every item. “Done,” she said after a couple of minutes.
A woman in a business suit approached, her ID tag clipped to her pocket identifying her as a museum employee. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
Sam’s first inclination was to agree with her, but he decided that action would elicit less information. “What is?” he asked instead.
“The Mortimer Collection. Our newest. I helped put it together.”
Sam and Remi exchanged quick glances, and Remi moved closer, smiling. “What a fascinating job you must have, Ms . . . ?”
“Walsh. Meryl. And, yes, it most certainly is fascinating.”