More Bitter Than Death: An Emma Fielding Mystery - By Dana Cameron Page 0,37
addressed to Dr. Garrison.
As I replaced it, I noticed that it had been pierced through three times. I did a little analysis of the arrangement of the notes: Okay, say it was posted before mine—that was one. Someone came along and used its tack to hold both mine and his up—or had Garrison read it and replaced it for some reason? That would be two. I had no idea why it should be pierced a third time, and tiredly realized that I needed to stop doing taphonomic studies of the bulletin board. When you start attempting to identify just how and in what order the notes were placed on the board, it’s more than time to take a break.
Just about the moment that I put the note back, a flood of people exited the rooms where the one o’clock sessions were held, all of them heading toward the restaurants and the boxed-lunch concession. Just a few steps ahead of them, I hurried toward the coffee shop, and with a bit of luck that had nothing to do with the affection that Eleni had developed for me at breakfast time, got the last deuce in the corner, an ideal spot for people-watching while still keeping my own back covered. Although I was actually getting to eat earlier than I usually would, I was ravenous and already exhausted. Again, the conference effect came into play, and I was convinced that the low pressure from the storm presumably still raging outside wasn’t doing anything to help it. I ordered a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake, watching Eleni’s enormous sigh of despair as she observed the line, full of impatient, hungry academics forming outside the coffee shop.
Noreen was at the head of the line, and I kept my head down, hoping she wouldn’t ask to share my table. Not that I was expecting a conciliatory overture, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to invite her. If she wanted the seat, she could do the asking.
But the gods of restaurant seating smiled on me for once, and a stool at the counter was freed up almost as soon as she started into the coffee shop. I could have sworn that a look of relief crossed her face as she seized it, probably mirroring my own.
Eleni scuffed over with my shake. “You mind sharing the table with another customer? You don’t have to, but…”
“I don’t mind,” I said, happy to repay the restaurant gods for not being visited by Noreen.
The new guy from the artifact roundtable came over. “Thanks for sharing.”
“No problem…” I searched my memory for his name—we’d just been introduced at the Grope and I still had to resort to his name tag; he was that forgettable. “Mr. Widmark. No one will ever get to eat, otherwise.”
He sat down. “Call me Will.” Any hopes I had of having a quiet lunch were dashed. Widmark was a talker. Worse than that, it seemed as though he had brushed his teeth with crushed garlic and week-old sushi that morning, because he had the worst breath of anyone I’d met in a long time. That was the most outstanding thing about him. He was built like a pregnant lollipop stick, brown hair badly cut, brown eyes, completely unremarkable features, and nondescript plastic-framed glasses.
“I’m pretty new to these things. Seems pretty ordinary, though,” he said. He suddenly straightened his spine, seeming to grow in height, as he craned to get a look at someone. He didn’t appear to recognize whomever it was, however, as he relaxed into his chair with a slump.
“I suppose. I get the impression that archaeology conferences are a little low-tech, compared to some.” I tried to ease myself back in my chair as surreptitiously as I could to escape the range of his bottom-of-the-komodo-dragon’s-cage breath. “You know, other professions.”
“Oh?” he said sharply.
“Well, like high-tech, or bio-chem,” I said. “The ones my husband goes to are a lot flashier than these—more celebrity speakers, more giveaways, more high-tech presentations.”
For some reason, Widmark seemed to relax a little. “Yeah, I suppose now that you mention it, the engineering events I’ve been to were a little more…uh…”
“Upscale?”
He nodded as he flipped through the menu. Again, he bobbed up, looked around, then settled back down. “Thanks for not making me say it. As I mentioned before, we’ve just acquired a small contract archaeology company, Northeastern Consulting. I’ve always been fascinated by archaeology, so I volunteered to get the lay of the land.”