Read Online Tradition of Deceit by Kathleen Ernst - Free Book Online Page B

district in a while, but he knew this area—knew it well.
    It was time to reacquaint himself with the old neighborhood.

Seven
    As Owen drove to the gallery that night, Chloe struggled with a nagging sense of concern about Roelke. He’d been in a strange mood after the wedding, he’d called in sick, and he wasn’t answering his telephone. She didn’t know what was going on, and she didn’t like it.
    People were gathering in the atrium by the time they arrived. Ariel and Chloe found room for their culinary offerings on a table near the door. Ariel had concocted a colorful salad, and when Chloe cut pieces of the Tunnel of Fudge Cake, two young men grabbed the paper plates out of her hand. “We done good,” she assured Ariel.
    A photograph of Everett Whyte sat on an easel near the food table. Ariel turned away, with Owen on her heels, but Chloe stepped closer. She wanted a mental picture of the living professor to nudge aside the image currently lodged in her brain. The photo showed Dr. Whyte with a thick thatch of white hair, blue eyes, and a ruddy, sun-creased face. He was a small man, standing in front of a grimy door, holding his own camera. He was half-turned, as if someone had called his name and snapped the shot. The professor’s grin resembled that of a young boy about to enter an amusement park.
    â€œI can’t believe he’s gone.”
    Chloe found Jay at her shoulder holding two glasses of white wine. When he offered one, she gratefully accepted.
    â€œThis is a great picture,” she said. “Professor Whyte looks like a man who spent his years doing work he loved.”
    â€œThat he did. And he wasn’t slowing down. He’d been dreaming about preserving the mill site for years. Where other people saw obstacles, he saw only opportunity.”
    â€œI wish I’d had a chance to meet him.”
    â€œI just hope the whole consortium doesn’t collapse now.”
    Chloe sipped her wine, regarding the mourners over the rim. The people talking in hushed clusters ranged from college kids to octogenarians. The group was predominantly male, which wasn’t surprising; more men than women specialized in architectural history, and industrial history probably skewed even farther in that direction. But those gathered were of different races, dressed in Sunday finery and blue jeans and everything in between. The diversity said good things about Everett Whyte.
    â€œI’ll bet every person here will work to keep his dream of a mill museum alive,” Chloe said. “What better way to honor his memory?”
    â€œYou’re probably right, but even a short delay could cause enormous problems. We’ve developed a timeline that takes various grant deadlines into account.”
    â€œIs Ariel’s interpretive plan proposal part of that?”
    â€œIt’s the foundation. The very first step. Everything else flows from that.”
    â€œAh.” Chloe searched the crowd and saw Ariel talking to a beautiful young woman with long black ringlets wearing a purple ankle-length peasant skirt. “I’m worried about her,” Chloe admitted. “Ariel has always been a bit … fragile. I promised to help brainstorm ideas, so we’ll do that before I head home tomorrow evening, and I’ll keep in touch with—”
    â€œEverybody?” A young man with Asian features tapped a beer bottle with a spoon. “Thanks for coming. I’m one of Dr. Everett’s graduate assistants. Was one.” He cleared his throat. “He worked us hard, but he also made us think. The man could read an old building like a book. He … I … Thank you.” He turned away.
    A man wearing a gray suit and a truly ugly bowtie clapped the student on the shoulder before turning to the crowd. “All of us in the Public History Department are stunned by this tragedy. Professor Whyte can never be replaced. But his accomplishments will live