Chapter 2

The next morning, after a few miserable hours in a holding cell and David’s efficient legal maneuvering to get me released on recognizance, the world felt unreal.

The charge was minor, given my low BAC, but the official record was what mattered. I was documented, accounted for, miles away from campus when the theft would occur.

David drove me home, his hand gripping mine tightly. “Em, what the hell happened last night? Three beers? That’s not like you.”

“I made a stupid mistake, David. I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet. He’d think I was insane.

We were barely through the door of my apartment when my phone rang. Campus security. Then local police.

The university exhibition. The General’s seal. Missing.

Just like before.

A knock on the door. Two uniformed officers and a detective. And Kate.

She rushed past them, tears already streaming down her face, grabbing my arm. “Emily! Oh, thank God you’re here! They think… they think you might know something!”

Her eyes, wide and innocent, were pure poison.

“Know something about what, Kate?” I kept my voice even.

The detective, a tired-looking man named Peterson, stepped forward. “Ms. Adams, there’s been a theft at the university gallery. A valuable artifact. Ms. Evans here,” he gestured to Kate, “mentioned you had a particular interest in the seal and were planning to see it.”

Kate sobbed. “I just… I told them you loved history, Emily. That you were so excited about the private viewing Mr. Peterson arranged for us.”

“Private viewing?” I raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware of any private viewing with Mr. Peterson. I was at a party off-campus last night, Kate. Then I… I got pulled over. Spent the night dealing with that.”

I handed Detective Peterson the release paperwork from the precinct, complete with the arresting officer’s name and badge number. “You can verify my whereabouts.”

Kate’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

Just then, another figure appeared in my doorway. Professor Alistair Peterson, the history department head and exhibition curator. His face was grim.

“Detective, I may have something,” he announced, his voice carrying an academic weight. He held up a small evidence bag. Inside, a few dark fibers. “These are from the specialized velvet lining we use for the seal’s case. I found them on the inner flap of Emily’s backpack when I was checking her usual study carrel this morning.”

My backpack. The one I always left in my assigned carrel at the library. The one Kate had easy access to.

“Professor,” I said, my voice calm, “as I just explained, I wasn’t on campus last night or this morning. And that backpack has been in my carrel for days. Anyone could have accessed it.”

Professor Peterson frowned, then his eyes landed on my jacket, tossed over a chair. He strode towards it, picked it up, and pointed to a tiny, almost invisible smudge on the cuff. “And this? This faint yellow discoloration. It’s consistent with the residue from the beeswax seal we use on the seal’s archival storage box.”

He looked triumphant.

The same damn “evidence” as last time.

“Professor Peterson,” I said, locking eyes with him. “It’s a well-known, if politely ignored, fact around the department that you suffer from rather severe prosopagnosia. Face blindness.”

His jaw tightened.

“Are you absolutely certain it was me you saw anywhere near that seal or its case recently? Or just someone who perhaps… resembles me?”