But maybe that all could change, she thought desperately.
With one last nervous tug of her blazer, Nell scampered up the steps and into the armory. Hopefully, she’d changed enough in seven years and the exhibits would be so engrossing that no one would look too closely and recognize her if she kept her head down.
A burst of cool, stale air hit her as soon as she was inside, and Nell sank wistfully into it. It was the smell of ancient pages, of time, of her very soul, if souls could have smells, she thought. She blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the soft light, and then retreated to a dark corner of the lobby so as not to attract too much attention. Cautiously, she let her gaze drift, absorbing the ornamental woodwork, the marble, the stained glass that filled the interior.
Ahead, she could see the entrance to the armory’s drill hall, where the exhibition itself was held. It was over fifty-five thousand square feet—the largest unobstructed space of its kind in New York, her father had once told her.
That was a lot of area to cover to find the Sanborn exhibit, if she didn’t get moving. If she missed the preservationists’ keynote speech and they left the stage, within minutes they could be anywhere inside the fair, pulled this way and that by other researchers seeking an interview or collaboration, and she’d never find this Eve.
And there was also the potential danger of being spotted by someone who knew who she was. Wolff and Pete had already seemed suspicious of her at the funeral, and Francis had been reluctant to speak to her at all—what if the Cartographers knew the Sanborn map she now had was also somehow connected to the General Drafting map, and saw her here?
Nell pushed away the sudden image in her mind of the lurking black car and ducked into the drill hall.
Eyes down, she reminded herself. It had been so long since she’d been among such treasures as these. If she allowed even the most errant glance at the wrong booth, she’d catch sight of something exquisite and be unable to keep going until she’d gone over and examined it. And from there she’d spot something else, and then something else, and it wouldn’t be long until someone recognized her and the whole plan would be blown. Don’t think about all the maps you’re passing, she repeated. All the beautiful, rare, historic, priceless maps, all around her. She knew the Dili Tu, the rarest map from Song dynasty China, would be on display somewhere. And the precious first state of the Ratzen Plan, a colonial-era map of the city. And a stunning Johannes de Laet Americas fourteen-map atlas . . .
Don’t think about them. Her head spun. Just think about the one your father had.
The one that would get her back into this world if she played her cards right.
Nell turned left, away from the booths and toward the main area of the hall, where she knew a podium would be set up for the scheduled presentations. A smattering of applause made her speed up until she was walking as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself.
Her phone buzzed, and she saw Lieutenant Cabe’s name on the screen—probably calling to update her on her father’s case or ask more questions. She sent the call to voicemail and shoved the phone back into her purse. She’d call him back later—judging by the clapping, the keynote must just have finished. She had to hurry.
Nell reached the edge of the audience just as a tall, older woman with dark skin and black braids streaked with gray stepped away from the microphone, and with the three other similarly aged men and women behind her, gave a small wave before turning toward the exhibits.
Dr. Eve Moore. Nell had stared at Eve’s picture on Penn State’s faculty website for several minutes before leaving her apartment, committing her face to memory so she could find her once inside.
The crowd began to disperse, and Nell made her way carefully through, avoiding eye contact.
It was now or never. Eve was about to disappear into another booth, where she’d be locked in conversation with the dealer for who knew how long, and Nell would attract too much attention lurking at the edges, waiting for her to exit.