“I can’t find any clocks in the library,” he said, “but it has so many rooms! Can you narrow it down at all?”

  Abigail planted her palm on her forehead. “Of course! The clue is probably in a Greek or Roman collection room considering the riddles were from the ancient Greeks. Let’s find out what rooms hold the Greek and Roman collections.”

  It wasn’t as easy as she thought. The website was somewhat puzzling and took a while to navigate.

  Finally, she found it. “The ancient Greek collections are in a reading room,” she told Riley.

  “Is there only one reading room?”

  She nodded. “It’s the Research Reading Room, and the website says it has over thirty-five thousand books.”

  “Let’s hope it has thirty-five thousand books and a clock,” Riley said. “I haven’t seen a single clock in any of the images of the library so far.”

  Riley let out an exclamation just as the waiter deposited their food in front of them. Abigail set her phone aside and waited for the waiter to leave. The waiter was no more than five steps away when Riley said, “Look at this.” He showed Abigail a photo on his phone.

  She looked at the image, polished wooden tables with leather upholstered wooden chairs at angles in front of them, in the midst of two floor levels of books packed tightly in bookshelves. She saw a window high in the decorative ceiling, and below it was a huge, ornate clock.

  Abigail caught her breath. “That has to be it!” she said. She looked around her before adding in low tones, “So, it’s the clock in the Research Reading Room in the Royal Library. We’ll have to go there after we make sure we have lost Milo or anybody else who’s following us.”

  “Yes, after we make very sure nobody is following this,” Riley said. “But what do you hope to find there?”

  “The clock stands over two columns of books. Unfortunately, I think we need to look in every single book. Maybe Giles Benedict left a piece of paper in one of them or even wrote in the margins.” She gave a little shudder.

  “What’s wrong?” Riley asked her.

  “Writing in the margins of an old valuable book is deplorable,” Abigail said in disgust. “Still, I could understand why he would do it with stakes as high as this.” She handed the phone back to Riley.

  “I guess there would be at least several hundred books directly under that clock. Any idea what we’re looking for?”

  “I’ll think about it while I eat some carbs,” Abigail said. As she ate the anchovies, she thought of the spicy fish sauce, garum, that had been so popular in the time of Pompeii. In fact, it was poured over most items of food. Garum was often made from the entrails of picarels or anchovies, and herbs such as coriander and fennel. Garum production was big business in those times.

  An idea occurred to her and by the time she had finished eating, she thought she had figured it out. “I could be wrong, but…” Her voice trailed away.

  “Go on,” Riley prompted her.

  “I’m wondering if the book we’re looking for is the well-known work I mentioned earlier, The Greek Anthology.” She could see Riley was about to ask what she meant, so she pushed on. “All the riddles but the last on the painting are from that work. I think we should look for that book first, and if we can’t find it, then we will have to look through each book in turn.”

  “Then we are making good progress,” Riley said.

  The waiter appeared once more and handed them dessert menus. “Eat as much as you like,” Riley said to Abigail. “I think we should stay for quite a while longer.”

  Abigail needed no urging; she was still hungry. “I like the look of those whoopie pies. I don’t know what they’re called here, but they look like the whoopie pies that the Amish make.” She nodded to a plate filled with what looked to her like double-tiered whoopie pies in colors of pink, green, yellow, blue, brown, and red.

  After she ordered, Riley ordered a side of lemon and chocolate biscuits covered with sugar, as well as tiramisu.

  Abigail considered that much of her time on cases was spent in cafés eating, with Riley watching the door. “What do we do now?”

  “We delay here for some time,” Riley said, “and then when we are certain nobody is following us, we head for the library. We will take a circuitous route.”

  Abigail fell silent. Was her TA, Milo Knox, really working for Vortex? Had Vortex gone to all the trouble to place him with her?

  She shuddered.

  13

  POMPEII, 79 A.D.

  4 DAYS BEFORE THE ERUPTION

  “It was lovely of you to invite us to a picnic.”

  Flavia was lying on the grass in the pleasant warmth of late morning. She watched as the dappled light played upon the gently waving leaves of the plants in the fertile soil of the vineyard. The pomegranate trees further down between her and the coastline framed the bright blue sea perfectly.

  Titus looked over at her and smiled. “You’re welcome, and the sea is a lovely deep blue today. What’s more, the view right in front of me is beautiful.”

  Flavia blushed. Does he mean me? she wondered. She shot a quick glance at Laelia for a sign of confirmation, but Laelia was staring fixedly over in the direction of the bay laurel tree, beyond which was the Villa Poppaea, still undergoing renovation after the earthquake of seventeen years earlier.

  Titus kneeled down next to Flavia and uncovered the basket. “I’ve brought grapes, figs, cheese, bread, and pastries sweetened with honey.” He smiled sweetly at Flavia.

  Flavia smiled back and desperately tried to stop her heart thumping. A butterfly landed on Titus’s arm, and Flavia focused her attention on the beautiful blue and brown insect.

  So hard did Flavia stare, that her attention drifted away, back to a striking mosaic on the wall of the potter Terence’s dining room. Her parents had taken her to dinner at Terence’s invitation, and it was the first time she had been to dinner as an adult. It was perhaps for this reason that the mosaic’s impact on her had left such an impression.

  The butterfly in the mosaic looked exactly like the one fluttering on Titus’s arm. It was large and brown, and covered with pretty blue circles. Terence had informed Flavia that the butterfly represented the soul. The mosaic’s butterfly hovered over a wheel, and on top of the butterfly was a large skull. Terence had said that the wheel represented Fortune, and that the skull represented Death.

  Above the skull was a balance in the shape of a mason’s level and plumb line, the instruments that masons used to get their constructions level. On each side, kept in perfect balance by Death, were the symbols of wealth and the symbols of poverty. On the left were the symbols of power and wealth, the scepter and purple fabric, while on the right were the symbols of poverty, the beggar’s clothing and stick.

  Terence had pointed out that the mosaic was to remind diners of the passing nature of earthly fortunes, by representing Death as the leveler which cancels out all differences of wealth and class.

  Flavia was shocked back to reality by Drusilla’s loud scream. She looked up to see Drusilla in the distance pointing to the ground and Titus still kneeling beside her. How embarrassing; he must think I am an idiot, going off into my own world like that. Still, there was no time for thought, as Titus took Flavia’s hand to help her up.

  His touch was more like a caress, and Flavia nearly snatched her hand away with surprise at her reaction to his touch. Stirring tingles coursed through her entire body from the top of her head right down to her toes. With great effort, she kept her hand in his, and Titus kept holding her hand until they reached Drusilla.

  Drusilla pointed to cracks in the ground in the grass between the pomegranate and olive trees. “Look at all those cracks,” she said with distress. “I have never seen cracks here before.”

  Titus pointed to some plants at the edge of the nearest crack. “All the acanthus plants are dead.”

  Flavia looked at the acanthus plants which usually had deep green, spiky leaves, and pretty purple or white flowers. They looked as though somebody had left them on hot coals in a fireplace.

  “They are newly dead,” Drusilla said. “They are green at the bottom, and only the ends are dead. And there is a strange smell coming from the cracks. Can anyone else smell it?”

  Titus took Flavia’s arm. “I don’t think we should stand so close to these cracks. The Roman statesman, Seneca, wrote that six hundred sheep died from poisoned air around the time of the big earthquake here some years ago. We should keep away from strange smells. Considering you’ve had so many earthquakes lately, it could be poisoned air.”

  At Titus’s suggestion, everyone moved back.

  Drusilla pulled a face. “The smell is like sulfur.”

  Flavia sniffed the air. “I think so too, Drusilla.”

  While they were watching, steam suddenly burst through the cracks, causing everyone to jump. Drusilla started forward, but Titus restrained her. “I do not think it safe to go close. We should all stay back. Let us head back to our picnic spot and have lunch.”

  “I was going to collect fresh dill and coriander in the area of the spring over by the little grove with the boxwood and myrtle trees,” Laelia said.

  Titus put his hands on his hips. “Mind you keep away from the cracks, and watch out for more cracks too. I am certain they are not safe.”

  Flavia admired the way Titus had taken charge. She was looking at him with admiration when he turned around and caught her gaze. Flavia lowered her eyes and looked at the ground.

  Titus, Flavia, and her sisters, Livia and Drusilla, returned to the place they had chosen to have lunch, by the vineyards of the Villa of Pisanella. It was a place of great natural beauty, as fig, peach, almond, and olive trees grew amongst the vines.

  Flavia and the others sat on the soft grass. There were no cracks in the ground here, and no scent of tainted air: to the contrary, the air was sweetly scented with almond blossom and peach nectar.

  Titus lay on his side, preparing the picnic on handcrafted, exquisitely engraved silver plates. He carefully placed halved figs, almonds, succulent grapes, plump peaches, and freshly baked bread in a tempting arrangement. He handed a plate to Livia and Drusilla, and when Flavia looked at him, wondering where her plate was, he simply smiled.

  Titus left his position and moved over to Flavia, sitting down beside her on the lush grass. He picked up a small crumble of feta cheese mingled with honeycomb and popped it in her mouth. Flavia accepted it without thinking, and then opened her mouth while Titus fed her a tiny piece of ripe quince.

  Flavia did not know if she should protest as Titus fed her luscious mouthful after mouthful, and felt almost guilty at her enjoyment. It all seemed so personal, so intimate. Once again she was rendered silent in Titus’s presence.

  Flavia cast a quick glance at her sisters, but they were deep in conversation, and both had their backs to Flavia and Titus. They are pretending to look out to sea, Flavia thought. It is obvious to me that they are trying to give us some time alone, but I hope it is not just as obvious to Titus.

  After Flavia had consumed a plate of food, each morsel fed to her by Titus, she noticed that her sisters had gone.

  “Where are Livia and Drusilla?”

  Titus stood up. “They will come back when they are hungry for pastries.”

  Flavia stood up, too abruptly for the heat of the day, and was momentarily overcome with dizziness. She swayed, and Titus caught her around the waist to steady her.

  The sun was shining around them, and the air was heavy with sweet floral scents. Titus still had his hands on her waist and he pulled her toward him. Their eyes met and locked. Neither could look away; they were trapped in each other’s gaze. Without realizing it, Flavia parted her lips. At once, his mouth was upon hers. The tender touch of his lips sent her heart racing, as she returned his kiss with longing. His warm, soft lips tasted of honeyed almonds.

  The sound of running caused the pair to break apart, just before Livia and Drusilla burst into view. “The spring is dry!” Livia exclaimed.

  Flavia at once was overcome with a feeling of the utmost dread.

  The spring had dried up, and the cracks which were newly opened in the ground emitted steam, along with a smell of sulfur. Was some strange catastrophe about to descend and shatter her newfound happiness?

  14

  NAPLES

  THE PRESENT DAY

  As they slipped out of the back door of the café and headed in the direction of the National Library, Abigail was grateful that Naples had mild winters. Still, there was a bite to the air. Abigail wrapped her coat tightly around her and hopped into Riley’s hire car.

  Riley easily found a parking garage, although it did proclaim exorbitant prices, close to the Beverello Mall. They walked along the cobbled street to the Piazza Muncipio and proceeded past the San Carlo Theater. The entrance to the library was by way of the vast and irregularly shaped Piazza Trieste e Trento. Abigail wanted to pause and look at the famous Artichoke Fountain, but Riley swept her along, making sure to keep them mingling with the crowds.

  Entrance was free, but they were given an entrance card.

  A tinge of excitement traveled up Abigail’s spine when she entered the library through the garden entrance decorated with stucco ashlar, due to its vast magnificence. She was enchanted by the ornate ceilings, the gilded bas-relief stuccos, delicate frescoes, and the intaglio-adorned furniture. The fact it was located in the eastern wing of the Royal Palace was readily apparent. White and gold neoclassical splendor abounded. Magnificent chandeliers hung from ornate ceiling rosettes.

  Abigail and Riley walked to the eighteenth-century marble staircase, the balustrade of which featured spears crossed in a rosette and ancient oil lamps on shelves. Abigail lingered to admire the plaster statue of an elegant lady, and when on the first wing of stairs, admired the two delicate statues of dancers. Once more hurried along by Riley, she peeked into the first anteroom and saw it was filled with monochrome decorative paintings and display cases.

  They soon found themselves in a room housing the musical collection of Count Lucchesi Palli. “I wish we had found a map to buy,” Riley lamented, standing just inside the doorway and flipping through his phone. “I can’t find a floor plan online.”

  Abigail had to admit the library was labyrinthine. They had traveled past immense bookcases of exotic timbers, their shelves filled with antiquarian books. There appeared to be no air conditioning, but the windows were open, affording from their position a beautiful view of the port of Naples and the Castel Nuovo, and allowing the entrance of an icy breeze. Some windows overlooked a garden courtyard, in which were many barking dogs, the sound of their barking permeating the library. Abigail wondered if the dogs of Pompeii barked in the days leading up to the Vesuvius eruption.

  Without warning, the hairs on the back of Abigail’s neck stood up. She spun around, catching a glimpse of a man ducking away. For some reason, he looked familiar.

  “What is it?” Riley asked urgently.

  “I thought I saw somebody following us, over there.”

  Riley hurried in the direction she had indicated, only to stop when he reached the doorway. “Did you see who it was?”

  “No, it was more a feeling than anything. I just caught a glimpse, but I thought it was somebody I knew.” She offered a half shrug.

  Riley put his arm around her shoulders. “Stay close to me.”

  Presently, they fell in with a guided tour of English tourists. “Let’s stay with them for a while so I can see if we’re being followed,” Riley whispered. “Keep to the center of the group.”

  Abigail watched as he cast surreptitious glances around the room.

  The tour guide cleared his throat. “The large ballroom of the Palace is now a Reading Room. It and four other rooms were once the main festival halls, but are today are one room, the Distribution Room.”

  The guide spoke quickly, and Abigail was glad he was speaking in English. She would not be able to follow rapid-fire Italian. The guide waved his arms expansively. “These tempera ovals on plaster are by the famous artist Camillo Guerra. The frescoes show the developments of the final Neapolitan neo-classicism. The ‘Four Ages of Man’ are represented as The Four Ages of Love: Spring: Zephyrus and Flora; Summer: Galatea, Autumn; Bacchus and Arianna; and Winter: Orizia and Borea.”

  The guide took them to the second anteroom which faced the second courtyard. The room was decorated with a high-relief frieze. The guide told them it reproduced the marble frieze of the triumphal arrival of Alexander the Great at Babylon.

  As he continued to speak at length, Riley tapped Abigail’s elbow. “I think we should proceed on our own.”

  It took them a while to find the Research Reading Room. The doors were decorated with inscribed palms facing a golden rosette on a white background. The room was just past several white and gold stucco bas-reliefs, and was itself decorated of burr walnut and gold, housing numerous tables and chairs. Decorative rosettes indicate the place where Abigail figured massive crystal once chandeliers had once dangled from the ceiling.

  Abigail’s eyes at once fell on an aluminum pedestal fan, which looked entirely incongruous in its surroundings. Of course, it was not running, given the cold, and she wondered why it hadn’t been removed at the end of summer.

  She grabbed Riley’s arm. “The clock!”

  The large clock hung high above the entrance door, so that one had to walk inside the Research Reading Room and then turn back to see it. It was ornate, heavily gilded, and was directly below a narrow, high window.

  Riley looked toward the door. “Let’s look in other areas first, so we can see if anybody we know comes into the room.”

  They skirted around. Abigail opened books, shut them, and put them back on the shelves. She could barely conceal her impatience.