It had not been easy convincing Dr. Foletta to relinquish Julius Gabriel’s journal. His initial objection was that the late archaeologist’s work had been sponsored by both Harvard and Cambridge University and that, legally, it would be necessary first to receive written permission from both grant departments before releasing any sort of research documents to her. Dominique countered that she needed access to the journal, not only to do her job properly but to gain Michael Gabriel’s trust. An afternoon of phone calls to department heads at both Harvard and Cambridge confirmed that the journal was more a memoir than a scientific document and that she was free to use it, provided she did not go public with any information. Foletta had finally conceded, producing the two-inch-thick binder by day’s end, releasing it only after she had signed a four-page nondisclosure agreement.

The rain has let up by the time Dominique pulls into the dark parking garage of the Hollywood Beach highrise. She deactivates the car’s engine, staring at a ghostly image appearing on the heads-up display of the windshield. The picture provided by the infrared camera mounted on the front of the roadster’s radiator confirms the garage to be empty.

Dominique smiles at her own paranoia. She takes the antiquated elevator up to the fifth floor, holding the door open so Mrs.Jenkins and her white miniature poodle can enter.

The one-bedroom condominium owned by her adoptive parents is down the hallway, the last apartment on the right. As she enters the security code, the door at her back opens.

“Dominique—so how was your first day at work?”

Rabbi Richard Steinberg embraces her with a warm smile from behind a graying auburn beard. Steinberg and his wife, Mindy, are close friends of her parents. Dominique has known the couple since she was adopted nearly twenty years ago.

“Mentally exhausting. Think I’ll skip dinner and climb into a hot bath.”

“Listen, Mindy and I want you to come over for dinner next week. Tuesday sound okay?”

“Should be. Thanks.”

“Good, good. Hey, I spoke to Iz yesterday. Did you know he and your mother are planning to drive over for the High Holy Days?”

“No, I didn’t—”

“Okay, I gotta run, I can’t be late for Shabbat. We’ll call you next week.”

She waves, watching him hurry down the hallway. Dominique likes Steinberg and his wife, finds them both to be warm and genuine. She knows Iz has asked them to keep a parental eye on her.

Dominique enters the apartment and opens the balcony doors, allowing the ocean breeze to fill the musty room with a gust of salty air. The afternoon shower has chased off most of the beachgoers, the last rays of sun peeking out from the clouds, casting a crimson glow along the water.