Einstein's Secret Read Free Page A

past.”
    “Are we talking about the same Alex?”
    “So you know him that well, huh?”
    “Mr. Squeaky Clean,” she said. “No wonder he wrote a bestseller, huh? He never left his study carrel during grad school, and he kept it as a professor.”
    “He was the same in college. He spent every waking minute either studying, researching, or reading.”
    “Were you the same way? Is that how you got the appointment?”
    “Nope. I got lucky.”
    It looked like she was about to break into that smile, but the phone rang, interrupting what might have been.
    She answered the phone. “The Iliad. This is Laura.” She listened for a few seconds, then said, “I’ll check,” and turned to her computer terminal.
    I grabbed the box, weighed whether to say more, then headed out. At least I’d ended the conversation on a good note, and picked up her name— Laura —as a bonus prize.
    “Hey! You forgot your receipt,” she said. “The department is a stickler.”
    I walked back to the counter and she handed me the receipt.
    “I’m sorry you didn’t get the job,” I said.
    “Yeah, me too. You know how it is out there for PhDs. I’d kill for that job.”
    “I’ll watch my back.”
    The full smile finally appeared. “Good plan,” she said, then picked up the phone and began to list the various editions of The Stranger to the caller on the other end.
    As I headed out, I couldn’t help but look back over my shoulder. She glanced up at me, and before she looked back down at her computer terminal, I thought I glimpsed approval in her hazel eyes.
    *
    During the drive back to my apartment, she was on my mind. And I tried to keep her on my mind when I walked into my apartment. Otherwise, I’d go back to thinking about Eddie and Einstein.
    I couldn’t do it. Einstein beckoned.
    I called Alex, who was in New York, conducting interviews for his next biography.
    “Why are you asking me about Eddie Bellington?” he asked.
    “He said he knows something about Einstein’s secret.”
    “Jesus Christ! You said you were giving that a rest.”
    “I am. Just fill me in on Eddie.”
    “My advice is to focus on UVA this year. Eddie will always be there. He isn’t going anywhere.”
    “You don’t actually think he found something, do you?”
    “Listen, McKenzie hates him, and you don’t want McKenzie thinking that you’re somehow mixed up with him.”
    “Then you’re not going to like this—I bungled that already.”
    “What? How’s that even possible? You’ve only been there a couple of days.”
    “Just bad luck. McKenzie saw me at a coffee shop with him.”
    “Doesn’t sound like bad luck. The guy roped you into talking to him.”
    “Will you at least tell me his story?”
    I heard an exasperated sigh.
    “Here’s the synopsis. He was in the program for years, a brilliant researcher, but not so hot on coherent synthesis. McKenzie gave him one extension, but wouldn’t approve another one. Eddie’s side business didn’t help his cause either.”
    “The fifties memorabilia.”
    “That part was kosher. It was the documents and records. The things with historical value.”
    “He thinks Eddie’s a commercial archeologist.”
    “And he’s right.”
    So McKenzie spotting me with Eddie was worse than I’d thought. Commercial archeologists were disdained by academia. They were considered crass treasure hunters who sold their finds to the highest bidder rather than donating them to research institutions or museums.
    “But what McKenzie didn’t like the most about that,” Alex said, “was that Eddie was good at it. He helped me out with my research a couple of times when I first got to Charlottesville, so I learned the hard way.”
    “McKenzie put you in the doghouse?”
    “I got away from Eddie in the nick of time. Barely. You need to avoid the guy.”
    “Alex, was it worth it?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “His research. Did it help you?”
    Alex hesitated before answering, and that was all I needed to know.