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"You mean to tell me that Miss Hippolyta actually thought she was going to open her eyes on the mythological Elysian Fields with her mother and father there to welcome her, and was disappointed to find herself alive?"
"That seems to be the gist of it, Jim. Of course, waking up to find that her dear departed mother hadn't departed after all was at best a mixed blessing, considering that her, ah, loving sister in fact had."
"Not to mention learning that Mother Dearest was the real mastermind behind the whole plot."
"Yeah, and especially that she was the one who had had Papa Dearest killed."
"Tragedy all around," Jim nodded.
"I'll say." Artie sighed as the pair of agents watched the hotel's security guards — brand new security guards, hired that very morning — busily dismantling the display of the Bracewell treasures, packing everything away into the four cases that were to be taken to the Denver Museum. Professor Bracewell, it seemed, had made prior arrangements to donate the items to that worthy institution once the scientific conference was over, and as it was now midday Sunday and the conference had in fact concluded, Hippolyta was wasting no time in carrying out her father's wishes. She bustled about the display room, barking out orders, getting into everyone's way, all the while pointedly ignoring the two Secret Service men.
"You know what tipped me off, Jim?" Artie added.
"You mean to the fact that Lana really was the evil sister Hippolyta kept insisting she was?"
"Mm-hmm. It was this." From a pocket Artie produced the square of lavender cloth he'd found in the garden. "Lana insisted to me that this was her sister's hankie, and that it was proof she'd been the woman who had had their poor old father killed. And yet…" He shook the cloth out to its full size. "Look at the creases, Jim."
"Right angle creases, ironed in. So?"
"So it dawned on me that every time I'd seen Hippolyta use a handkerchief, she'd pulled from her cuff a cloth that was blue, not lavender, and that it was folded into a fat little triangle instead of a square. But this…" He fingered the cloth, then shook his head. "If this was ever folded into a triangle, where are the creases to show it?"
"And from that you guessed it belonged to Mama Bracewell?"
Artie laughed. "No, no, Jim! That little surprise caught me flat on my back, let me tell you."
Jim grinned. "Pretty much literally, I bet."
"As a matter of fact, yes." Artie folded up the hankie and tucked it away again. "But what about you? How did you figure out which sister was the bad one?"
"Simple. I took one look at Dermot Parrish pointing a gun at me and saw that the man at his side had scratches on his face just like Hippolyta had described."
"Hmph. Not very smart of Parrish to keep him around."
"He'd been keeping Cass under wraps all day. By the way, turns out that Cass is only the man's nickname. His real name is the sort that Miss Hippolyta would probably have a conniption fit over."
"Oh? What's that?"
With a smile Jim told him.
Artie stared at him. "Oh, you're kidding me! What kind of parents would name their son Pollux Castor?"
"They didn't, Artie. His name is Paul… X… Castor. But you can imagine what Hippolyta would say if she heard his name."
"Yeah, she'd hear it the same way I did. More tie-ins with ancient Greek mythology!"
The agents fell silent then and for a few moments simply watched the new guards packing up the displays. Then, with a sigh, Artie said, "Well, might as well get this over with, huh? You still have it, Jim?"
"Right here." Jim pulled from his jacket pocket an all-too familiar golden orb and passed it to Artie.
"Thanks. Ahem — Miss Hippolyta!" Artie started towards the Amazon, who instantly found something of great importance to be doing in another part of the room.
"Miss Hippolyta!" Artie called again. Once more she strode off in another direction, this time to harangue a guard for putting a golden plate into its case right side up instead of upside-down.
"Miss Hippolyta!" Artie's voice rang out in a bellow this third time as he called her name, even as Jim strode over to catch the big woman by the arm and spin her around to face them.
She glared down at the pair, fury in her eyes. "I'm astounded that the two of you have the audacity to face me," she glowered haughtily. "Particularly after the way you lied to me!"
Artie's mouth fell open. "Lied! To you!"
"After everything that's happened with your family this weekend, the thing you're the most angry about is that we lied?" asked Jim.
"Yes!" she wheeled on him even as she jabbed a finger towards Artemus. "He lied! He pretended you both believed me when patently you did not, and what's more, he told me I'd been poisoned — and that proved not to be the case either!"
"And you're angry about that?" Artie asked incredulously.
"What, you'd prefer that he really had poisoned you?" Jim chimed in.
"Yes! No! I… Oh, I…" Hippolyta sputtered to a halt, gave a snort of rage, and finished with, "Just leave!"
"Oh, far be it from the queen of the Amazons to show a modicum of gratitude!" Artie shot back hotly. And as she shrieked out, "Gratitude! For what?" he overrode her objection with, "Yes, gratitude! Of course, gratitude! Don't you even get it? Perhaps I overstated matters a little when I said you'd been poisoned; it's not really a lie when you consider that most knock-out drugs are toxic in higher concentrations, though I was very careful not to overdose you. But leaving that aside, when I said you'd been poisoned, I wasn't saying it for your benefit; I was saying it so your sister would overhear, so she would believe you were dead. Don't you understand? Once I saw that she was determined to get someone to do you in, I figured I'd better pretend to do it, or else she'd go sweet-talk some other guy into doing the job, some poor slob who'd kill you for real. That's why I put something in your wine — not to kill you, but to protect you — from her!"
"I… I… Oh…" said Hippolyta, suddenly uncharacteristically meek. "You… you did that for me?"
"Yes!" snapped Artie. "And then what did you do but instantly turn around and lie to me!"
"I lied?" She looked him up and down, then half turned away. "Why, whatever do you mean?" she asked evasively.
"I mean this!" said Artie, and he slammed something down onto the top of the closest display case, nearly denting the polished wood.
"That," she echoed, barely glancing at the object he'd just clobbered the cabinet with. Again she sought to turn away.
"Look at it, Hippolyta," said James West. "In fact, examine it. Tell us what it is." And he picked up the golden ball and forced it into the woman's hand.
She dropped it onto the cabinet again as if it burned her. "It's the Apple, of course. I suppose you retrieved it after, er…"
"After Atalanta chased it to her death, yes," said Jim bluntly.
"But look at it," Artie insisted, picking it up and holding it before her eyes. "This is the golden Apple that fell from your balcony last night. This is the sphere of gold that I just now smacked onto this hard wooden cabinet. What's wrong with this picture?"
She wouldn't meet his eyes, nor Jim's either.
"Hippolyta," said Jim. "It's still round. Still perfectly round!"
"A ball of real gold that had taken that kind of punishment wouldn't still be a ball anymore, now would it, Hippolyta? Hmm? You tell us," Artie persisted.
"This isn't the real Apple at all, is it?" said Jim.
"Yeah, this is the fake one," Artie added. "The one I examined in this very room and declared to be a clever copy. This is the Apple you've been carrying around in your bus… er, that is, in your clothing. The one you begged me with your dying breath to make sure Atalanta wouldn't get. You claimed you were entrusting me with it, but you didn't trust me at all, did you?"
"And why should I?" she snapped back. "I knew what you were doing, that you were Lana's little puppet, doing her evil will. If you lied to me to make her believe I was dying when I wasn't, well, I was lying to you to make her believe this thing," and she grabbed the fake Apple and threw it to the floor, "was the real treasure when it wasn't!" She glared down at the men. "So if that makes us even, so be it!"
Jim bent to pick up the false Apple. "She would have figured it out eventually, you know, that this one was bogus."
"Yes," said Hippolyta. "But by that time the Denver Museum would have taken charge of Father's collection, meaning that…"
Artie clicked his fingers. "Meaning that the real Apple would be safe in their hands, out of her reach!" He and Jim exchanged a glance.
"Are you telling us," said Jim, "that you stood there and slipped the real Apple into the display case instead of this one, with all of us looking on?"
She smirked proudly. "And none of you the wiser! I certainly did. And not a one of you ever guessed. You knew it was the fake in the display case, so why look for the real one there?"
Artie's mouth hung open. Then he began to laugh. "Great jumping balls of Saint Elmo's fire, Miss Hippolyta, but you sure pulled the wool over all our eyes!"
"What, like it was hard?" she rejoined. "And now, if this engaging little conversation is over, I see that Mr Romney Wordsworth of the museum has arrived. We have much to discuss, he and I. As for you two: good-bye, and good riddance!" And with that she swept out of West's and Gordon's lives for good. They watched as the hulking figure of Hippolyta Bracewell descended upon a meek little man with a face and demeanor that reminded them amazingly of…
Artie shook his head. "No, it can't be."
"He sure looks like him though," Jim observed.
"Yeah, he does." Artie gave a look askance. "Hey, Jim, I know I said last night that this was a day for resurrections, but… Achilles Bracewell really was dead, wasn't he?"
"He certainly was," Jim affirmed.
They watched as the remarkably familiar Romney Wordsworth smiled up at the Amazon and proffered his arm to her, which she accepted so graciously she almost looked like a different woman. Off the pair went, happily supervising the transporting of the treasures to the little man's museum.
"Whatever else he is," Artie murmured, "that man's certainly a lion-tamer."
"You mean a harpy-tamer."
"Yeah. That too." He glanced around one last time. "Well, James, I guess our work here is done. Ready to go?"
"Yep." Jim led the way past all the workmen and out the door, only to pause and call back, "Hey, Artie!"
"Yeah, Jim?"
"Have an apple!" With a twinkle in his eye, Jim flipped the not-so-golden apple towards his partner.
Artie caught it, hesitated a second, then shook his head. "No thanks, pal. I'll pass. I've seen enough of this thing to last me a lifetime, believe me!" With a shudder he dropped the apple into the nearest display case, glad to have it out of his life permanently.
And glad to say the same of one Miss Hippolyta Bracewell.
FIN