by J. T. Lundy
I walked for a second to recover and then ran again, not as fast, but at a determined, manageable pace.
I saw the lights from the house. I attacked the last hill hard, fueled on by Eustace-hate. I’d wake up Stumpy and we could use the tandem to chase Eustace down.
Whack! A board hit my shins and I fell hard into the patio’s edge. I screamed in pain.
Eustace stood over me with an old rusty nail-lined fence post. His face twitched with disgust. He swung the post high into the air and brought it down straight for my head.
Woosh! Thud! Eustace went down. Stumpy pummeled him with pillows and belts like an angry Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Matthew and Mark leapt out of the dark and tore into Eustace.
I rolled over and grabbed Eustace by the legs to help Stumpy and his team. Eustace screamed, and then I heard the snap-ripping sound of duct tape and the shouts muffled. Stumpy wrapped an extension cord around Eustace’s ankles, and I let go. Eustace was immobilized.
Stumpy and I stood up.
“Thanks.”
Stumpy shook his head. “It was a difficult choice between two evils.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I’m still pissed, man.”
Eustace moaned. He had pillows around his whole body secured by belts. Duct tape held a pillow over his head.
“Why so many pillows?”
Stumpy shrugged. “That was the plan, and it seems friendlier.”
It was all a kids’ game to Stumpy.
I put my knee into Eustace’s back. “Where’s the passport?”
Eustace garbled up some hostile sounds.
“Go get the plunger, Stumpy, and some spicy mustard.”
The dogs stood over Eustace and growled.
Stumpy just looked at me. He wasn’t going anywhere, but Eustace didn’t know that.
“It’s going to be a long night, Eustace. And, Stumpy, get the electric toothbrush and toenail clippers.”
Eustace mumbled something.
“What?”
“S-pans.”
“It’s inside his pants,” Stumpy said.
I started yanking down Eustace’s khakis.
“Sxers.”
“It’s in his sox.”
“Butsrs.”
“Holy crap, it’s in his butt.”
Eustace struggled and yelled gibberish.
“I was right. Pull his boxers down.”
Stumpy looked at me scared.
“Come on, together.” I grabbed one side of Eustace’s boxers and Stumpy grabbed the other. “One, two, three!” We yanked and pulled the boxers down. Eustace’s white, hairy ass mooned the sky.
“Sbasser!”
“You see. Its in his ass.”
“The whole passport?”
“It’d be just like him. He jammed it up there. Go ahead, check him, Stumpy.”
“No way.”
“Go on. Pretend you’re a doctor or airport security. This could look good on your resume.”
“No.”
“Come on. How bad do you want this vineyard?”
Stumpy closed one eye and looked to the sky with the other. “Not that bad.”
“Okay. Christ almighty. I’ll do it.” I stood straddled over Eustace and pointed my index finger. “Just a quick probe.”
I bent over, grimaced, and lowered my finger toward Eustace’s ass.
“There it is.” Stumpy pointed. The top of a passport protruded out a pocket on the inside of Eustace’s pants.
“Is it mine?”
“You check.” Stumpy grabbed the passport and tossed it to me. It hit me in the chest and I bumbled it with my hands until I could grab it with my thumb and forefinger.
I opened the passport. It was mine, all right. In the picture I had messed-up hair with a sardonic grin, excited to go nowhere. I slapped the passport in my palm. “All right. Let’s find Aceau and bag this mission.”
“Are you going to confess?”
“Well, I, er. Are you?”
Stumpy looked determined. “I want to, but I’ll leave the decision for you.”
If the sisters found out I stole the cup, our relationship could be damaged for the ages. And who knew what nasty punishment lay in store for stealing a French national treasure? Stumpy and I could be staring down years in a French prison. If only there were a way to absolve your sins without confessing. “I don’t know what I’m going to do until I get there. You know that’s how we play the rumble.”
Stumpy smirked and wobbled his head back and forth in reluctant agreement. “What about Eustace?”
“I guess we should pull his pants back up.” Stumpy and I reached down and grabbed Eustace’s khakis. “One, two, three.” We yanked the pants over his ass.
I grabbed his feet, Stumpy lifted his shoulders, and we hauled him up into my room. We threw him on my bed and tied him down with the extension cord.
Stumpy took the pillow off Eustace’s head.
I grabbed the tape on his mouth and ripped.
“Ow.”
“Duct tape don’t feel so good, huh?”
“I’ll get you for this, Jason.” Eustace started screaming. “Help. Help.”
I duct taped his mouth shut again. “Sorry, but I can see you will not be civilized.” Eustace shook and mumbled.
“I have a vineyard to inherit. We’ll release you when we get back.”
CHAPTER 28
We drove to Aceau’s house and knocked on the door. An older woman answered. She had on a flowered dress and black shoes. Her gray hair was cut short above her ears.
“Bonsoir, Madame. Monsieur Aceau? Is he here?”
She smiled warmly. “Oui, Oui.” She motioned us in.
We could hear Aceau’s voice speaking French. He rounded a corner and stopped when he saw us. “Non!”
The woman ushered us into the kitchen.
“Non, ma mère,” Aceau said.
A rectangular white table was set for two. A pot steamed on the stove. It was ten o’clock and they were eating late like traditional Europeans. The room smelled rich and buttery. A small radio on the counter played classical music.
“Mother thinks you are my friends.”
Stumpy grinned his stupid friendly grin that, I had to admit, sometimes worked on parents and such. He slapped Aceau on the back. “We are good friends.”
Aceau sat down, neatly unfolded his napkin, and placed it in his lap, ignoring Stumpy.
Stumpy continued to speak good-naturedly. “You were my muse. I feel like I know you. I’m indebted to you for refining my acting ability.”
Aceau’s mother pulled out chairs. She fussed over Stumpy and me and sat us down. She set two more place settings out and despite our protestations served us sliced pork in a rich brown sauce.
Aceau’s mother looked happy. She spoke in rapid French and smiled at us.
Aceau looked at us apologetically, embarrassed-like. “Mother is excited. I don’t get many visitors.”
“No?” I said.
Stumpy frowned at me.
“We want to confess to stealing the chalice,” I said.
Aceau sat back and his eyes widened. “No.” He wiped his mouth and slapped his napkin on the table. “My client would not be pleased.”
“Tell him to return the cup, then,” Stumpy said.
Aceau lowered his eyes and considered. “I don’t know. It’s not my decision. Please, though, no confessions just yet. Give me a chance to warn my client.”
“Is that okay, Stumpy?”
Stumpy savored the pork, grinding his teeth as he methodically chewed. He swallowed and said, “Okay. But I think we should try and bail Laura out.”
“Say what?”
Stumpy looked at me steadfast. “You may not like Laura, but she did not steal the chalice. She doesn’t deserve to be in jail.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Come on, Jason. Laura’s from our hometown. We grew up together.”
Drats. As much as I liked the idea of Laura sitting in j
ail, Stumpy was right. She didn’t deserve it. “Okay, okay.” I told Aceau about the police arresting Laura.
“I might be able to pull some strings at the station,” he said.
“Thank you,” Stumpy said.
Aceau’s mother watched proudly.
I put my passport on the table in front of Aceau. “And I have this.”
Aceau picked the passport up and examined it carefully. He smiled. “This is good—very good. Let’s go to the office, make a copy, and notarize your inheritance.”
Aceau was more excited than me. I couldn’t have asked for a better response. “Let’s go.”
We brought our plates to the sink and thanked Aceau’s mother as politely as we knew how. She smiled and waved, thinking we were going out to socialize, good friends of her son.
Aceau rode in our car. “To the jail first,” Stumpy said.
“No,” Aceau said.
“Monsieur Aceau is right. We have to notarize the inheritance first. What if you mess up and confess to stealing the chalice at the station? We’ll be arrested and never inherit the land.”
“I don’t care,” Stumpy said. “Laura first. It’s a matter of principle, and if you want my silence that’s the way it’s gotta be.”
Stumpy and his principles. It didn’t make logical sense, but I could tell Stumpy was adamant. And who could predict what crazy stunt he’d pull if I really pissed him off? I would just have to hope he’d keep his mouth shut at the police station. “Fine.”
We parked in front of the station. Reporters and camera crews waited disinterestedly on the sidewalk.
A gendarme guarding the door nodded to Aceau and let us through. The tiny three-room police station teemed with local and national police and officials.
In the far corner Laura sat in front of a desk. Two gendarmes stood behind her. An official-looking, lawyerly type woman asked her questions. Laura looked sullen. She saw me and her eyes widened and then glared. This woman had divorced me and torn my existence to shreds. I had wished her ill plenty of times, and I wanted to hate her, but seeing her there, arrested because of me, I felt bad, and I looked at her with pity.
Aceau shouted loudly in French. The lawyer woman shouted back. He shouted some more. I think he basically said, “I’m her attorney; stop asking her questions.”
The lawyerly woman stood up and motioned toward us. The gendarmes escorted Laura over. Aceau kept up a nonstop verbal assault. The prosecutor did not look pleased, but she did not argue. She led Laura over to a desk. A policeman stamped some forms, and it looked like she was free to go.
Laura looked disheveled. “It’s about time.”
“It took a while to find Aceau,” I said. “He was eating dinner.”
Aceau spoke to the prosecutor. He then spoke with Laura. “They’ve released you to Sister Claudette’s custody for now. The facilities here for women are limited. Sometimes the convent will house female detainees for the jail.”
“Sister Claudette?” Laura glared at me like it was my fault, and I suppose it was. I looked away from her and saw Stumpy. He looked feverish. He shook nervously and kept looking around at the police officers and then at the ceiling. Good God, he looked like he wanted to confess.
“Let’s go.” I nudged Aceau and pointed at Stumpy. Aceau ascertained the danger. “Out the back.” He started walking down the hall. “We can avoid the reporters and take the alley to my office.”
The gendarmes agreed and led us out the back door.
We walked into Aceau’s office building. Our voices and footsteps echoed in the silent hall. Aceau unlocked his door and we filed in. Aceau sat behind his desk. Laura and I sat in chairs before him. Stumpy walked around the office with an air of ownership, like he was returning to an old, familiar house. “It was my first performance. Mark my word, Jason. This room saw the beginnings of a great acting career.”
“Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
Stumpy ignored me and ran his fingers over the books stacked high in the floor-to-ceiling shelves.
“The passport,” Aceau said.
I placed the passport on the desk in front of him. Aceau looked at it and started writing information down on some official-looking forms. “The last missing piece.”
“What? This is about him?” Laura said. “What about me? How are we going to solve this? I can’t be stuck in a convent forever.”
I stifled a laugh. “Might do you good.”
“F-you, Jason.”
Aceau continued preparing the paperwork and ignored Laura.
“I have to check into the abbey within the hour,” Laura said.
Aceau walked to the computer desk area behind him. He took a metal stamper off the shelf. “Some official notary stamps and that should do it.” He walked back toward the desk.
Yip yap barking came from the hallway. The office door flew open. Eustace raced into the room. His pants were torn and his legs were bloody. Matthew and Mark were attacking him. Feathers stuck to his sweaty face and arms. Black grease streaks were on his skin and clothes. God knows what Eustace had to go through to get here.
Stumpy put his hand over his mouth and pointed. “He’s rabid!”
I stood up and faced Eustace. He dodged left and right and I did basketball slides back and forth in defense.
Aceau stamped papers quickly and loudly. He held them up. “It’s done. St. Sebastian Vineyard belongs to Jason Antoine Barnes!”
Eustace growled and charged at Aceau. I cut him off and we collided, collapsing on top of Aceau’s desk. Laura covered her head and screamed. Aceau held the papers to his chest. He ran back to the computer desk and fed the papers into a scanner.
Eustace tried crawling over me but I held on to him like a needy lover. The dogs circled and barked.
Aceau typed away at the computer connected to the scanner.
Stumpy yelled, “Geronimo!” I have no idea why, other than it was pure Stumpy. He landed on Eustace’s back, crushing me on the bottom. “Ugh.” The wind sailed out of me like it used to when I was on the bottom of a Stumpy-topped dog pile in grade school.
Aceau held up his hands. “It’s done. Officially sent off and filed with the land bureau in Paris.”
Eustace struggled for a minute and then stopped. “Damn you, Jason.” A tear formed in his eye and then he let loose. He cried and sobbed and moaned in a pathetic display.
And then I felt what I thought I’d never feel. I felt sorry for Eustace. We were former stepbrothers after all. Well step-step-brothers. Or step-cousins. Oh, whatever. We had shared the same room for half a year. Sure we didn’t get along, but like Stumpy sometimes says, who else are you going to stick up for in life?
Stumpy and I walked Eustace to the door. He continued to cry. “Easy, Eustace. I won’t turn you in.”
He sniffled. “You won’t?”
“No. I don’t blame you for going off the rocker on me. I suppose I deserved some of it.”
Eustace looked like a kid again. “I suppose so.”
Stumpy handed him a tissue and he blew his nose into it.
Eustace stepped into the hallway and I started to close the door on him. “Go home, Eustace. Forget about all this and get back to normal.”
Eustace nodded and left.
“Safe travels,” Stumpy said and closed the door.
“Good riddance,” I said.
Stumpy and I shook hands. Aceau shook our hands.
“I’d like to transfer a percentage ownership to Stumpy. Is that a problem?”
“No. No problem. Does he have a passport?”
Stumpy whipped his passport out.
Aceau took it. “I’ll print out the standard documents.”
Stumpy and I shook hands again, smiling like new homeowners. “To us. The proud vintners of St. Sebastian Vineyard.”
“You boys went through a lot,” Aceau said.
We sure had. And I found it hard to believe we had actually done it. But still, I thought I would feel different when I actually inhe
rited the land. I thought I would be more elated, like I had won the lottery or something. I immediately knew the problem. Sister Claudette and Sister Lucia weren’t here. I needed their approval, their blessing—their joy.
And my chalice-swiping indiscretion gnawed on me. I had to convince Aceau’s client to give back the chalice. I liked Aceau’s mom, but Stumpy and I might have to work our magic on him if he didn’t help us out.
The phone rang.
Aceau answered it and spoke in clipped French. He looked concerned when he hung up the phone.
“There is a news story out about the Joan of Arc chalice.”
CHAPTER 29
“What’s the news story?” Laura said. “Did they find the thief? Am I free?”
“No, but evidently the chalice was sold on eBay.” Aceau looked knowingly at me. “For exactly thirteen thousand one hundred euros.”
“The thief is an imbecile,” Laura said. She looked at me with that old “Where’d you go last night” look. I had made no secret to Laura that I needed exactly thirteen thousand one hundred euros.
“They can catch the thief now for sure,” Stumpy said.
“Apparently eBay is protecting the parties’ identities right now. It might take an order from a court to force them to relinquish their names.” Aceau tapped his pen. “All of France is up in arms.” He looked at me. “It might take some pressure and some time, but I have to believe that eventually the thief’s name will be known.”
The sisters. I had specifically asked Sister Claudette for thirteen thousand one hundred euros. She would immediately know I was the chapel burglar. My heart felt heavy, and I couldn’t tell if it was beating or not. My shoulders sagged with guilt. What could I do?
Laura was livid. “I have to go.”
Stumpy scooped up Matthew and Mark. “We have to give Monsieur Aceau a ride home.”
Aceau locked up his office and we walked out into the cool night air. Stumpy and Aceau walked ahead.
Laura grabbed my arm and stopped me. “You stole that chalice.”
“I, er—”
She looked angrier than I had ever seen her. “You stole the chalice and watched me get arrested?”
