The Chalice Thief

by K. J. Emrick

  This was part of the story I hadn’t heard before. Alfonse knew that the cup had been lost aboard the HMS Sirius, but not where it came from originally. A gift from the indigenous peoples to the newcomers. A sign of peace and friendship.

  Knowing what would happen later, I wondered if they would have been so trusting?

  She showed me a black and white artist’s sketch in the book of a carved cup. Based on accounts from David Collins’ own journals, the caption read. It was beautifully crafted, with the union jack flag in the middle and what I knew to be the aborigine symbol for king around it in a circle. Radiant spikes with curled tips.

  There it was. The Van Diemen’s Land Chalice. Well. That certainly lent more credence to the legend than I would’ve thought. “So the Chalice is real.” I didn’t know if that helped solve this mystery or not. Even if it was real, that didn’t mean that Alfonse and Dan had it. “If it was here, today… if Alfonse actually had the thing in his bar… how much would it be worth?”

  Ada blinked at me as she closed the book. “Dell, I don’t reckon ya understand. Something like that is vitally important to everyone in Australia, but even more so to the Aboriginal people. No one would steal something like that for money. It would be like stealing the Mona Lisa. Sure, it’s got a value, but it’s not like ya can hawk it at the corner store.”

  That made sense. Even a mythical cup from Tasmania’s past would be very recognizable. So, following that logic, the Chalice wouldn’t have been stolen by someone looking to get rich. If what Ada said was right, the thief must have had other motives. Personal reasons maybe. Or a desire to see the mistakes of the past set to rights. Maybe, someone wanted to give the Chalice back to the Palawa.

  Hmm. Now that was something to think about.

  “The Chalice was presented to Collins by one of the clan chieftains.” Ada was in her element now, talking about things from her history books. “The story goes that the Chalice conferred ownership of the whole island. Whoever held the Chalice, owned Tasmania. Must’ve been true, because the newcomers from Britain took the land they wanted, and kept moving the indigenous people out of their way. Wonder what would have happened if the Chalice had stayed with the Palawa?”

  I doubt it would’ve made a difference. After all, it was just a cup.

  Wasn’t it?

  Either way, I’ve still got questions. “That’d make a great TV movie, to be sure, but it doesn’t come close to explaining why the Chalice would be in the possession of Alfonse’s husband.”

  She shrugged. “Afraid I can’t help ya there, Dell. Might have to ask him that one yourself. I’m a bit surprised it didn’t surface in the hands of one of the Aborigines. It’s more of a national treasure for them. After all, it was their distant ancestors who crafted the Chalice. Yes. They might give any amount to have it back. To have possession of this island for themselves once more.”

  “Wait.” An idea had been slowly cooking in the back of my mind and now it was about to come bubbling out. “You said the indigenous people want the Chalice back?”

  “That they do, and tell ya the truth, I hope they get it.”

  Fair enough. “So you really think someone stole the Chalice just for its historical significance?”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “Yes. I do. Far more likely than anyone stealing it to sell.”

  I didn’t want to give away anything to Ada but what she was saying definitely gave me an idea of who the real suspect in this mystery might be. I just couldn’t say anything yet. Not until I’d worked the idea out for myself. If I was wrong it was going to cause even more bad press for Lakeshore.

  Another question was on my lips when my mobile rang.

  I was sure it was going to be Rosie again, looking for her chicken salt, and it wasn’t until I had accepted the call and put the phone to my ear that I realized the ringtone hadn’t been the birthday song.

  The hiss of static in my ear confirmed it wasn’t Rosie or anyone else on the line. Not anyone living, anyway. A voice floated in and out of the static, a ghostly whispery sound that was more emotion than it was words.

  “Be… careful…”

  I was about up to here with ghosts calling me. “How did you get this number?” I asked, although I know it’s ridiculous to expect an answer. When had I ever been able to get them to talk to me at the Inn? Playing charades with Lachlan and Jess had just become second nature. Although, if they could use a phone to actually communicate… then I might be getting a lot more of these calls in my future.

  Oh, snap.

  My hand drifted up to take hold of the unicorn necklace as I wait for the ghost on my phone to say more. When it does it’s just those two words, repeated over and over. As if I needed a reminder to be careful here in Lakeshore. No. What I really need is to not have an instant line of communication between me and the hereafter.

  “Don’t call me again,” I told the voice. “You want to talk, you know where to find me. Talk to me in… person.”

  Right. Or whatever the equivalent would be for a ghost.

  Thumbing the end call button I put the phone away in my hip pocket. Ada was staring at me from behind those thick lenses and I could only imagine what she must have been thinking. “Er,” I stuttered, “wrong number.”

  “I see,” was all she said. “Well. Would you like to borrow this book? Be due back in a week.”

  “Yes, thank you.” I didn’t know what else I could learn from these pages that Ada hadn’t already told me, but I’d rather have it and not need it than—

  My phone rang again, and my patience had been worn thin as it was, and when I snagged it out of my pocket this time I swiped at the screen angrily and brought the phone up in front of my mouth and said through gritted teeth, “I told you not to call me!”

  No static this time. Just an empty pause before I hear a very familiar voice. “I’m pretty sure ya said no such thing.”

  James! Oh, dear God in Heaven that was James calling me, and I just… he just heard me…

  I don’t swear often, but when I do it is both elegant and sophisticated.

  Quickly, before he could hang up, I put the phone to my ear and turned away from Ada to at least pretend the call would be private. “James, no no no, wait. I thought you were someone else. I didn’t mean that for you, honest.”

  With a knowing smile, Ada left me there to go sit down over at her desk.

  “Dell,” James said, “I know we didn’t leave on the best of terms, but I was expecting a nicer greeting than this. Where’d ya learn words like that?”

  “I really didn’t know it was you, James.” Emotions twisted themselves up inside my belly. I didn’t realize how much I would enjoy just hearing from him again. “Listen, there’s some things going on here…”

  “I know.” His Aussie accent was strong and smooth, and I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve fallen asleep listening to him coo me to sleep. “Lakeshore’s hit the news again. That’s why I’m calling, Dell. Got the word up here in Newcastle just about an hour ago. Here I left to report the news for a big syndicate and turns out if I really wanted big news all I had to do was stay down there.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded,” I told him. I knew that would make it sound like I was still hung up on him, but it’s true. James didn’t leave because of me. His choices were his own. “Um. So, did you call just to find out about the Chalice?”

  Another long pause from him. Had I offended him with my question? “No, Dell. I called because I’m on the first plane down there. Later this afternoon. Me and probably a dozen other members of the fourth estate. Hear it’s a real free for all down there.”

  “There’s journalists everywhere,” I agreed. “I think most of them are staying in Hobart. Thing is, all of this is starting to hurt the tourism down here. I’ve got people leaving early and we’ve already been warned to expect fewer tourists until this is all sorted.”

  “Really?” I could hear the interest in his voice. “Seems to me after a couple of deaths in
Lakeshore that tourism picked right up. This really any different?”

  “Well, no one’s dead,” I said. The joke fell flat. “Um. Sure, it’s different. I suppose if Alfonse actually had the Chalice, and it actually got taken, then we’re all in for it. The governor of Tasmania’s already phoned in to talk to Mayor Brown, from what I understand. Folks know this is gonna be a big to-do, only there’s nothing to see. Bunch of trouble with nothing to show for it? What tourist is going to want to come here for that?”

  “’Spose you have a point.”

  For someone who said they didn’t just call to talk about the Chalice, he sure didn’t seem to be talking about anything but. I sighed, and suddenly came back to reality. James was gone from my life and a sudden phone call in the middle of a Sunday morning wasn’t going to change that. I had other things to worry about here.

  After all, time moves—

  “Got a room for me?”

  His question caught me by surprise. “You mean, in my Inn?”

  “Well, sure. Unless maybe ya got some other rooms hidden somewhere?”

  “No. I mean, yes. Yes. Sure. I’ve got a couple rooms empty now. I’ll book you right in.”

  I thought to myself that I should’ve been smoother about that. Should’ve led him on and let him know that I didn’t care whether he came to stay with me or not. But in the back of my mind I remembered nights when we shared a room, a bed, our thoughts and our feelings and… so much else.

  A smile curved my lips. Having him back, even if it was for his work, felt right to me. Perhaps he wasn’t completely gone from my life after all.

  In my ear a tone beeped softly. Call waiting. Looking at the screen, I saw Rosie’s number. Nice to be in demand, I suppose. There was only so much that a woman could handle at the same time, of course, but I’d raised two kids. Believe me, that qualifies you for combat service.

  “James, I’ve got another call. Can we… I don’t know, maybe have dinner tonight?”

  “I’ll have to see what time I get in,” he said.

  That was so not the answer I was hoping for. “Um. Sure. We’ll see.”

  “Thanks, Dell. See ya when I’m there.”

  The call ended, leaving me staring at the phone. Was he coming back for me, or a story?

  One thing I knew, I didn’t have time to worry about what Mister James Callahan was about. The end of our call had reminded me that I had no one to make dinner for the dining room, or lunch either for that matter! Damn Marco Bastoni had left me high and dry. Rosie needed my attention this close to the moment of her birth. Carly needed my attention. Her boyfriend Drew needed someone who could prove his guilt or innocence and even though my son Kevin would be all over that I knew how small town politics went. Drew would need all the help he could get. Then there was the whole mystery surrounding the theft of the Van Diemen’s Land Chalice.

  Yup. My cup certainly runneth over. Pun intended.

  Ada called to me from the desk after she heard the silence on my side of the room. “Ready with the book, Dell. You can keep it for a week or two, if ya want. I know where to find ya if need be.”

  Right. A book full of old history, and a theory about who our chief suspect is. Suppose that’s a start.

  Which meant my next step would be going to see Rosie.

  A quick stop at the Milkbar got me the chicken salt that Rosie wanted. Then it was a quick drive over to her and Josh’s house. I was certainly putting the kilometers on the loaner car today. Might even add a whole fifteen klicks to the odometer.

  That’s a small town joke.

  “Hi Rosie, it’s me!” I called as I opened the front door and let myself in. Rosie and I have always treated each other’s homes as our own. “Got your chicken salt. Ready to bake up… some chips…?”

  I expected her to be on the couch. She wasn’t. She was in the kitchen, banging pots and pans on the stove and pouring milk from a glass bottle into a frying pan.

  “What are you doing?” I asked her. “Aren’t you supposed to be sitting down? Resting? I can’t believe Nala let you off that rump of yours.”

  She waved a wooden spoon at me before plunging it into one of the pots and stirring whatever was in it. “Not polite to talk about a pregnant woman’s rump, now is it?” She tasted the sauce from the edge of the spoon, leaning way over to reach past her belly. Her face soured as she licked her lips. “Needs more oregano.”

  “What on Earth are you cooking?” I looked into the living room. No one there. Rosie was alone. “You’re making enough of whatever it is to feed all of Lakeshore.”

  “Well, there’s nobody about to help me, now is there?” she grumbled. With a lot more force than she needed to, she moved a pot from one burner to the other, slamming it down. “Josh’s still not back from wherever he got to. Nala’s gone. Apparently, nobody cares whether I’m pregnant or not!”

  “Now, Rosie, you know that’s not true. Besides, you’ve still got me. Here. I brought you the chicken salt.”

  “Chicken salt!” she exclaimed with tears in her eyes. “Why in the world would I want chicken salt? You’re gonna make me toss my brekkie with that.”

  “Wish I’d known that before I brought it over,” I muttered to myself. Patiently, I put the little paper bag with the shaker of seasoning inside down on the table. Pregnancy can make a woman crazy. Rosie was moody, and uncomfortable, and past due with twins. Under those circumstances, my friend was certainly entitled to blow off a bit of steam.

  “And to top it all,” she said, her voice shaky and high pitched, “I find this milk has gone bad. Here. Smell this!”

  The bottle of milk was thrust under my nose and not much choice but to smell it. Only, it smelled fine to me. “Rosie, there’s nothing wrong with this.”

  “Says you!” She pulled it back and slammed it down onto the counter, sloshing it all over her hands and all over the apron she had hanging loose about her neck because there’s no way she was going to get those strings tied around her waist like this. “Dash it all! Now I’ve spilled it all over—”

  Turning around to reach for a towel she knocked her hip into the end of a frying pan on the stove, making it go skittering and slopping its contents over one of the lit burners, spreading blue-red flames across the stovetop.

  “—and now there’s a fire—”

  She turned back, reaching for the milk, and I swear to you she was going to pour it over the fire to put it out.

  “—can’t a woman just cook in her own kitchen—”

  She knocked over a box of pasta, which dropped to the floor and went spinning across the linoleum, spreading its contents everywhere.

  “—without everything becoming a mess!”

  “Rosie!” Frantically I took hold of her hand and began pulling her away from the kitchen. “Here now. Why don’t you come out to the living room and have a sit down? I’ll clean up. It’s okay, really. Let’s just get you out of the danger zone.”

  She looked at the mess, and the flames that were beginning to spread to an errantly placed tea towel, her eyes wide.

  And then she laughed.

  A moment later I was laughing with her. Everything that had happened this weekend so far, and here Rosie was about to destroy her whole entire house just to make herself some lunch!

  “Just like old times,” I told her, helping her get settled on the couch. “You’re a wonder in the kitchen Rosie, you truly are, but there’s a reason we had to up the insurance on the Inn.”

  “I only set fire to the kitchen once!” she protested, laughing harder yet.

  “Your memory’s a bit off. It was three times.”

  “No, it was not!”

  “Yes it was.” We were laughing like schoolgirls, and I’d love to just sit there with her all night, but I had a fire to put out. Literally.

  In the kitchen, I switched off the burners and toweled up the milk and the spilled… whatever this is. I still didn’t know what Rosie thought she was cooking. Which reminded me that I should check on t
he Inn and find out what they did about lunch. Just not in front of Rosie. No sense ruining her good mood by reminding her the kitchen at the Pine Lake Inn was a shambles without her there.

  Taking out my mobile I sent a quick text to Ikon. We need to do lunch, I remind him.

  I agree, was the immediate response. Well. Let’s hope he’s got that figured out then.

  The pasta swept up, the stove relatively clean and cool enough to touch again, I put what was left of the milk back in the fridge and went to sit with Rosie. “Honey, you have to keep off your feet. Unless you expect your children are packing parachutes!”

  Rosie burst out in laughter again as she patted her belly. “With this much room in there I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they had a whole marching band in there! Ah, Dell, I can always count on ya to make me feel better. ‘Fraid I went round the bend there for a few minutes.”

  “No worries. I’m just surprised Nala left you here. Where is she?”

  Shrugging helplessly, Rosie picked up her tea towel fan again. “She said she had an appointment to keep. That’s all I know. I’ve got her mobile number in case I need it. Got my husband’s too, for all the good that’s doing me.”

  “Still no word from Josh?” Now I really was getting worried. My mind went through any number of horrible scenarios.

  I told myself to stop it. There was enough going on in this town without me creating troubles where they weren’t any. Josh was fine. He was just… not here. That in itself was trouble enough for a woman like Rosie, about to give birth.

  “It’s fine Dell,” was what Rosie said next, although her eyes were starting to tear up and I could tell she felt anything but fine. She’d done another complete one-eighty, winging quickly from one mood to the other again. From laughter to tears in six seconds flat. NASCAR’s got nothing on Rosie Ryan!