by K. J. Emrick
“Not if we see you first,” I muttered as we went in.
The Roo had two solid-core wooden doors that Alfonse always closed up after last call. The swinging saloon doors in front of them were just for show, to give the place an ambience as he puts it. They’re the one thing he’d never changed after taking over the place. I made sure the bigger doors were closed tight again, and I even threw the lock so Gladys Austin wouldn’t get the idea she was invited in. Surprised Alfonse didn’t do that himself.
Maybe he was just too overwrought to think of it. Maybe, on the other hand, he wanted to let some reporter “accidentally” slip in to ask questions that would end up on the front page alongside his name and photo.
It was too bad, but the more I pictured Alfonse faking out the town with this Van Diemen’s Land Chalice story, the more I could see him doing exactly that. Publicity was a way of life for him. I liked Alfonse, I really did, and two days ago if anyone had asked me if he would ever do something like create a crisis just to get his name in the news I would’ve said no. But now?
I just didn’t know.
The tavern was dark inside. Only half the lights were on. The vintage jukebox in the corner was off. The neon behind the bar wasn’t lit up. I’d seen funeral parlors with more life. Yes, I know. It really said something about my life when I’d been in funeral parlors often enough to use them as a frame of reference.
“Well,” Carly said, looking around. “This is depressing.”
Exactly my point. “Alfonse?” I called out. “Are you down here?”
There are apartments upstairs, around back, but no one’s currently renting them is the way I understand it. Hard to get someone interested in renting a place over a busy, successful tavern unless the person’s a two-pot screamer, and Alfonse won’t rent to people like that.
“Alfonse?”
“Einen augenblick, bitte!” a strong male voice called out to us from the back room. “Er, sorry, sorry! A moment, please.”
That wasn’t Alfonse. That was his husband, Dan.
We’d met any number of times, and I thought that Alfonse had made a very good choice in marrying Dan. The two of them couldn’t be more different, but they certainly made it work. A German and an Aussie. Different races, Alfonse a darkly handsome man and Dan as pale as milk. Even different tastes in music. None of it made a difference to them. They always supported each other and loved one another.
He came stumbling out of the swinging door to the storage room, a heavy wooden crate in his arms that he dropped onto the polished surface of the bar. It dropped pretty hard. The liquor bottles inside rattled together in a way that made me worried they were going to crack. For all his pale good looks, Dan had never struck me as an overly strong man.
“Entschuldigung,” he apologized. His German accent was heavy on the consonants even when he switched to English. “I came in to do some verk and I must have left the door unlocked. No one vas supposed to come in today. All of the verkers, I gave them the day off. The vaitresses, the lady who cleans the tavern after we close each night, all of them. To all of them I say, take the day off. But, you are here, yes? Vhat can Dan Calico do for you?”
“Um.” I debated a moment before deciding to just tell him what we were really up to. “We were actually looking for Alfonse. We had some questions about the Chalice.”
His face grew tight, his eyes narrowing. “Of course, you are. Who is not here to talk about the Chalice, hmm? I vill tell you the same things I have told those schweinhund reporters out there. Alfonse and I have nothing to say. Nichts. Now, if you vill excuse me please I must return to this.”
With the fingers of one hand he took hold of a top edge on the crate, and pried back the top. Tack nails squealed as they came loose. Guess he’s stronger than he looks. Must be part of what Alfonse sees in him.
From inside, Dan began removing the square bottles of Redlands whisky one at a time, obviously done with our conversation. As I was debating leaving a message for Alfonse and coming back later Carly stepped right up to the bar and started taking bottles out of the crate with Dan. “We’re not here to get our names in the paper,” she promised. “I think my mothers had just about enough of that. I’m here for Drew. You know, Drew? He’s one of your bartenders.”
She set the last of the whisky bottles out. Dan didn’t just watch her during all this. He was studying her. “Yes, I know who Drew is. Drew is a good man. Or, so I thought.”
“He is a good man.” Carly’s defense of her boyfriend was adamant, even now. “That hasn’t changed. He’s been arrested for something he didn’t do, and we’re asking for your help.”
Drumming his fingers on the counter, Dan regarded Carly a moment more. “I can see in your eyes how much you care for him. Your Drew is important to you, yes?”
“Yes,” she answered simply. “He is.”
“I see.” His fingers tapped a final rhythm. “I vould not have thought him capable of such a thing. Stealing from Alfonse and myself. It is not to be taken lightly.”
“He didn’t steal from you.” Every bit of her body language told just how certain she was. “He says there wasn’t even a Chalice here to steal. He says that box was empty.”
I’d never seen a man’s face flush red as quickly as Dan’s did now. Anger was not a color he wears well.
“Yes, there vas a Chalice! Of course there vas a Chalice! I am no liar. How dare you say such a thing! Ich bin kein lugner! Ich war noch nie so beleidigt… Nimmer. Nimmer!”
In his frustration, his words slipped away into German and I could only catch one or two words. He was not happy. I could tell you that much.
Storming out into the back room again he left the door swinging wildly back and forth, banging against its lock with each pass it made. It hadn’t stopped moving by the time he came back, a hand-tooled wooden box in his hands, carved with intricate designs and held together with leather straps and tarnished brass corner pieces. The rounded lid was closed and latched at the front. It’s an old piece, and small. If it’s half a meter square, I’d be surprised.
Without waiting for us to admire it he picked up the empty whisky crate and tossed it far across the room where it hit the floor with a loud crack. In its place on the bar, Dan set the carved box.
Flipping open the lid, he turned it toward us. Inside there was a velvet cushioning of a purple fabric, showing the impression of something that had laid inside.
“This is vhere the Chalice was. It has been passed down in my family for generations. A secret to be kept. I am devastated that it should be lost by me! Several Germans came over with the First Fleet. Captain Arthur Phillips had a German father himself, you know.”
“Wow.” I couldn’t help it. “That’s a pretty grand lineage to trace back to. “You’re related to Arthur Phillips?”
“Vhat? No. Of course, I am not related to… vhat do you think? Everyone has famous grandpoppies? No. That is too much to think. My family descended from two German prisoners in the First Fleet. It is a proud thing for me. Now, look at this.”
He closed the lid again, and showed us the hasp on the front. Where it closed around the metal loop that would have held a lock, it’s been bent and twisted. I could see the long scrapes of some tool that had attacked both the metal and the aged wood.
“Someone broke into this. Alfonse and I put it overnight in the back room so it vould be ready for the big moment when Alfonse revealed it to everyone. It vas safe, ve thought, because no one knew it vas there except the reporters. No one could get in without the combination to the lock. Who vould steal it, yes? I am so stupid. To leave so priceless a thing out of my reach… bekloppt, dusslig, dummkopf!”
He broke off into German again, into what I was pretty sure was a string of insults against himself.
Callously, Carly traced a hand along the edge of the box. “This is beautiful, Dan, but it isn’t proof there was ever a Chalice inside. It’s just your word. Yours and Alfonse’s. Did Alfonse ever see it? Did anyone?”
> His whole body was trembling now with indignation. Half-German, half -English words formed and died on his lips until he finally threw a hand up in the air with a finger pointing at the exit doors. “You vill leave our tavern, right this instant! You shall not come in here and smear the good name of the man I love. Alfonse knew I had the cup! He knew the Chalice vas real! He believes in me, because ve love each other! Ve do! Leave! Leave now!”
“Dan, I’m sorry,” I tried. “We weren’t trying to accuse you or certainly Alfonse of anything. We just need to know if there’s any proof at all that the Van Diemen’s Land Chalice was—”
“Here in this box?” he interrupted me. “Fine. Take a look at this, then!”
From under the bar he took out a manila envelope and threw it down the counter so it slid to a stop right in front of me. The open end of it was facing my way, and from inside a number of pictures come peeking out. I picked one up at random. It was Dan, and Alfonse, standing here in the Thirsty Roo, in front of that box over there.
The box was open, and inside of it was a chalice.
It was made from a dark wood. Parts of it were overlaid in gold, or some metal that looked like gold. A thin stem led up from its round base to a wide cup carved and etched in scrolling designs. Within them I could see a rectangle that I recognize all too well. The Union Jack, the flag of Britain that was flown by the First Fleet when they arrived here. Around the flag in a circle punctuated by spikes, was the aboriginal symbol for leader. Or was it the symbol for King?
I was looking at a picture of the Van Diemen’s Land Chalice, here in this tavern, with Alfonse and Dan right there with it. Nearly the same picture as the artist’s rendering in Ada’s book. I opened to that page now, and compared the two.
It was the same cup.
It could be a fake, I argued with myself. It could’ve been carved out of wood and painted and then Alfonse and Dan… both of them together… faked this photo…
No. From the way Dan was acting I knew this was the real thing. It had been here, and someone had stolen it.
“There,” Dan said to me, “you’ve seen it. Now get out.”
“Can I keep this?” I asked him, realizing I was overstepping my welcome by a lot at this point. “I’m sorry Dan. We really didn’t mean anything.”
“Just get out. Bitte. Go avay. Both of you.” His face has returned to its normal pasty white, but I could tell that it was going to be a long time before he forgave me for this slight against his family honor.
I slipped the photo into the book as Carly and I left. Behind us, I heard the sound of the deadbolt being put in place on the door behind me. Guess Dan didn’t forget to lock up this time.
Gladys Austin was the only reporter left outside. I had to wonder if maybe she convinced the other two to leave somehow. Either with a promise of passing on anything she learned to them, or with a different kind of promise from that winning smile.
“There you are,” she said with a bright smile. “So? What happened? What did you find out?”
Carly took in a sharp breath, about to say something I knew one of us would regret, when I caught her elbow and steered her away. “No interviews today, Gladys. Sure we told you that already.”
“I’ll give her an interview,” Carly muttered. “I’ll give her words that’ll set her ears on fire!”
“Not here,” I told her. “No reason to end up tonight’s headline. Save it for when we get back to the Inn.”
“Well, thanks for nothing,” Gladys said. “Good thing I’ve got people in this town. Not like anyone else is talking to me.”
Sources in town? Oh, right. She said something back in the police department about having family here in Lakeshore. Made me wonder who.
So much going on below the surface, all around me! Drew was hiding something, Nala’s hiding something, now Gladys is hiding something and everyone’s got a distant rellie they can trace all the way back to the First Fleet, it seemed. Even Dan Calico. Even James used to talk about his family roots and his proud Aussie heritage.
That reminded me of the picture in the book. The Aboriginal woman who Lachlan had been mimicking for me. Who would she be related to? Someone with strong feelings toward the chalice, no doubt.
Nala. It had to be. She’d already spoken—very vocally—about wanting the Chalice to go back to the aborigines. If she took it to give back to her own people…
Well. Good motives didn’t make for good excuses. Not always.
“Come on.” I turned Carly up the street toward Rosie’s, instead of the Inn. “I’ve got to see a friend.”
Chapter 9
“Don’t come in here!” Rosie said with a serious frown. “Less’n ya want to starve, that is.”
I had to admit, the aromas in her house were less than appetizing. Nala was at the stove, stirring something in a pot that was simmering over a low heat. She scowled at me, and at Carly. “There’s not enough for four. Just enough for me and Rosie.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, trying my best to sound sincere. Truth was, I’d just be as happy to pass on whatever was in that pot. “Uh, we’ll get something at the Inn when we get back.”
“Oh, good idea,” Rosie said. “Bring me some of whatever’s there, will ya? Just to taste test, understand. I need to know what’s going on in me kitchen, after all.”
“No,” Nala said flatly. “No sneaking other food. You will eat what I make for you, and you will have strong children because of it.”
“Of course, sure. Absolutely.” Rosie smiled at Nala, shifting on the couch where she was still uncomfortably trying to settle her girth. “I only meant that I need to taste what they’re serving. To give it my approval.”
“No,” Nala said again.
“Just a bit. No more than that.”
“No.”
“For the Inn, I mean. I’ll hate every minute of it, I’m sure.” Her eyes went to that pot on the stove and I swear she shivered at the thought of what was going to be served for supper. “It’s my job, after all. I, er, wouldn’t want to let Dell down.”
With a bang, Nala set a ceramic bowl down on the counter, and then ladled in a yellow, gloppy blob of something with pieces of vegetables in it from the pot. The smell got worse when she did. “You will eat this. It will be good for the babies.”
Rosie’s nose scrunched up when Nala came over to place the bowl in her hand. “Maybe I could eat this later. After I test the food from the Inn. Oh, yes. That’s a grand idea. I’ll wait for ya here, Dell. Just rush on over and back again and I’ll—”
Nala picked up the spoon, yellowish pasty blobby stuff oozing over the sides of it, and held it up to Rosie’s mouth. “Eat.”
If I ever got pregnant again—not that I think I would—no way on God’s green Earth was I going to let someone else tell me what I could eat. If me or my unborn child had a craving for lamb chops smothered in mustard, that’s what we’d have.
Nala held the spoon steady as Rosie reluctantly eased her lips over the goop and then swallowed it back. I was thinking I wouldn’t be using a midwife if ever I found myself with child again, either. At least, not this midwife.
My friend started to gag on the taste of what she just endured, and Nala’s face darkened, and I figured it was my duty to step in and save her from a scolding. Holding up Ada’s book I tapped the cover loudly with my hand. “Nala, can I show you something?”
She turned to me just in time to miss seeing Rosie stick her tongue out and scrub at it with her fingers. “What is it? I’m busy with my charge at the moment. You should go.”
“Just let me ask you something…” I opened the book to where the photo of Dan and Alfonse was tucked in. One page after that was the picture of the aboriginal woman. Mahinna. “I found this book at the library in town. It’s got a lot of information about the Van Diemen’s Land Chalice that I didn’t know before. I’m just curious. Do you know this woman? Is she a relative, by chance?”
Nala glared at me but then she peered down at the pa
ges of the book. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the woman in the photo. Then she took a slow breath.
“No. I don’t know her.”
I blinked over at Carly. She was as surprised as I was. If anyone currently in Lakeshore had a direct link to the people who were here before us, it had to be her. I mean, she didn’t exactly hide her culture, with those dresses and the way she wore her hair. She was proud of her roots, and well she should be, but she had to be the link to this woman that Lachlan was trying to show me.
“Are you sure?” I asked her. “Maybe if you looked at the photo again…”
“No,” she barked, feeding another spoonful of her concoction to Rosie. “I know who Mahinna was. I have studied our past much more so than you have, Miss Powers. My ancestors are a proud people, and I would not deny them for all the gold in Australia. This woman is not related to me or my people.”
As Rosie swallowed, Nala gave her another bite. Either the stuff didn’t taste as bad as it smelled, or Rosie had gotten used to it. She took the bowl herself now and began to eat.
“Rosie, what is that?” I asked, closing the book and setting it aside, hoping Lachlan didn’t send me on a wild goose chase just as I was needing real information the most. “It looks like glue and it smells like someone’s been boiling their socks in it.”
Nala shot me another one of her looks. Turned out they aren’t so scary after the hundredth time you’ve been targeted by one. “This,” she said with a proud little smile, “is my own creation to induce labor. Witchetty grub soup with extra basil and annatto and a few other things. Rosie is overdue, and that is not healthy for the mother or the children. This should get Rosie’s body in a good space to give birth. You know. Induce labor.”
“I’m for that,” Rosie said with a smile, tapping her spoon to her bowl. “I’m ready even if these little ones aren’t!”
Sure, I thought to myself, it’ll induce labor. Or vomiting. The smell of that stuff was everywhere! I looked around the little house, at the way Rosie had prepared everything just so. She was so looking forward to this. I couldn’t blame her for trying anything at all to get the process moving. The birthing pool was full now, with a little black heater at the side circulating the water to keep it warm and fresh. The towels were stacked and folded. Everything was definitely ready. Except for one thing.
