Race for the Flash Stone (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 2)

by K Patrick Donoghue

  “Uh-huh,” Pebbles said as she edged his right hand closer to the notch. “You’re about to meet a ten-thousand-year-old woman.”

  Pulling his right hand away from the Stone, he asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. Her name is Malinyah.”

  “And who, pray tell, is Malinyah?”

  “One of the Munuorians.”

  “And these ‘Moon-people’ are…?”

  “They’re not from the Moon, silly. They lived on Earth…but a very, very long time ago.”

  Antonio pointed at the Sinethal. “You’re telling me the mind of this Malinyah is inside this Stone?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re pulling my leg,” he said, laughing. “Did Anlon put you up to this?”

  “Why’re you being such a chicken? Put your other hand on the Stone and see for yourself.”

  “Uh-huh, sure. What happens? Is it like one of those hand buzzers that shocks?”

  Pebbles frowned. “Ugh! Fine, don’t do it.”

  She reached for the fused Stones and said, “I’ll put them back in the case.”

  “Hold on, hold on. Don’t get bent out of shape. I’m willing to try it, but I want to know a little more first.” Antonio pushed her hands away.

  Pebbles folded her arms. “You scientists are all the same. You must know everything before you try anything! Isn’t that kind of backward? When you had your first cookie, did you require a lab analysis before eating, or did you just take a bite?”

  With a thunderous laugh, Antonio relented. “All right, you win! I’ll bite the cookie.”

  Still holding the Sinethal with his left hand, he took a deep breath and lightly touched the upper right corner of the stone. Expecting a shock, he quickly withdrew his touch. When it didn’t occur, he glanced at Pebbles and smiled. “Trust, but verify.”

  Then, as Pebbles instructed, he slid the fingers of his right hand behind the stone and felt for the notch. When they slipped into the depression, Antonio immediately felt a prickling sensation in the fingers of both hands. It wasn’t a shock, but it was electrical. Holding the Stone as if it were a steering wheel, he turned to say as much to Pebbles when the vision kicked in.

  Antonio found himself in a marble hall. Tall, white columns lined the outer edges. A gust of wind brushed against his left cheek. Instinctively, he turned toward the sensation. A sheer curtain billowed between two columns and revealed a stunning vista beyond its rippling edges. There was a hillside filled with colorful flowers and plants. In the distance, azure waters shimmered under the glare of bright sunlight.

  A golden butterfly floated underneath the curtain. Antonio watched it bob and weave through the hall as if pursued by a relentless foe. From behind, he heard the tap of footsteps approaching. Turning in the direction of the sound, he caught his first glimpse of Malinyah.

  Tall, bronzed and proud, the blond Munuorian advanced toward him with a warm smile upon her flawless face. She spoke and touched his shoulder. Antonio trembled and pulled away.

  Pebbles watched Antonio’s body go rigid when the vision began. Much like Anlon’s first experience with the Sinethal, his face contorted and he sputtered incoherently. When he flinched and belted out a haunting groan, Pebbles cringed.

  Before Pebbles could rise from the couch, Kathleen’s urgent raps echoed through the door. Pebbles was one step too late to reach the handle. The door flung inward. Kathleen’s bewildered gaze locked on Antonio grappling with the Sinethal. He moaned and writhed. Pebbles tried to block Kathleen’s entrance, but the smaller woman shoved past her and rushed to Antonio. Pebbles grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her back. Kathleen struggled to break free. She barked, “Let go of me!”

  Tightening her grip, Pebbles tried to assure the protective assistant. “Kathleen, he’s fine. Let him be.”

  “Let go!” cried Kathleen. She flailed and kicked at Pebbles. Her cry was loud enough to attract the attention of a passing mailroom clerk, who rushed toward the open door. Pebbles released her hold on Kathleen’s arm and backed away. Out of the corner of her eye, Pebbles spied Dylan Hollingsworth approaching.

  Kathleen hovered above Antonio, unsure of what to do. She spoke to him, but Antonio didn’t respond. Suddenly, the writhing ceased and he slowly rocked backward. The contortions on his face melted and he mumbled softly.

  Wheeling back toward Pebbles, Kathleen stomped a foot and demanded, “What’s going on? What are you doing to him?”

  The mailroom clerk halted in the doorway, observed the scene and said, “I’ll call security!”

  When he turned for Kathleen’s workstation, he plowed into Dylan and they both tumbled to the floor. Pebbles covered her face and shouted, “Everybody calm the f−− down!”

  As her voice trailed off, Antonio released the Sinethal. The Naetir popped off and rolled beneath the couch. The Sinethal slid from his hands and plunked onto the floor. Antonio slumped over and passed out. Kathleen rushed to his side. Pebbles stepped forward and said, “He needs water. Go find him water.”

  Without protest, the assistant dashed from the office in the direction of the nearby kitchenette. On her way, she passed the mailroom clerk, who had recovered his footing and was on the phone. While Pebbles lowered onto hands and knees to corral the Sinethal and fish under the sofa for the Naetir, Dylan slunk into Antonio’s office. Unaware of his presence, Pebbles bumped into him when she stood up. Startled, she spun around and spat, “Out of my way!”

  Pebbles stalked around him and made her way to the conference table. She loaded the Stones back in their case and shut the lid. When she looked up, Kathleen was holding a bottle of water to Antonio’s lips. He was propped up in the corner of the sofa, his face tinged with red. Pebbles said, “I am so screwed!”

  CHAPTER 9

  SLEUTH OR DARE

  New Haven, Connecticut

  August 12

  Jennifer closed her eyes and listened to the hypnotic clicks of the anteroom wall clock. Through the room’s wooden door, she could hear the din of visitors down the long hallway as they moved between exhibit rooms. Crossing her arms, she arched her back against the creaky chair and yawned.

  As she nodded off, the tote bag resting on her lap slipped and landed on the floor with an echoing thud. Jolted awake, Jennifer uttered an expletive and snatched the bag. She slapped it down onto the adjacent chair and spied the clock. With a frown, she lifted her cell phone to check the traffic conditions between New Haven and Bennington.

  “Fifteen minutes more and I’m out of here,” she groused.

  She was three minutes from bolting when Dr. Charles Goodwin finally cracked open the inner office door and said, “Ah, you’re still here. I’ve only got about ten minutes, I’m afraid.”

  Rising from the chair, Jennifer stepped toward Goodwin’s office and sarcastically replied, “Turns out that’s about all I have, too.”

  Once inside his office, Goodwin hung his blazer on a corner coatrack and straightened his cuff links. The forty-something curator guided an errant strand of hair back into place before reposing in his high-back leather chair.

  While he continued to primp his tie and hair, Jennifer took in the room. It was very different from the other curators she’d visited over the past two days. Instead of the usual array of artifacts, journals and research tomes, Goodwin’s office was adorned with pictures…mostly of the man himself. Several showed him in pith helmet and safari shorts at various excavations. A dozen more looked like they were snapped at museum galas. In these he posed with a variety of smiling guests. Jennifer recognized a few celebrities among the photos, but most were elderly husband-and-wife tandems. She presumed these were museum benefactors.

  Another group of pictures displayed the lead page of journal articles penned by the archaeologist/anthropologist. Finally, on the wall behind his desk was the shrine to his academic prowess. Half a dozen gilded frames held diplomas from a glamorous array of Ivy League institutions.

  Goodwin cleared his
throat to draw her attention and asked, “How do you know the late Dr. Wilson, Miss…?”

  Oh, please, Jennifer thought, he doesn’t remember my name? She’d introduced herself less than an hour ago when she showed up on time for the meeting. He’d pulled the same stunt then, and again when she’d spoken with him by phone when arranging the appointment.

  Suppressing the urge to flip him off, she politely said, “Stevens. Jennifer Stevens. As I’ve mentioned previously, I’m assisting Dr. Cully in managing Devlin Wilson’s private collection.”

  The visit to the university museum was a result of Jennifer’s dig through Wilson’s records. Among them, she discovered three potential leads: a museum in Villahermosa, Mexico, where Devlin first located a Breylofte; a private collector in Pézenas, France, who Devlin corresponded with about acquiring additional Naetirs; and Goodwin’s museum. There, Devlin had purchased an Aromaegh. Called Story Stones by Devlin, Aromaeghs were Munuorian storage-device tablets similar in size and shape to the Sinethal, but they came in different colors and housed different types of information. The one Devlin purchased from Goodwin was reddish in color and contained a documentary-style presentation of the Munirvo story.

  That led Jennifer to start with Goodwin. Her initial two calls received no response. Frustrated, Jennifer huddled with Anlon, and he suggested trying a different approach. Curators, he had said, are more apt to respond to a colleague or benefactor than to an unknown caller. He suggested Jennifer pose as Anlon’s representative in a minor ruse. She was to leave a message indicating Anlon’s interest in making a sizeable donation to the museum in Devlin’s name.

  Anlon hoped the mention of Dr. Devlin Wilson and the words “sizeable donation” would stimulate a return call. The ruse worked. When Goodwin called back, Jennifer finagled a meeting to deliver the donation…and to ask some questions about certain pieces in Devlin’s collection.

  “So, you didn’t know him personally?”

  “No.”

  “Are you an archaeologist yourself?”

  “No, I work for—”

  “I really don’t see how I can help you, Miss…Sterns, is it?”

  Jennifer rolled her eyes. In a moment like this as a police detective, she would have bitten her tongue and ignored the intentional slight. But the man’s act was growing tired.

  “Dr. Goodwin, do you suffer from brain damage?”

  The curator reared back in the chair and adopted a stunned expression. “Heavens, no.”

  “Hmmm, then do you suffer from amnesia? Or are you just an a-hole?”

  The man grew red-faced. His head bobbed and his mouth sputtered. To Jennifer, he looked like a chicken strutting around a barnyard. Before he could retort, she said, “My name is Stevens. S-T-E-V-E-N-S. Can we stop with the power bullshit, please? Or would you rather I tear up Dr. Cully’s check on my way out?”

  Goodwin snorted and rose from behind the desk. Straightening his tie, he said, “Good day, Miss Stevens.”

  Jennifer ignored him and reached in her bag and removed a handful of photographs. She arranged them on the desk and said, “I understand you have several stones like these among your Mesoamerican collection.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I said, ‘good day,’” he said with a satisfied smile and wave.

  “One of them, this one right here, Dr. Wilson purchased from your museum about three years ago,” she answered, pointing at the red Aromaegh. “I’m looking to see if he purchased any other pieces from you. In particular, this black stone and these two statues.”

  Goodwin clenched his jaw and pointed toward the door. Jennifer sighed, gathered the photos and returned them to the bag. As she rose from her chair, she fished in the bag and extracted an envelope. From the envelope she removed the check from Anlon’s charitable foundation.

  Waving it in front of him, she said, “Then you don’t want the twenty-five thousand dollars?”

  The curator lowered his pointer, sighed and motioned for her to sit.

  “Thank you. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. I’m looking for information about these other artifacts. I’d like to know if Dr. Wilson purchased these from you, or if you know where he might have purchased them.”

  Without looking at the pictures, Goodwin straightened his tie for the umpteenth time and said, “I’m sure I have no idea.”

  Jennifer thought, Well, you might if you bothered to look at them! She lifted the picture of the Sinethal and showed it to him. The snarky SOB actually turned his head away to avoid looking! “Just take a look, please,” she said.

  Goodwin twirled his head and squinted at the picture for less than a second. “Never seen it.”

  With a shrug of her shoulders, Jennifer stowed the pictures, picked up the check and sighed. “That’s a shame. Dr. Cully said he was considering endowing a research position in addition to the donation. He’ll be disappointed to hear you were so uncooperative.”

  As she rose from the guest chair, the curator’s eyes fluttered. Jennifer watched his face cycle through a familiar range of expressions while debating whether to call her bluff. Interrogation techniques do have value outside law enforcement, she thought.

  When Jennifer reached the hallway, she turned and thanked Goodwin for his time. Four steps down the hallway, he called out, “Miss Stevens!”

  Jennifer grumbled. Now he remembers my name!

  The sound of his feet racing along the hallway brought a smile to her face — a smile that she hid when he implored, “Stop! Hold up!”

  Ten minutes later, Jennifer sat in the museum’s ready room in an adjacent annex building. As she waited for Goodwin to appear from the attached storage room, she watched three graduate students clean shards unearthed in a recent field visit. Like them, Goodwin required Jennifer to don a lab coat, latex gloves and face mask.

  From the storage room, Goodwin brought forth a container holding three of the Munuorian Aromaeghs. He carefully unwrapped each Stone and placed them in a row across the examining table. Although he begrudgingly agreed to let her view the Stones, he forbade her from handling them in any way.

  He watched with mild curiosity as Jennifer carefully studied the Aromaeghs. Two of the square tiles were green and their etchings illustrated unremarkable scenes. One showed a shepherd with livestock, while the other depicted men crafting a boat. Jennifer knew from conversations with Pebbles that some Aromaeghs contained virtual reality-like “how-to” tutorials. From the etchings on the two Stones, Jennifer assumed the green Aromaeghs fell into that category. The third Aromaegh, however, was distinctive in two respects: it was gray, and its etching portrayed what looked like stars. Among them was a constellation shaped like a W.

  After Jennifer snapped photos of each, she retrieved her notepad and lowered the face mask. “So, you haven’t seen the pieces in the pictures I showed you?”

  He twitched slightly and said, “These are the only stones we have like the one Dr. Wilson purchased.”

  “That’s not what I asked, Doctor,” said Jennifer. “I asked whether you’ve seen the pieces.”

  “Look, Miss Stevens, I don’t see the point of your questions. We don’t have the pieces in your photographs; therefore, we didn’t sell them to Dr. Wilson.”

  Pointing at the row of Aromaeghs, Jennifer asked, “How did each of these come to the museum?”

  Goodwin shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. Why?”

  “Humor me. You catalog all the artifacts in your museum, right? I’d like to see the catalog entries for these pieces.”

  He darted a look at the graduate students across the room and said, “Out of the question. The catalog is confidential.”

  “Oh, come on, Doc. I just want to know the bio for each piece. Where and when they were found, who made the discovery, you know, that kind of thing. Why’s that such a big deal?” prodded Jennifer.

  While he gingerly rewrapped each piece, he said in a hushed tone, “Please keep your voice down. I doubt we have that kind of detail for these pieces.”

  Jennifer
said, “Gonna call bullshit on that one, Chuck.”

  He sneered through clenched teeth. “You wanted to see the pieces. I’ve shown them to you. We’re done.”

  “Look, cards on the table,” said Jennifer. “This is important. Devlin Wilson was murdered because of the pieces I showed you. His killer is still out there, and we’re trying to track her down before she kills anyone else.”

  It was a lie, but Jennifer was running out of options to nudge Goodwin.

  “Shouldn’t Dr. Cully leave that to the professionals?” snorted the curator.

  The urge to knock the haughty look off his face made Jennifer’s hand itch. She said, “You’re looking at her.”

  The man tittered.

  “Has your museum ever been the subject of a police investigation?” asked Jennifer.

  “Certainly not.”

  “Would you like one?”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Well, Chuck, let’s put it this way. We can handle this discreetly, meaning you print out the three records I want and I go away quietly. Or, I tip the police. They’ll show up with a search warrant, ask a crap ton more questions than me…and before you know it, you’ll be on the six o’clock news. Either way, I’m getting those records.”

  “Why on Earth would the police listen to you?” Goodwin asked.

  Jennifer reached in her bag, withdrew a business card and handed it to him. Goodwin’s face blanched. Without a look or word, Goodwin walked across the room to a workstation. A few moments later, he returned with the catalog printouts. Jennifer stuffed them in her bag and departed.

  Through the annex window, Goodwin watched Jennifer disappear around the corner. Dipping into his pocket, he pulled out a cell phone and typed two quick texts.

  The first read, “TROUBLE!!!” The second said, “Call me.”

  By the time Jennifer reached Bennington, it was late afternoon. Shortly after leaving New Haven, she had called ahead to let Anabel Simpson know she was running thirty minutes late. Anabel hadn’t answered the call, so Jennifer left a message on her voicemail.