I guess if I ever need to sell it, at least I have his contact info.
Maeve was only really starting to get used to the feeling of being her own boss and the ultimate freedom of working for herself — no petty personal politics with co-workers, no narcissistic boss to put up with, no pay cheque every two weeks.
I do kind of miss that steady pay cheque; the security of knowing you could always pay the bills at the end of the month. But it’s definitely not worth the price. The grind of the routine that I never really could fully get used to.
So far it had been a pretty slow morning at the store. A few local customers had popped by for some small purchases, but nothing substantial.
It is only Tuesday and the beginning of the month, Maeve reassured herself. It’ll pick up by the end of the week and this weekend will probably be as busy as last weekend. And with Jasmine’s order, I’m already in the black for this month. Rent is paid. Amazing how things always seem to come together just when you need them to!
The phone rang, startling Maeve out of her thoughts. She let it ring two more times, before picking it up. This gave herself some time to catch her breath and find her balance. Something she learned from her good friend Owen, who was into Zen meditation, and always telling her to slow downs a bit.
“Remember to breath Maeve! Slow down and smell the roses. They’re really beautiful.”
Thinking of Owen, Maeve took one final breath and picked up the phone.
“Good morning, Maeve’s magical medicines, how can I help you?”
“I’d like to speak to the owner of the store please.” The male voice on the other end of the phone had a slight hint of an Irish accent. Maeve thought she recognized the voice, but couldn’t quite place it.
“This is the owner.” Maeve shifted in her seat, adjusting the volume on the phone. “May I ask who’s calling.”
“It’s Dr. Corvus. We met a few days ago there at your store.”
“I meet a lot of people. Maybe you could refresh my memory.”
Maeve totally remembered his Irish accent now. It was the man who came into her store the other day and offered to buy her grandmother’s necklace. She didn’t like the fact that he was calling. In fact, in sent shivers up her spine.
“Tall, dark and handsome.” The voice on the other end of the phone joked. “And interested in beautiful jewels. Like the one you have around your neck right now.”
Maeve reached for the emerald around her neck, just to reassure herself that it was still there.
“Don’t worry young lady, you haven’t sold it to me yet.”
“I remember you now.” Maeve adjusted the phone so she could have a better look outside the window. She had this uncanny feeling that this man was lurking on the street outside her store. He felt too close. “My answer is still the same. I’m not interested in selling this necklace to you. It’s a family heirloom.”
“I totally understand.” Dr. Corvus softened his voice. “In fact, Ms. Finn, I’m calling on a different matter completely.””
“Really?” Maeve felt a little more at ease. “Would you like to place an order for some herbs?”
Somehow she didn’t think he was interested in herbs.
“No, not particularly. I would like to ask you out for dinner. I’m leaving town tomorrow, back to Ireland, and thought it would be a shame to miss the opportunity to share a meal and a few drinks with you before I go.”
There was something very enchanting about his voice, and if Maeve hadn’t already made plans to go out with her friend Owen tonight, she would have said yes.
“I appreciate the offer but I have a date planed tonight with my boyfriend.”
Owen wasn’t really her boyfriend, but it was always better to pretend so that there were no expectations. Maeve knew from experience that some men didn’t like to be put off so easily. If they thought you were single, they’d keep pursuing you until you said yes.
“I’m flattered by your offer though.”
“It’s not often I come across jewels like yourself Ms. Finn.”
“It’s not often I get called Ms. Finn.”
“If you change your mind please give me a call. You can reach me at the number on the card I gave you the other day.”
Maeve glanced at the business card lying beside her cash register.
“I leave town first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Have a safe trip.”
“Thanks, and if you ever do decide to sell your great-grandmother’s necklace, please consider giving me the opportunity to make you a decent offer.”
“Sure thing.”
Maeve couldn’t remember telling him the necklace was her great-grandmother’s.
“I may even be able to tell you some of the history related to that necklace.”
“Over diner and a few drinks I bet?”
“Indeed. The best stories often come after a few drinks and over a good meal.”
“I’ll buy the book when it comes out.” Maeve hoped that he wasn’t going to try and persist on a date with her tonight.
“Suit yourself.”
Maeve hung up the phone, relieved that she was able to shake this one off.
He certainly had an enchanting, old world charm to him. His Irish accent sounded totally weathered by time and whisky. It’s not very often I get offers from his type. Usually, it’s the bad-boy biker, punk types that are attracted to me. Or the dirt-poor hippy-dippy, tortured artists.
I bet I could’ve had a great dinner and a couple of nice bottles wine and even some intelligent conversation with him. But there was a subtle creep factor to him. Old world charm and all. Oh well. Next time maybe I’ll finally get it right. The universe keeps sending me these guys that are almost what I want, but not entirely. But each time it gets a little bit better. A least this time he was educated and had a bit of money!
Maeve’s cell phone started to ring. She plucked it up off the counter to see who was calling. It was a text message from Owen.
You want me to pick you up for the show tonight?
Maeve really liked Owen.
He’s so thoughtful and generous with his time. Always willing to go that extra mile for me. Too bad I’m not really attracted to him. Who said women can’t just have male friends? Anyways, I’m not ready for anything serious. Too much on my plate with the store and moving back. I just need some space to get grounded and put some roots down.
Maeve hit the reply button on her phone to respond to Owen’s text.
Thanks for the offer! I’m going to walk. Need the exercise. See you there around 8?
After a few seconds Maeve’s phone rang again. It was another text from Owen.
Ok. See you soon!
Maeve smiled.
At least I have one friend in town.
Chapter 10
Detective Bradley Coon sat at his desk downtown at the station, feeling a little hung-over from the scotch he had gotten into the night before. He promised himself that he’d only have two drinks maximum, but once he started, it went down too smoothly.
I gotta stop doing that to myself, drinking at home all alone. Ever since Allison left I’ve become a hermit, some mornings I don’t even want to get out of bed. I know this is only temporary. Shit, no woman is ever going to want to sleep with a guy who won’t get out of bed and can’t stop thinking about his crazy ex-wife.
Coon shifted the large pile of paper on his desk. His boss had given him a new assignment yesterday.
“Coon, I’ve got a new assignment for you.” The Commander was a soft-spoken manager, but he didn’t spare any words. “I realize your divorce has been pretty messy, so I’m giving you something easy until you can get your head back into the game.”
He slid a large file folder across the desk.
“Interpol needs our help in populating a new database that they’ve developed. It provides direct online access to authorized users to a tracking system of stolen cultural property. Apparently they are hoping to go live with t
he system this week. The database includes over 34,000 works of stolen art from almost every country around the world.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Coon didn’t like the idea of a desk job right now. Too much time to think about how messed up his marriage had been. “This sounds like something for a new recruit or somebody on the verge of retiring.”
“This is an important job Coon. Interpol has asked us to verify the object-related information of the material in their database that comes from our museums. I need you to examine the descriptions and photographs of these stolen cultural goods and make sure that the information in the database is correct. You’ll be liaising with the Interpol’s Works of Art department. Felisa Sylvestre is your contact. Keep in mind that this is an important tool to counter the traffic in cultural property. The database will not be limited to law enforcement agencies, but offered to all concerned cultural and professional bodies. Contact officials at the national museum. There is a list of names and numbers in the folder.”
“That’s it?” Coon started flipping through the file. “Sounds like I’ll be done this afternoon.”
“Interpol asked us also to look into possible sightings of this man.”
The Commander passed Coon another folder, opened to show a composite sketch of man.
“Looks like a real pain in the ass.”
“He’s the main suspect in a recent string of thefts of objects from museums around the world. Bast security services in Cairo are the main contact on this file. See what you can find. But first I want you to focus on the database. We need to get that information verified and sent off as soon as possible.”
“I’ll let you know when I’m done. Like I said, shouldn’t take me long.”
“Clean yourself up Coon. I don’t want to have to send you back to psych for more counseling.“
I guess I better get this job done and show the commander I’ve still got my head in the game.
Coon sat at his desk flipping through the database file the Commander had given him yesterday. This time being more careful to take notes. The majority of the dossier contained pictures of objects missing from the national museum’s collection.
I remember Allison used to like to spend hours walking through the museum’s exhibits, checking out all theses old artifacts and stuff. Coon remembered. We probably saw some of these on our many visits. But I still don’t get why people find this stuff so interesting. It all looks so crude and poorly made. I guess that’s where Allison and I never really saw eye to eye on things. She saw beauty in the most crude and obscure things that I could never relate to. We could never communicate with each other. Coon sighed and took a bottle of Advil out of his desk drawer. These little guys are going to help me through the day today.
Coon felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He turned the ringer off this morning with the faint hope that maybe it wouldn’t ring until his headache eased a bit.
He flipped the cell phone open.
“Coon here.”
“Tom Johnson head of security down at the National Museum,” the voice was strong and self-assured. “One of my boys had a close call this morning on his rounds. I heard about this new Interpol project, so thought I’d call it in, maybe give you a lead on something.”
“I was just looking at my file and was thinking about popping by the museum to meet with,” Coon checked the contact list in front of him, “a Dr. Susan Hasser in ethnology. Maybe I could pop down to security and speak with your man.”
“No problem, we’d be happy to have you detective.”
“What happened?”
“One of the guards was responding to an alarm in the collections. Turned out to be a false alarm, tripped off by a bird.” The security guard laughed, as if he found the whole situation hilarious. “But my boy got pretty spooked. He’s new, but swears he saw a man in there. So I thought it was better to be safe than sorry.”
“Absolutely. You did the right thing,” replied Coon. “I’ll be down there later this afternoon.”
After hanging the phone up, Coon took a closer look at the contact list in front of him. Interpol had put together a profile of all the staff that worked at the museum; highlighting those that they had a particular interest in working with.
He flipped through the list quickly and went back to the one with a star next to it and a note in the margin: Father and grandfather both worked in the Egyptian antiquities market before they were rounded up in 1981 by Egyptian authorities as suspected members of El-Jihad.
Interesting. I wonder what ever happened to them and if she still has contact with them.
Coon took his phone out and dialed the number on the contact list. After a few rings, it went direct to voicemail.
“Hi you’ve reached Dr. Susan Hasser, Curator of Eastern Woodlands, I am in the office today but currently unavailable, please leave a detailed message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
Coon hung up without leaving a message and opened the second folder on his desk. It contained a series of blurry photographs taken from security cameras of the same tall man with short black hair and chiseled features.
They were individually labeled with a time and place: Cairo Museum December 17, 16:00; Potala Palace, December 18, 18:00; Muse National de Aquilegia y Etnología, Guatemala City, December 19, 19:00.
That’s odd. This can’t possibly be the same thief. The time and date on these photos must be wrong.
Coon took a closer look at the photos to make sure he was reading them correctly.
How could the same man be halfway across the world in such a short time period? It has to take at least three days to travel from Cairo to Tibet, and just as long to go from Tibet to Guatemala City. My guess is it’s a small group of thieves working together and this costume is part of their ruse to try to confuse us. I wonder what leads Bast security services have come up with. I guess I should pop in to the museum and pay the good doctor a visit. I’m sure she can help me verify the information on these objects and maybe she even knows something about this suspect.
He took the composite photo of the museum thief out of the folder and jotted down the name of his contact in Cairo, the Director of Bast security, Felisa Silvestris, on the back of the sketch and put it in his pocket with his cell phone.
Chapter 11
Paul reached inside the door and turned the lights on in the collection room. The large expanse of shelves, reaching high up to the twenty-foot ceiling became visible.
“Welcome to the collections.” Paul stepped inside the dimly lit room. “Every time I come in here I’m awed by its vastness.”
Iyash followed Paul inside, struck by the amazing array of objects on the shelves.
“Pretty impressive. Looks like a lot of hard work went into this collection.”
“Over one hundred years of collecting from all across the country,” Paul noted. “And this is only one of three rooms, not including the archaeology collection on the fifth floor.”
“That’s a lot of basket,” Iyash joked. “Mind if I smoke?”
“I don’t know if that would be appropriate.” Paul hesitated to tell his guest that smoking in this room would probably get them into trouble.
“Don’t worry Paul, we won’t get into trouble. Not for me smoking anyways. These objects need a smoke just as bad as I do right now. I’m sharing.”
Iyash took out his pipe, and filled it with a pinch of tobacco.
“I guess if it’s for ceremonial reasons, that should be ok.”
The aromatic smoke from Iyash’s pipe wafted up to the ceiling. Paul liked the deep, nutty smell of the tobacco; it reminded him of his own grandfather who liked to smoke his pipe by the wood stove during the winter, a generous glass of brandy always at his side.
“Feel free to take a look around. I just need to get a few numbers out of the computer system so we can retrieve those objects you’re here to see.”
Paul clicked the button on the computer; the internal hum of
the hard-drive was a good sign that the old machine was still working. For some reason the museum hadn’t replaced the old computers in the collection rooms. Apparently, the inventory program didn’t work on the newer systems, so these older computers couldn’t be replaced until either a new, better inventory program was found or somebody figured out a way to run the old program on the newer operating systems. Most likely these computers would stay here, eventually blending in with the rest of the artifacts and relics of days gone by preserved in the museum’s collections.
“Ok my friend. Let me know if you need any help.” Iyash took a deep pull off of his pipe, exhaling the aromatic smoke slowly from his lungs. “I think I can probably find what I’m looking for without the aid of your computer and numbers.”
“Well I better check, just to make Sue happy. She doesn’t like it when I cut corners. Makes her nervous.”
Paul was a bit uneasy about not following protocols. Especially since objects had gone missing from the collections over the last few years. He didn’t want to become a primary suspect in the ongoing investigations.
“Suit yourself. Let me know when you have your numbers. I’m going to take a look around.” Iyash grinned at Paul, walking around the corner and disappearing down one of the many corridors of shelves, a faint trail of smoke following him.
Paul busied himself at the computer. After the inventory program was loaded up, he imputed the two acquisition numbers Susan had given him into the search field. After a moment’s pause, the computer returned two hits.
Paul clicked on the first hit:
Acquisition Number: III-X-329
Digital ID: 20070412
Shelf Number: 13-04-02
Place of Origin: Sturgeon River, Ontario
Measurements: Length 20.0 cm, Width 16.5 cm
Category: Ceremonial artifacts
Sub-category: Personal gear
Cultural Affiliation: Northeastern Ojibwa, Anishnaabe
Collector’s note: Artifact reported deposited to Director Selwyn in 1882 by old Indian man and grandson for safekeeping.