Read Online CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy by Lynn Sholes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lynn Sholes
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said.
"I haven't talked with anyone in the family much since Mama
passed away," she said. "But this is a very pleasant surprise."
"It's a shame how younger family members drift apart as the
older generations pass on. Not just our family."
"I know. We really should keep in touch."
"And we will. Anything exciting in your life?"
Cotten thought of telling him about the box and Thornton, but
she was just too mentally exhausted to do it tonight. "Not really," she
said. "And you?"
"Business is booming. I think New Yorkers are becoming more
and more paranoid. Makes for the private eye business to go through
the ceiling. I've got more cases than I can handle."
"I'm so happy for you," she said. As Cotten talked, her eyes started
to wander from table to chair, TV to bookshelves and china cabinet,
realizing things were slightly out of place. Suddenly, fear, icier than
the Hudson River, coursed through her.
"Uncle Gus, I've got another call," she lied. "I'll talk to you soon."
She didn't wait to hear his goodbye as she gently placed the
receiver in its cradle. Taking a much slower, closer inspection of the
room, she saw that a small golden horse her mother had given her
faced the wrong way on the TV cabinet; the drawer of the end table was not pushed in all the way; the lid to the cedar chest wasn't closed
snugly; the books on the shelves rested at odd angles.
Quickly, she checked the other rooms. She didn't have much of
value-a few pieces of jewelry, a laptop, a cheap stereo. Nothing was
missing.
"Jesus," she said, running back to the kitchen. The box.
The frying pan and teapot sat just as she'd left them. She moved
them off the Hotpoint and gripped the stove lid. Pulling up, she
heard the clamps give way.
It was still there-the plain, black, featureless box. She eased the
stove lid back into place with a click.
Someone had been here, searched her apartment. If they were
looking for the box, they hadn't found it, which meant they would be
back.
Heart racing, Cotten hurried to her front door, checked the lock,
and put the guard chain in place. She leaned against the door and
looked around the living room.
In just a few short days they had found her.
Picking up the phone again, Cotten started to call the police. But
she hesitated, changing her mind. Let's consider this for a moment,
she thought. What exactly would she tell the cops? They'd ask questions, and she'd answer.
There was a break-in?
Yes.
Was the burglar still in the apartment when you arrived?
No.
Was anything stolen-missing?
No.
How do you know someone broke in?
Well, some of my things were messed up-out of place.
That's it?
Yes.
Are there signs of forced entry? Was the door jimmied, window
broken?
No.
So, if they didn't force their way in, they must have used a key.
Who else has a key?
My landlord.
Does he have permission to enter your apartment when you're
not at home?
Yes, he collects my mail while I'm away.
Do you trust him?
Yes.
Have you received any crank calls? Any threats?
No.
Can you think of anything in your possession that someone
would want to go to this much trouble to steal?
Well, there is the box.
What box?
The box I smuggled into the country illegally from Iraq. You
know, one of the Axis of Evil nations we're getting ready to bomb.
What's in the box?
I don't know; I can't open it.
Why?
It doesn't have a lid, hinges, or locks. It's sort of like a solid block
of wood.
But you think there's something of value in this featureless box
even though you can't open it?
Yes, I think it contains the most treasured relic in the entire Christian world-the single most sought-after item in the past two thousand years-nothing less than the famous, Holy fucking Grail.
Wow, that's impressive. Ms. Stone, are you under a doctor's care
or taking any kind of medication? Perhaps you're depressed? Lonely?
Having boyfriend problems?
Actually, I had a boyfriend problem just this very evening-
"Shit!
"I haven't talked with anyone in the family much since Mama
passed away," she said. "But this is a very pleasant surprise."
"It's a shame how younger family members drift apart as the
older generations pass on. Not just our family."
"I know. We really should keep in touch."
"And we will. Anything exciting in your life?"
Cotten thought of telling him about the box and Thornton, but
she was just too mentally exhausted to do it tonight. "Not really," she
said. "And you?"
"Business is booming. I think New Yorkers are becoming more
and more paranoid. Makes for the private eye business to go through
the ceiling. I've got more cases than I can handle."
"I'm so happy for you," she said. As Cotten talked, her eyes started
to wander from table to chair, TV to bookshelves and china cabinet,
realizing things were slightly out of place. Suddenly, fear, icier than
the Hudson River, coursed through her.
"Uncle Gus, I've got another call," she lied. "I'll talk to you soon."
She didn't wait to hear his goodbye as she gently placed the
receiver in its cradle. Taking a much slower, closer inspection of the
room, she saw that a small golden horse her mother had given her
faced the wrong way on the TV cabinet; the drawer of the end table was not pushed in all the way; the lid to the cedar chest wasn't closed
snugly; the books on the shelves rested at odd angles.
Quickly, she checked the other rooms. She didn't have much of
value-a few pieces of jewelry, a laptop, a cheap stereo. Nothing was
missing.
"Jesus," she said, running back to the kitchen. The box.
The frying pan and teapot sat just as she'd left them. She moved
them off the Hotpoint and gripped the stove lid. Pulling up, she
heard the clamps give way.
It was still there-the plain, black, featureless box. She eased the
stove lid back into place with a click.
Someone had been here, searched her apartment. If they were
looking for the box, they hadn't found it, which meant they would be
back.
Heart racing, Cotten hurried to her front door, checked the lock,
and put the guard chain in place. She leaned against the door and
looked around the living room.
In just a few short days they had found her.
Picking up the phone again, Cotten started to call the police. But
she hesitated, changing her mind. Let's consider this for a moment,
she thought. What exactly would she tell the cops? They'd ask questions, and she'd answer.
There was a break-in?
Yes.
Was the burglar still in the apartment when you arrived?
No.
Was anything stolen-missing?
No.
How do you know someone broke in?
Well, some of my things were messed up-out of place.
That's it?
Yes.
Are there signs of forced entry? Was the door jimmied, window
broken?
No.
So, if they didn't force their way in, they must have used a key.
Who else has a key?
My landlord.
Does he have permission to enter your apartment when you're
not at home?
Yes, he collects my mail while I'm away.
Do you trust him?
Yes.
Have you received any crank calls? Any threats?
No.
Can you think of anything in your possession that someone
would want to go to this much trouble to steal?
Well, there is the box.
What box?
The box I smuggled into the country illegally from Iraq. You
know, one of the Axis of Evil nations we're getting ready to bomb.
What's in the box?
I don't know; I can't open it.
Why?
It doesn't have a lid, hinges, or locks. It's sort of like a solid block
of wood.
But you think there's something of value in this featureless box
even though you can't open it?
Yes, I think it contains the most treasured relic in the entire Christian world-the single most sought-after item in the past two thousand years-nothing less than the famous, Holy fucking Grail.
Wow, that's impressive. Ms. Stone, are you under a doctor's care
or taking any kind of medication? Perhaps you're depressed? Lonely?
Having boyfriend problems?
Actually, I had a boyfriend problem just this very evening-
"Shit!
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