Read Online CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy by Lynn Sholes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lynn Sholes
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Fuck!" Cotten slammed down the receiver. How utterly
ridiculous! The police wouldn't stop laughing for a week. She felt the
tears forming as she put her face in her hands. The frustration turned
to fear. She had to find out what the hell was going on. She had to do
something.
Leaning over, she slid her purse out from underneath her coat and
pulled the business card from her wallet. Cotten picked up the phone
and dialed.
PUZZLE CUBE
AT 1:00 A.M. JOHN TYLER stood gazing out his kitchen window while
he waited for Cotten Stone. A full moon turned the frozen lake
beyond the apartment complex into a dull gray slab dotted with small
pearly patches of snow. The bare maple trees cast bony shadows across
the hard ground. It was a Currier and Ives picture. The view made him
reflect on how often he thought of himself as a blank canvas. The yetto-be-created painting was a metaphor for his life. There had to be
more, something that would fill this chasm inside. He'd already tried
his hand at so many ways to serve God, but none had brought him
peace with himself. What was it that God had planned for him? Years
of introspection and searching had not answered that question. If
God intended for him to live his life as it was now, he would feel satisfied, content, fulfilled.
But he didn't.
John watched the road for headlights. Cotten Stone should arrive
any minute if she left right after they had spoken on the phone. And
what a strange conversation that had been-her voice urgent as she
asked to see him right away, saying that it couldn't wait until morning. Her apartment had been broken into, but she didn't call the police.
She'd explain when she got there.
He stared at the brittle landscape, curious as to what could be so
important that she had to see him at this time of night. Something
about her behavior kept her on his mind after she'd left his office.
She'd seemed afraid-as if she hid something. Cotten had fidgeted,
crossed and uncrossed her legs as she spoke, and tripped over her
words. Odd behavior for a professional reporter.
A knock made him look away from the window.
For the hundredth time since she boarded the train, Cotten asked
herself if she should have waited until the morning. She could have
just left her apartment, gone to a hotel, and then called him in the
morning. But it was too late for that now. She stood on his doorstep
hugging a large leather bag.
"Come in," John said, answering the door.
She stepped past him into his living room.
"Let me take your coat."
She unwound the scarf from her neck. "I know you probably
think I'm crazy coming here in the middle of the night like this," she
said as John helped her slip out of the coat. She hung on to the bag
protectively as she moved about the room, slowly warming up.
"Impressive collection," Cotten said, gazing around.
His shelves were lined with artifacts: pottery shards, drawings,
maps, ancient tools, a few brown bones. More shelves filled with
books-some old and worn, some new-covered one wall. There were
numerous photos of him at archaeological digs; a few in the desert and
others in forested mountains. And in a silver frame on the desk was a
picture of John alongside other men of the cloth in the company of
the pope.
Cotten lifted the photo. "You met the pope?"
"I was in Rome helping a forensic team in relic authentication.
Cardinal Antonio Ianucci-he's the Vatican Curator and Director of
Art and Antiquities-stopped by to chat and check on our progress.
During a break, he gave us a tour of the three Vatican restoration
departments-tapestries, paintings, sculptures. As we entered one of
the halls, Ianucci said he had a surprise for us. About a half dozen
clergy were coming out of a door at the end of the hall. In the middle
of the group was the Holy Father. We were stunned. When they got
close, they stopped. He blessed us, a camera flashed, then lanucci ushered us back to our work area. If you consider that
ridiculous! The police wouldn't stop laughing for a week. She felt the
tears forming as she put her face in her hands. The frustration turned
to fear. She had to find out what the hell was going on. She had to do
something.
Leaning over, she slid her purse out from underneath her coat and
pulled the business card from her wallet. Cotten picked up the phone
and dialed.
PUZZLE CUBE
AT 1:00 A.M. JOHN TYLER stood gazing out his kitchen window while
he waited for Cotten Stone. A full moon turned the frozen lake
beyond the apartment complex into a dull gray slab dotted with small
pearly patches of snow. The bare maple trees cast bony shadows across
the hard ground. It was a Currier and Ives picture. The view made him
reflect on how often he thought of himself as a blank canvas. The yetto-be-created painting was a metaphor for his life. There had to be
more, something that would fill this chasm inside. He'd already tried
his hand at so many ways to serve God, but none had brought him
peace with himself. What was it that God had planned for him? Years
of introspection and searching had not answered that question. If
God intended for him to live his life as it was now, he would feel satisfied, content, fulfilled.
But he didn't.
John watched the road for headlights. Cotten Stone should arrive
any minute if she left right after they had spoken on the phone. And
what a strange conversation that had been-her voice urgent as she
asked to see him right away, saying that it couldn't wait until morning. Her apartment had been broken into, but she didn't call the police.
She'd explain when she got there.
He stared at the brittle landscape, curious as to what could be so
important that she had to see him at this time of night. Something
about her behavior kept her on his mind after she'd left his office.
She'd seemed afraid-as if she hid something. Cotten had fidgeted,
crossed and uncrossed her legs as she spoke, and tripped over her
words. Odd behavior for a professional reporter.
A knock made him look away from the window.
For the hundredth time since she boarded the train, Cotten asked
herself if she should have waited until the morning. She could have
just left her apartment, gone to a hotel, and then called him in the
morning. But it was too late for that now. She stood on his doorstep
hugging a large leather bag.
"Come in," John said, answering the door.
She stepped past him into his living room.
"Let me take your coat."
She unwound the scarf from her neck. "I know you probably
think I'm crazy coming here in the middle of the night like this," she
said as John helped her slip out of the coat. She hung on to the bag
protectively as she moved about the room, slowly warming up.
"Impressive collection," Cotten said, gazing around.
His shelves were lined with artifacts: pottery shards, drawings,
maps, ancient tools, a few brown bones. More shelves filled with
books-some old and worn, some new-covered one wall. There were
numerous photos of him at archaeological digs; a few in the desert and
others in forested mountains. And in a silver frame on the desk was a
picture of John alongside other men of the cloth in the company of
the pope.
Cotten lifted the photo. "You met the pope?"
"I was in Rome helping a forensic team in relic authentication.
Cardinal Antonio Ianucci-he's the Vatican Curator and Director of
Art and Antiquities-stopped by to chat and check on our progress.
During a break, he gave us a tour of the three Vatican restoration
departments-tapestries, paintings, sculptures. As we entered one of
the halls, Ianucci said he had a surprise for us. About a half dozen
clergy were coming out of a door at the end of the hall. In the middle
of the group was the Holy Father. We were stunned. When they got
close, they stopped. He blessed us, a camera flashed, then lanucci ushered us back to our work area. If you consider that
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