Read Online Missing Witness by Craig Parshall - Free Book Online Page B

arms bent up. And next to it was an upside-down “U.”
    Morgan held it close to his face and stared at the strange symbols.
    Then his eyes moved to the tapered end. And there the shell had been inscribed with two letters, also in black ink. The ages—the centuries—had erased neither the symbols nor the initials that had been inscribed there.
    The initials consisted of two letters. And when Morgan saw them, his mouth dropped open.
    The letters were “E–T.”
    Robideau looked over Morgan’s shoulder. “I get it—ET, phone home!” he said with a big grin, pretending to raise a telephone to his ear.
    â€œYou idiot!” Putrie said, shaking his head in disgust. “Don’t you understand what that means? E–T?”
    Robideau was still unenlightened.
    â€œEdward Teach, you moron.”
    Morgan held the shell up in front of his face, gazing at the symbols, then over at the initials, then back to the symbols that had been inscribed in the shell in front of him. Then he noticed, in even smaller print at the other end of the seashell, a date: “Oct. 11, 1718.”
    â€œWell, well,” he said with a smile. “We got ourselves something here.”
    Robideau reached out to touch the shell, but Morgan pulled it away, and pointed his finger directly in Robideau’s face.
    â€œNo one touches this shell. That means you.” Then he turned to Putrie and added, “And that means you. Nobody touches this shell except me.”
    When Morgan finished saying that, he had, unconsciously pulled the seashell to his chest, clasping it tightly over his heart.
    â€œNobody touches this—except me,” he added with a guttural whisper. “Nobody.”

11
    J ONATHAN J OPPA HAD BEEN THINKING about his son, Bobby, all day. His relationship with the twenty-year-old was never far from his mind. It was a constant source of frustration and despair.
    Joppa had tried to call his son twice during the day, but had only gotten his voice mail at his small Kitty Hawk beach shack.
    As soon as Joppa got home from the church that day he called his son again. This time he got through.
    â€œHey, Bobby, this is Dad,” he said, trying to sound upbeat. “How are you?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œLook, I checked the listings, and the Yankees are playing the Orioles tonight. I know you’re a big Yankees fan—I never could talk some sense into you about the Yankees!” Joppa said, trying to turn the conversation into a joke.
    But it didn’t work. There was silence on the other end.
    â€œSo, how about it?” Joppa continued. “If you’re not doing anything tonight, why don’t you swing by and watch the game over at my place? I’ll get a bunch of junk food. It’ll be fun.”
    There was a long, pregnant pause on the other end. Then his son spoke up.
    â€œI’ve got some stuff going on tonight. I’m busy.”
    â€œWell, you don’t have to make it for the whole game. If you want to swing by anytime tonight…”
    There was another pause, and finally Joppa decided to fill the silence.
    â€œLook, Bobby, I’d just like to see you. Like to hang out together.”
    â€œI’ve got a lot going on,” Bobby said unenthusiastically.
    â€œIt’s just that we really haven’t talked, not really. Not spent much time together since…” And with that, Joppa considered whether or not hewanted to broach the subject. Why not, he thought to himself. I’ve got to break through somehow .
    â€œThe last time we really had any kind of conversation was six months ago when you were in rehab. That didn’t go very well. I know you think that I was strong-arming you. Getting you admitted for drug treatment…”
    â€œThe discussion on that is closed,” Bobby said with a clipped voice. “You did what you had to do. I’m going to do what I got to do. I’m trying to live my life