Steven Slater.
A small box contained the wedding ring and gold watch that had belonged to Daniel and Steven’s father. They, too, were to go to Steven.
In the second section was a collection of flash drives and a stack of paper. The flash drives were notes of Daniel’s research and the first draft of a book he had been working on, as well as a hard copy of the book. He always kept a copy here, in case a fire destroyed his computer. Purcival guessed that the book should go to the university; Daniel had made no provision for it in his will. Daniel’s department could decide whether the book should be published or not. Purcival glanced at the title, which was slightly smudged. It read,
Kashanaka
, or something like that. It sounded Japanese to Purcival although he didn’t think Daniel had ever been to Japan.
Purcival made a few notes and set the now-empty box aside. He picked up the second box and felt a slight tingling in his fingers. He almost dropped the box, thinking it had become electrified somehow. The sensation passed, and he opened the lid slowly, still fearful something was amiss.
The second box contained a large, flat object, about the size and shape of a round serving platter. It was wrapped in Mylar and bound with strapping tape. Purcival thought of just turning it over to the university, but he was curious to see what merited such careful packing. He removed a Scout pocketknife from his jacket, a gift his son had brought back from Scout camp last summer. His wife had chided him for carrying it because he constantly had to remove it at airport terminals and on the way into courthouses. But his son Jeff had made a lanyard to go with the knife and told him it was because he was “the coolest” of dads. What father could resist such praise?
He opened the largest blade on the knife and cut carefully through the strapping tape. The tape, heavy plastic impregnated with thick fibers, really needed a razor blade or box cutter, but he eventually got through it. Under the Mylar was a layer of bubble wrap. This was secured with three strips of strapping tape, and Purcival swore as he spent another five minutes sawing through that. He nicked his finger at one point, swore under his breath, then removed the bubble wrap, leaving a tiny smear of blood over the dimpled plastic.
Whatever was inside was beneath a layer of soft golden suede and bound with leather thongs. Affixed to one of the thongs was a small fetish identical to the ones Daniel had on his windows. Now Purcival felt a slight chill go through him and wondered if he should contact Detective Roberts before going any further.
Suddenly, there was a scent of cloves in the air, and it reminded him of the ham his mother always baked on Easter Sundays. The sensation passed and he wasn’t sure whether he had really smelled it or just had a particularly vivid sense memory.
Rather than cut the thongs binding the object, Purcival spent fifteen long minutes untying them. As he did, the fetish jiggled and bounced, its bright, obsidian eyes flashing under the fluorescent lighting. Purcival didn’t like the thing; the bobbing motion gave the impression it was alive, and its crimson teeth seemed to open and close, looking for pale flesh on which to gain purchase and feed. Though it was cool in the cubicle, there was a light sheen of perspiration on Purcival’s forehead when he finished. He wiped his face with a silken handkerchief, then unwrapped the object.
It was a mask, of sorts, made out of highly polished hardwood. It was roughly circular in shape and colored a deep, iridescent black. Around the border was a fine inlay of gold wire, bordered on the outside by ivory and on the inside by a strip of mother-of-pearl. Projecting out around the rim were bear claws at all compass points and five predator fangs positioned equidistantly between each claw. At the base of each claw and fang was a bright strip of crimson and one of cobalt. It seemed Eskimo to Purcival.
The
A small box contained the wedding ring and gold watch that had belonged to Daniel and Steven’s father. They, too, were to go to Steven.
In the second section was a collection of flash drives and a stack of paper. The flash drives were notes of Daniel’s research and the first draft of a book he had been working on, as well as a hard copy of the book. He always kept a copy here, in case a fire destroyed his computer. Purcival guessed that the book should go to the university; Daniel had made no provision for it in his will. Daniel’s department could decide whether the book should be published or not. Purcival glanced at the title, which was slightly smudged. It read,
Kashanaka
, or something like that. It sounded Japanese to Purcival although he didn’t think Daniel had ever been to Japan.
Purcival made a few notes and set the now-empty box aside. He picked up the second box and felt a slight tingling in his fingers. He almost dropped the box, thinking it had become electrified somehow. The sensation passed, and he opened the lid slowly, still fearful something was amiss.
The second box contained a large, flat object, about the size and shape of a round serving platter. It was wrapped in Mylar and bound with strapping tape. Purcival thought of just turning it over to the university, but he was curious to see what merited such careful packing. He removed a Scout pocketknife from his jacket, a gift his son had brought back from Scout camp last summer. His wife had chided him for carrying it because he constantly had to remove it at airport terminals and on the way into courthouses. But his son Jeff had made a lanyard to go with the knife and told him it was because he was “the coolest” of dads. What father could resist such praise?
He opened the largest blade on the knife and cut carefully through the strapping tape. The tape, heavy plastic impregnated with thick fibers, really needed a razor blade or box cutter, but he eventually got through it. Under the Mylar was a layer of bubble wrap. This was secured with three strips of strapping tape, and Purcival swore as he spent another five minutes sawing through that. He nicked his finger at one point, swore under his breath, then removed the bubble wrap, leaving a tiny smear of blood over the dimpled plastic.
Whatever was inside was beneath a layer of soft golden suede and bound with leather thongs. Affixed to one of the thongs was a small fetish identical to the ones Daniel had on his windows. Now Purcival felt a slight chill go through him and wondered if he should contact Detective Roberts before going any further.
Suddenly, there was a scent of cloves in the air, and it reminded him of the ham his mother always baked on Easter Sundays. The sensation passed and he wasn’t sure whether he had really smelled it or just had a particularly vivid sense memory.
Rather than cut the thongs binding the object, Purcival spent fifteen long minutes untying them. As he did, the fetish jiggled and bounced, its bright, obsidian eyes flashing under the fluorescent lighting. Purcival didn’t like the thing; the bobbing motion gave the impression it was alive, and its crimson teeth seemed to open and close, looking for pale flesh on which to gain purchase and feed. Though it was cool in the cubicle, there was a light sheen of perspiration on Purcival’s forehead when he finished. He wiped his face with a silken handkerchief, then unwrapped the object.
It was a mask, of sorts, made out of highly polished hardwood. It was roughly circular in shape and colored a deep, iridescent black. Around the border was a fine inlay of gold wire, bordered on the outside by ivory and on the inside by a strip of mother-of-pearl. Projecting out around the rim were bear claws at all compass points and five predator fangs positioned equidistantly between each claw. At the base of each claw and fang was a bright strip of crimson and one of cobalt. It seemed Eskimo to Purcival.
The
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