Page 30 of Artifacts

Monday laughed at Darrell’s Sunday plans.

“So, what happened was you had a dream about your late husband” He held the phone away from Randa Buckman’s hysterical shout that no, her late husband’sghosthad appeared.

“And he told you he wants his favorite puzzle box buried with him, and if not, you’re—and I quote—‘doomed to die an agonizing death’. Is that correct, Mrs. Buckman? I see.” He also saw that she wanted him, or any of the SAPD, to pass this along to the antique store for her. How long before she went over Darrell’s head on this? She must have contacts higher up in the force. She was gone before he could bid her goodbye, and he hung up.

Sean whistled at what Darrell was writing down and spun his forefinger near his temple. “The death and all the stuff that came with it sent her overboard.”

Darrell shrugged, but Sean might have a point. Crazy people did crazy things. And if his suspicions were correct about those artifacts being valuable and a certain party wanting one or more back, it made him worry more about Aldric’s safety.I want everyone safe, he told himself, but knew he was beginning to care more for Aldric than he should.

“It’s me,” he said shortly when Aldric answered the phone in the store. The guy didn’t even have a cell, in this day and age.

“Hi! How did your visit with your father go?” Aldric replied.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell. Oh, nothing,” he continued, when Aldric made a confused questioning noise. “Look, Randa called.”

He filled Aldric in on developments and his theories, wondering if he should be telling this to Elliot instead.

“Jonas has been researching the symbols left and doesn’t think they’re connected to cults or curses,” Aldric said. “And from what I’ve been studying too, it can’t be a case of the artifact being really valuable and sold by mistake. That can’t be why Randa wants it back. The puzzle boxes are nice and interesting, but there’s never been any made that are worth any money, and there’s nothing valuable in the Buckman items.”

“So what’s your explanation?”

“I don’t know.” Darrell could imagine him shrugging those round shoulders. “Some cruel joke on Randa? Maybe someone Buck bested or ruined in business getting revenge on his wife? Or someone from her life or past playing about? I have to go.”

Darrell didn’t suggest another meeting—although he wanted to—just said goodbye instead. He busied himself in work straightaway, checking up on Nick Buckman. As he’d thought, the guy was not exactly an upstanding citizen, and it was interesting that he was now back in SA after questionable business dealings out of state. From police reports, the guy was no stranger to threatening or lying to get what he wanted.Fuck.

Mateo didn’t pick up when Darrell called. Once the voicemail kicked in, Darrell left his message. “You know who this is, just as I know you saw me on Sunday. Listen, I don’t give a crap about any stupid antiques you or anyone might want, or if you or anyone are trying to piss off Randa Buckman. But don’t involve Aldric or you’ll be fucking sorry. Got that?”

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced Nick Buckman was trying to scare his stepmother into handing him some share of the estate, and Aldric had gotten caught in the crossfire.

He managed to get a little free time that afternoon to talk to Aldric in person and let him know his thoughts.

Sean dropped him there and drove off, leaving Darrell on the sidewalk outside the store. One look through the window at Aldric’s pale, stricken face, and Darrell was charging inside, his hand going for his weapon, his anxious voice demanding, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Chapter Thirteen

“Aldric?” Darrell pressed. “Are you alone?”

His question took a few seconds to sink in. Aldric glanced around the store. Yes, just him, alone, no customers or staff, and standing behind the counter with his hand on Elliot’s old-fashioned landline phone. He nodded. “Jonas doesn’t work today, and Elliot’s at a client’s, discussing an acquisition that he or she wants.”

Darrell holstered his gun. “And did something happen?”

“A phone call.” Only just realizing now he was still touching the phone, Aldric dropped his hand.

“From…?”

“I don’t know. Anonymous!” Aldric shook his head, like a dog coming out of water.

“Sit down.” Darrell helped Aldric walk the few steps to the chair behind the counter and his hand on Aldric’s shoulder had Aldric bending at the knees to drop into it.

“Where can I get some water?” Darrell asked, and Aldric wondered if that was worry or irritation he heard in Darrell’s voice.

“Oh. There.” Aldric pointed to the table he now knew to be saber legged, which meant the legs flared out like curved swords. It held the tea-making equipment that he still associated with his first day here—even though Elliot made the fragrant brew twice a day, before lunch and before dinner—and also a glass jug filled with water. The glasses set out around it didn’t match it or one another. “Thank you. I’m fine.” Darrell saw him when he was overwhelmed too often, for one reason or another.

“What did the person on the phone want?” Darrell kept his voice light, as if the matter were nothing, and seemed more focused on handing Aldric a paper napkin.

“They—he, I think—said to bring Buck’s favorite Japanese puzzle box and hand it over if I value my life.” His teeth chattered as he said the last part. He felt stupid for being so upset, but the call, the rough, disguised voice, was just registering with him, as well as the words that had been spoken. He slid off his glasses and polished them with the napkin.

“Hey.” Darrell slipped behind him and rubbed his back. “It’s okay.”

---