Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Read online

  “Right—”

  “So let us take it off your hands. If anyone asks, you’ll have my name on the report.”

  “That’s true—”

  “You’ve probably got a lot better things to do than schlep this around, am I right? Drug dealers and lost fishermen and all that.”

  The officer nodded. “All right, you can have it. Gets it out of my hair.”

  It took nearly another hour to get everything loaded into the truck. Dan was grateful for the help of the Coast Guard sailors, especially the one who drove down a forklift for the Karlak II sarcophagus. When it was done, they had everything aboard the truck, which included the mysterious black box.

  Gregg looked in the rearview mirror and frowned. “What do you think that thing is?”

  “I don’t have any idea. It looks like it’s made out of some kind of rock, so I guess we should let the boys in Geology take a crack at it.”

  ***

  It took half of her first day for Emma to get the mess in the office cleaned up. She created a new filing system—replacing the old system of throwing the files any old place—and stacked the books in the storage closet. She located some Post-It notes and pens to write herself a note to dispose of the old books later.

  She had just finished when the door opened. Ian stuck his head inside and then smiled at her. “I see you’ve got things under control,” he said.

  “For the most part,” Emma said.

  “Good. Have you taken your lunch yet?”

  “Not yet. I was hoping to finish some things up first.”

  “I understand. Just don’t forget. We don’t want our employees starving.”

  “Yes, s—Ian.”

  Ian turned to go, but then quickly changed direction again to look towards Dr. Brighton’s office. “Has he given you any trouble?”

  “No, he’s been fine.” She had put her ear to his door about a half hour earlier and heard Dr. Brighton’s snores.

  “Good. I’m sure he’ll take a shine to you soon enough.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ian checked his watch. “I best be going. Meetings all afternoon. Keep your chin up, lass.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  With that he closed the door and she was alone again. Now that she had cleaned up the office, she could finally get to work on some research. There was a microscope and some other equipment on a worktable; she supposed she should check to make sure these worked. In a file cabinet she found some old slides prepared by one of her predecessors.

  She was engrossed in this slide when she heard the door open again. She expected to see Ian; maybe he had forgotten something from the last time. “Is there something else—” she stopped when she saw it was not Ian at the door.

  This was another man entirely, one with curly brown hair, brown eyes, and a warm smile. She felt her face warm and willed herself to stop so she wouldn’t embarrass herself in front of him. “Are you Dr. Earl?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” she squeaked.

  The man’s smile widened. “I’m Dr. Dreyfus, from Anthropology. Actually, I’m an Egyptologist. I won’t bore you with all of the details, but I came into possession of an artifact. I’m not sure exactly what it is. I took it to Dr. Lemieux in Gemstones and he said I should bring it down here to you.”

  “I see,” she stammered. “What is it?”

  Dr. Dreyfus took a step back so another man could wheel in a glossy black object. It looked like a box, but as Emma leaned close to it, she couldn’t see any seams on it. Dr. Dreyfus knelt down beside her and ran a hand over the object’s surface. “There aren’t any markings on it at all. Dr. Lemieux thought maybe you would know.”

  “It looks like a natural mineral, maybe jet or ebony,” she said, grateful that she could look away from Dr. Dreyfus to study the object, “but it’s not.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Well, I’d have to run some tests to be sure, but I’m pretty confident.”

  “About how long would those tests take to run?”

  Emma blushed again, but this time it wasn’t from Dr. Dreyfus’s presence. “I’m not sure. I started today and I haven’t really had a chance to try out the equipment.” She swallowed and then forced herself to look at him. “I might have something preliminary by the end of the day.”

  “That’s great.” He held out a hand for her to shake; she did so timidly, her hands sweaty and limp. “And welcome aboard. This is a great place to work.”

  “Thank you. I really like it here so far.”

  Dr. Dreyfus stood up while she still squatted next to the mysterious object, afraid that if she stood, she might faint. “Well, I’d better let you get to it,” he said. “Thanks for your help.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” she said.

  After he had gone, she looked around the office for a chisel and hammer she could use for taking a sample from the case. These she found in the bottom drawer of the desk, under a pair of men’s socks. She tossed the socks into the trash and then went over to the object. She placed the chisel on the top of the object; she felt a shiver along her spine as she did so. There was definitely something strange about this thing, though she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  A piece chipped away easily enough so she could mount it into a slide—once she found the slides. When she looked into the microscope, she saw Dr. Dreyfus’s face in the glass. She closed her eyes and shook her head to focus on the task at hand. With a deep breath she felt some of the heat in her face drain away. I’m a scientist, she told herself, not a schoolgirl. Still, as she looked into the microscope again, she couldn’t help but think how wonderful it would be at the end of the day to see him again.

  It soon became clear that she wouldn’t be able to tell him very much. As she’d feared, nothing besides the microscope still worked. This didn’t come as a surprise given the state of the office. It seemed unlikely anyone had done any real work here in years.

  She needed a few deep breaths before she knocked on Dr. Brighton’s door. A bout of coughing replaced his snoring. After this subsided, she opened the door to the office. Dr. Brighton looked worse than before, his hair even messier and a spot of drool at one corner of his mouth. “Who the devil are you?” he asked.

  “Dr. Emma Earl. Your new researcher. Dr. MacGregor introduced us earlier.”

  This seemed to jog his memory. “Oh, right, the girl scientist. What is it you want?”

  “I’d like to requisition some new equipment.”

  “Is that a fact? What we have isn’t good enough for you? It was good enough for Dr. Winton. You think you’re better than him?”

  “No, sir, but—”

  “Then you make do with what we have. Now run along, young lady. And shut the damned door on your way out.”

  Every muscle in Emma’s body wanted to turn around and walk away. She forced herself to remain there and glare at Dr. Brighton. “You shouldn’t talk to me like that. I’ve published a half-dozen papers already in some of the most distinguished scientific journals in the country. I graduated at the top of my class.” Her voice was little more than a whisper as she said this. “I’m not a ‘girl’ or a ‘young lady.’ I’m a scientist and I expect you to treat me as such.”

  “Is that a fact?” Dr. Brighton’s eyes narrowed at her.

  “Yes, sir, it is. And furthermore, if you don’t let me fill out a requisition for some new equipment, I’ll take the matter up with Dr. MacGregor.”

  “This is extortion! I won’t have it! You’re fired!”

  Emma grabbed the doorknob for support. She couldn’t lose her dream job, not like this. “Excuse me, sir, but if that’s the case then I might have to speak with the director about your conduct.”

  “My conduct? What do you know of my conduct, you impudent child?”

  “I know that according to Page 42 of the Plaine Museum Rules and Regulations it’s improper for an employee to drink or sleep on the job. Any employee caught doing so can be immediately discharged.”


  They glared at each other for a moment. Emma forced herself to meet Dr. Brighton’s gaze. The old man grumbled something unintelligible as he bent down to open his bottom drawer. From this he took out a sheet of paper, which he slammed down onto his desk. “There’s your damned requisition. Order yourself a goddamned Jacuzzi for all I care.”

  Emma took the sheet of paper from him. She clutched it to her chest like a life preserver “Thank you, sir.” She scurried out of the room before Dr. Brighton changed his mind.

  ***

  Dr. Dreyfus came around at four-thirty, by which point Emma still hadn’t been able to do much with the sample from the object. “I’m sorry,” she told him. She looked down at her feet. “The equipment here isn’t in very good shape. I’ve got some on order now, but it might take some time.”

  She hated to fail him like this; she wished she could have something more to tell him. He seemed to take this disappointment in stride. “It’s all right. There’s no hurry.”

  She motioned him over to the microscope, where she still had the slide under the glass. “I did get a look at it with the microscope. I can tell you it’s definitely not jet or ebony.” She shook her head. “It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.”

  Dr. Dreyfus bent down to look in the microscope, though she doubted he would understand what he saw. “You think it could be something else? Something alien?”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to jump to a conclusion like that until I get a better look.”

  He turned from the microscope and favored her with a smile. “Well, at least we can be pretty sure what it isn’t. That gets us closer to knowing what it is, right?”

  “I suppose so,” she said.

  He held out his hand for her to shake again. “Thanks for doing this, Dr. Earl. I mean it.”

  “I’m glad to help.”

  She still looked down at the floor as he left the room. When the door opened a few minutes later, her heart leaped at the thought that he might have come back. But it wasn’t Dr. Dreyfus. Ian sauntered in, his smile not quite as warm as Dr. Dreyfus’s. “Well, looks like you managed to survive the first day,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I got your equipment requisition. I’ll put it through straightaway.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome lass.” He glanced at Dr. Brighton’s door. “Any problems with him?”

  Her face turned warm as she thought of their showdown earlier. Dr. Brighton hadn’t emerged from his office since then; she had heard him snoring before Dr. Dreyfus came in. She shook her head. “No, we’re getting along fine.”

  “Excellent.” Ian held out his hand for her to shake. “Congratulations on your first day. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Before he left, Ian stopped and looked down at the black object. “What is that?”

  “Dr. Dreyfus brought it in. He wanted me to find out what it is. I haven’t made much headway on it yet.”

  “I see. Quite an odd-looking thing, isn’t it?” He bent down in front of the object. “Any idea what it does?”

  “From what I can tell so far, it doesn’t seem to do anything.”

  Ian ran his hand along the object, but pulled it back a moment later. “Bugger sure is cold.”

  “It shouldn’t be that cold still,” Emma said. “It’s been sitting here most of the day.”

  “Very odd.” He shook his head and then stood up. “Well, I had better let you get home. Goodnight, Emma.”

  “Goodnight, Ian.” Before she left, she locked the object into the storage closet. She didn’t want to risk someone might think it valuable and try to make off with it. That its surface was still ice cold was something she would have to remember later when she continued her analysis. That would have to wait until tomorrow; she had something to do tonight.

  ***

  On Emma’s first holiday break from Northwestern, she had flown back to Rampart City. Aunt Gladys had been found in the supermarket clad in only her underwear. After a few days of tests, the diagnosis came back: Aunt Gladys had Alzheimer’s.

  This came as a surprise to Emma because Aunt Gladys was only fifty-three at the time and she had always been very healthy. Aunt Gladys had visited every continent except Antarctica, scaled Mount Kilimanjaro, run with the bulls in Pamplona, and sailed down the length of the Amazon. Despite all of this, she had never fallen ill. Emma’s mother said that even as a child, her older sister had never missed a day of school with colds, flus, or other childhood ailments. Emma had assumed her aunt would go on being healthy forever.

  Having to talk with Aunt Gladys about assisted living facilities at such a young age was as hard for Emma as when she lost her parents. At the time Emma was fourteen years old; she couldn’t possibly care for a mentally ill woman on her own. They didn’t have any other close family; it had been the two of them after Emma’s parents died.

  In the end Aunt Gladys had voluntarily checked herself into the Park Glen Rest Home. She had hugged Emma and told her, “It’ll be all right. They’ll take good care of me. You go back to school.”

  “I should stay here,” Emma said. “I should stay with you.”

  “There’s nothing you can do, Emma.” Aunt Gladys smiled at her. “Not even with that big brain of yours.”

  “But I should at least be here.”

  “To do what? Sit here and hold my hand?” She brushed hair away from Emma’s face to look her in the eye. “You go and get a good education. That’s what your mother wanted.”

  “I don’t have to go back to Northwestern. I could go somewhere closer.”

  “Don’t be silly, Emma. We’ll still be able to see each other. And you can call me on the phone.” Aunt Gladys smiled again. “I’m not dying. Not yet.”

  Emma had gone back to Northwestern, though she called every weekend to check on her aunt. The calls became more difficult; Aunt Gladys would sometimes forget who was on the phone. Sometimes she wandered off, the phone still on.

  They had one final lucid conversation, this shortly after Emma graduated from Northwestern at the age of sixteen. She had offers from a number of schools about her doctoral work, which included a prestigious fellowship at Berkeley, the downside being that the school was across the country from Rampart City. She didn’t mention this to Aunt Gladys; Emma had no intention of going so far away.

  But her aunt had found out from Becky. Aunt Gladys put a hand on Emma’s cheek and said, “It’s a good school, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but it’s too far away. I want to be here, with you.”

  “Now, sweetheart, there’s no need for that.”

  “But—”

  “We’ve been over this before, haven’t we? There’s nothing you can do for me. I don’t want you to throw away your future to sit around here and watch me lose my marbles.”

  “Aunt Gladys—”

  She took Emma’s hand hard enough that Emma winced. “Please, Emma, just go. I couldn’t live with myself if I held you back.” She shook her head. “You have so much potential, my little genius. Don’t squander it on me.”

  In the end Emma had heeded her aunt’s wishes and left for California. She had tried to call a few times, but as the Alzheimer’s became worse, the conversations became almost impossible. Now that she was back, she promised herself she would visit Aunt Gladys no matter how bad the Alzheimer’s got.

  To get there required Emma to take a bus back to Parkdale, the suburb where she had spent the first fourteen years of her life. As she sat on the bus, she tried to read, but couldn’t focus on the words. She gave up on this and looked out the window. She recognized the Kmart where she had used to shop for clothes with her mother and the elementary school she and Becky had attended. The bus mercifully avoided the old house, or else Emma would have burst into tears.

  The Park Glen Rest Home from the outside looked like a misplaced ski lodge with its faux-Alpine exterior
. Emma shivered as she walked up the sidewalk; she wondered what she would find when she got inside. At the front door she paused and then looked back towards the bus stop. It would be easy enough to turn around and go to her new home in the city. Becky wouldn’t know; not even Aunt Gladys would know. I would know, Emma thought.

  She opened the door and then proceeded to the front desk. The chubby nurse on duty looked up at her. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Gladys Cabot.”

  “And your name?”

  “Dr. Emma Earl. I’m her niece.”

  The nurse checked something on the computer and then nodded. “Go on in, Dr. Earl.”

  “Thank you.”

  Down a short hallway, Emma opened the door to the rec room. Despite the name, there wasn’t much recreation in the room. Mostly the patients—or “residents” as the rest home called them—stared at the television or the walls.

  Aunt Gladys sat in a chair in the corner and stared out the window. Emma wondered what she saw out there: the Amazon rainforest, African savannah, or her old neighborhood in Rampart City? There was no way to tell, not anymore.

  When Aunt Gladys had first come to Parkdale to care for Emma, people had usually confused them for mother and daughter. They had looked so much alike, with the same copper hair, blue eyes, and rangy frame, even more alike than Emma and her mother. Now people would probably think Aunt Gladys was her grandmother, her hair gray except for a few rusty strands and deep wrinkles that creased her face. Her hands shook as she sat in the chair, those hands as wrinkled as her face, with even a few liver spots now.

  Emma pulled up a chair next to her aunt and then gently put a hand on Aunt Gladys’s arm. “Aunt Gladys, it’s me. It’s Emma.”

  Her aunt turned, her blue eyes rheumy and unfocused. When she smiled, she revealed teeth that had gone yellow and crooked. “Hello, sweetheart.” Any hopes for a normal conversation became dashed when Aunt Gladys added, “Look at how big you’re getting! Soon I won’t even be able to pick you up.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  “That’s good.” Emma looked down at the floor, not sure what else she could say. She had read every article she could on Alzheimer’s, but none of it seemed to help. There didn’t seem to be any way to stop it.