He mentally shrugged away the issues and walked into the Shovel, savoring the sound and smell as he stepped inside. A home away from home, he felt more comfortable there than he did in the room he rented from Pip.
Being in her place was like borrowing someone else’s life and being scared that his lackadaisical ways would break it indefinitely. Even her cat, Timbo, looked down at him as though he were nothing but a wild peasant, but then that was cats for you.
The barwoman, Patty, gave him a nod, a smile, and a saucy wave with her fingers. Nope. Not his type. Lovely girl, friendly, but the face tattoos weren’t his thing, nor the biker gang she rode with. Two of their larger and hairier members were sitting at the bar, their back to the door, working on a pitcher of budget beer.
The two bikers turned round, froth caught in their beards. Together, like coordinated dummies, they said, “Evening, Charles,” doing their best-worst posh accents. It was the same every time.
“Jace, Geoff,” Charlie said back.
“She’s over there, stud,” Jace said, nodding his head toward the booths at the back.
He was the one with the slightly larger beard. That’s the only way Charlie had learned to tell them apart.
Charlie gave him a “Keep your voice down, fool” face, which elicited a laugh from the pair and a disappointed scowl from Patty. Looks like he’d have to leave a bigger tip later to keep her sweet.
Charlie weaved in and out of the narrow path between booths and stools. An elbow came out from the left, nudging him in the ribs. A bottle of beer was in the elbower’s hand: his favorite imported ale.
“What the… How did you know?”
Pippa grinned up at him from within the booth. “Like you could go climbing with a discovery like this rattling around in that empty head of yours. I thought you’d at least reach the apartment before you changed your mind.”
The bottle was cold in his hand.
He took a deep swig and slid opposite his boss, putting the half-drained bottle on the table, avoiding the carpet of paper and files she had spread out on its surface. She reminded him of one of those off-duty detectives who couldn’t leave a case alone and took it with them everywhere, looking for that crucial loose end, that missed but vital piece of information.
“It’s in here somewhere,” he said, using his best Columbo accent, realizing he was both terrible at it and completely out of time. All the cool kids were doing Horatio Caine one-liners these days apparently.
Pippa groaned. Shook her head. “Don’t you watch anything newer than the early ‘80s?”
“Don’t watch TV. Don’t have time. Except for our productions, of course.”
“Liar. Who did we get to present the Rogue Pharaohs of Egypt production?”
“Umm… it was that woman, you know, the one with the hair. She was in that thing with that other woman…”
“You mean Zahi Hawass, the superstar Egyptologist… A guy.”
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Charlie flashed her a smile.
“Zahi is a megastar in the field. You really ought to brush up on this kind of stuff. You never know who might drop into the office.” She took a sip from her beer and avoided eye contact.
That was her way of putting him in his place.
He’d come to recognize it over the years.
The “not looking at you while I’m being the boss” effect started out with her getting tired of him leaving ropes and carabiners laying around on her sofa or his various outdoors pursuits magazines piled up in the bathroom.
It crept in at the office too. There was no problem when she was giving someone else a piece of her mind.
Her forthrightness was one of the many things he liked about her. Her ability to communicate her thoughts and ideas helped get her to her current position in life.
With Charlie though, she was different. Tempered, almost coy.
Charlie took the advice onboard and finished his beer. He felt a bit stupid now. Although he was technically excellent at his job, he had to admit that it wasn’t his true love or focus in life.
That would be the outdoors. He’d much rather be climbing down into caves to look at the rocks, feel them with his own bare hands, than survey them from above with GPR. Even during his time in the National Guard, he would prefer the weekends away on training out in the wilds than back at the barracks doing endless drills.
Again, technically, he was excellent. He wondered if that wasn’t actually part of his problem; things came too easy to him at times, and he lost focus.
Nature wasn’t easy. Nature wasn’t something you could conquer like stripping and cleaning a rifle or running acres of radar surveys. It required respect and a humility to know you’re not top dog.
Being in the wild outdoors taught him that.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I sometimes don’t focus on the everyday details as much as I should.”
“No, it’s fine. Forget about it,” Pippa said. “Besides, this stuff with the bead is more important than any of that. Though I’d totally recommend watching Rogue Pharaohs. That was a great production. It’s what nailed this job with the Geographic. One of the production workers over there knew a guy who knew a guy… Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“Must be exciting,” Charlie said, pointing to the files over the table, “to have stumbled across something like this. It could be huge if it checks out.”
Pippa leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, a single piece of paper in hand. “I’m still trying to work out if we’re being scammed. I know the guys and gals on the dig. The site manager and I were present. The beads were definitely within the skeletal remains. If someone had put them there after the fact, they’d have had to have somehow dug beneath the old soil on top without disturbing it.”
“And that there,” Charlie said, lowering the paper, “is the crux of the issue. It’s not possible. We’re talking basic physics here. Unless David Blaine does have magic abilities and is for hire for archeological pranks, I think we have to realize that this bead, whatever it is, was with the bodies at the time.”
Leaning back against the booth, Pippa sighed and let the piece of paper fall to the table. It was a printed photo of the dig site as the skeletons were first exposed. She had ringed a blue bead with a red pen.
“I don’t know about you, but I need another beer.” Pippa got up, waited for his answer. “Hey, dufus, the boss is offering to get you a beer. Yea or nay?”
“Nay, boss, I’m good. Just a Coke will be fine if you’re buying though.”
Charlie inwardly sighed with relief as Pippa approached the bar. Patty hadn’t stopped giving him awkward looks since he arrived, and he didn’t really want to address that issue.
While he waited, he rifled through Pippa’s reports and printouts. One of them was the close-up shot of the bead, showing the intricate, almost circuit-like patterns. One thing that struck him was the uniformity.
If they were manmade and from the sixteenth century, then whoever had made them had developed technology way beyond anything previously discovered. The straight lines and complicated pattern weren’t possible by hand.
There was a painter, Giotto di Bondone, who was famed for painting a perfect freehand circle, but even with that level of excellence, Charlie had a hard time imagining someone carving these circuits so accurately.
He sat back and looked up at the old TV hanging down from behind the bar on a wall mount that always looked entirely inadequate for holding up such an old, ancient device. The TV had those wood panels on the front and a thick, bulbous glass screen. Despite that, the speaker still worked, and as the bar hadn’t yet filled up, Charlie could make out the sound.