Bloodstone nodded. “I know it. A very pleasant place.”
“Thanks.” Dani smiled up at me as I brought her the tea. “Two days ago I had a couple of four-tops, an eight, and a single. The single was a saint, just sitting quietly, not hurried at all. He knew what he wanted, liked what he got, lingered over coffee for a bit, but never hit on me or anything, the way some guys do.”
I brought Bloodstone his tea, then joined Dani on the couch. She sipped for a moment, her smile widened, then she continued her tale. “The guy paid promptly in cash and left me twenty on a fifty-dollar tab. He also left me this.”
She dug into her jeans and produced a small padlock key. “I thought he’d just forgotten it. I tried to find him in the parking lot, but he was long since gone. I pocketed it, assuming he’d call. Then, the next day, I get a package at work. It’s got a cell phone in it. One number is programmed in. Yours.”
Bloodstone glanced at me. “Possible?”
“Easy.” I could have explained, but it would have been a waste of breath. Bloodstone makes the average Luddite look like Stephen Hawking.
“Please, Miss Granger, continue.”
“The phone has a scheduler. An alert came up about my storage locker. Today, the lock I’d used was gone, and this key fit the new one. Everything had been moved, and that box-my grandfather’s box-was in there.”
Bloodstone set his tea down and walked around to the far side of his desk. “You said it was your grandfather’s. When did you last see it?”
“Nineteen years ago. He raised me after my parents were killed in a car accident. He died four months ago, but no one ever sent this to me.”
“Interesting trick, leaving it there after burgling your storage locker.” Bloodstone bent down and peered at the lock. “Tell me about your grandfather.”
She shrugged. “His name was Jack Granger. He was loving but low key. He used to say he’d gotten enough excitement in World War II, so he was content with a quiet life.”
Bloodstone glanced at the return address. “What did he do in the war?”
“He was with the OSS. He was in Italy before our troops were.”
My boss slid open a drawer and brought out a cigar-box that rattled as he set it down. He opened it, displaying a tangle of old-fashioned keys. “Do you have any objection to my opening the box?”
“I guess not.” She hesitated for a moment. “I guess it’s okay.”
I glanced at him. “Her grandfather made her promise never to touch it.”
“I see.” Bloodstone nodded. “Miss Granger, you would agree that this prohibition may have expired. The box’s presence in your locker and the delivery of the phone are indicative of someone’s desire for you to bring this here.”
“Yes, true, but I don’t want to disappoint him.”
“I suspect, if you ever had, the box never would have been entrusted to you.” Bloodstone brushed his long fingers over the wooden lid. “This would have been beautiful when new.”
Dani crossed her arms. “How old do you think it is?”
“At least a thousand years.”
He said it so matter-of-factly that it took me a couple seconds to figure out what he was really saying. “You mean ‘Before Columbus discovered America ’ old?”
“Without question.” He rapped a knuckle against it, and it thumped solidly. “Cedar, probably from Lebanon. I believe it comes from Outremer.”
Bloodstone pronounced it the right way, as French for “Beyond the Ocean.”
I raised an eyebrow. “As in the Crusader Kingdoms?”
“The same.” He fished through the keys. He inserted one into the lock. He twisted and the latch clicked up.
“Boxes like this are not unusual. In its day it would have been painted with images and symbols appropriate to the contents. Many such boxes arrived in Europe from Outremer. Sometimes the contents were genuine, sometimes fakery, but they were always treasured by those who possessed them.”
Dani shook her head. “I kind of figured he got it during the war and brought it home. Looting, I guess, though I can’t imagine him doing that.”
“He would not have been unique in bringing back a treasure.” Bloodstone’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt this was a war relic, however.”
Relic? Something clicked in my head. “Is that a reliquary? Are we going to find bones in there?”
“Unlikely. It didn’t rattle.” Bloodstone opened the box slowly, even reverently. He clearly had a clue as to what he would find, but the contents of the box blew past his preconceptions. Bloodstone’s eyes widened almost as Dani’s had, and there was no hiding his surprise.
We both came forward, and I was bracing myself for some skull-thing crawling with bugs or snakes or something. The look on Dani’s face suggested she was dreading the same. We both took our first gander at it, then exchanged glances.
She put it into words. “I don’t get it. It’s a rag.”
Bloodstone’s voice shrank to a whisper. “Not a rag. It is a fine piece of weaving, definitely homespun. It is probably twice as old as the box.”
I frowned at him. “You’re telling me this came from the time of Jesus?”
He nodded solemnly. “I have little doubt it came from that time.”
Dani reached out to touch the yellowed cloth, yet never quite did. “But if it’s that old, why isn’t in a museum?”
“That, young lady, is a very good question.” Bloodstone slowly closed the box again. “With your permission, I shall do my best to find an answer.”
That having been said, anyone else in the world would have hopped on his computer and done a Google search. Not Bloodstone. He doesn’t have a computer. He only uses a phone because it was invented in the Nineteenth Century. And cell phones? Not a chance. For him, the very idea of mobile communications died with the last passenger pigeon.
He headed out of the office with the box tucked under his arm, then stopped and looked back at the two of us. “Miss Granger, because your place of employment seems to be the primary contact point, I will have Connor watch over you there. Under no circumstances should you return to your locker. If anything suspicious happens at your home, call the police, and do not use that cellular phone to do so.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Bloodstone.”
“And, Connor, see what you can learn about the source of the phone. I shall call the owner of the restaurant, and we will arrange a cover for you.”
“Got it. How often do you want reports?”
He considered for a moment, balancing his desire to be left alone with his concern for what was going on. “Every two hours unless something peculiar is going on. Use the ring code.”
“Done.”
Dani looked at me as the man headed up the stairs to his sanctum. “He’s a bit of an odd duck.”
“He’s a whole damned flock.” I got up. “Let me see your phone.”
Despite having a computer, a T1 line, a bunch of friends to call, and favors to burn, I didn’t learn much about the phone. It and the service had been bought for cash two days before she got it. It might have been possible to get the security tapes from the store where the purchase was made, but even seeing an image of the purchaser wouldn’t mean much. If he wanted to remain hidden, he’d just pick someone off the street to make the buy for him. And even having his image wouldn’t give us his name.
No sense in reporting a dead-end to Bloodstone, so we proceeded with the next part of his plan-my making sure Dani was not harmed. I’m not that big a guy, so it’s not often I get to play bodyguard. I am licensed to carry a concealed weapon, but so far nothing warranted my packing a gun.
By the time Dani showed up for her shift that evening, Bloodstone had indeed called the owner of Chelsea’s Kitchen, and they’d found something for me to do. I’d been thinking maybe I’d get to hang at the bar, which would give me an easy view of the interior and the patio, but they found something that would allow me to circulate and check everyone out.
This was how I learned that the term “busboy” is short for “bust-your-ass-boy.” I don’t know how folks in food service do it. My night was full of “More water,” and “Less ice,” or Goldilocks’ complaints of things being too hot or too cold. Nothing was ever “just right.” Folks were cadging for free this or to have something taken off the bill; and then servers like Dani, who did everything but bear a man’s child or donate a kidney, would get stiffed on the tip.