Picking Up The Pieces

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“Jill Moss?” It was a man’s voice on the telephone.

“Yes.”

“My name is Scott Marchand. I am a colleague of your uncle, Neil Bryant. I have something for you that Neil wants me to deliver right away.”

“What is it?”

“I would prefer not to talk about it over the phone,” he answered. “Could we meet this afternoon?” I glanced at the clock over my table. It was twenty minutes past one.

“I suppose so.”

“Meet me at the café on the corner of Yale Road and Number 9 at two o’clock, all right?”

“That’s rather soon,” I said.

“It’s rather urgent.”

I hung up the telephone and rinsed my paintbrush. Finishing this painting would have to wait.

Twenty-five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Chaco’s Grill. The restaurant stood away from the main road at the end of a steep, unpaved driveway.  Dark green patio umbrellas dotted its wide terrace. I parked near the front door and got out. The lot was deserted except for a silver van under some trees at the rear and the white SUV next to my car.

A man stood on the stone steps to the terrace, one hand in a trouser pocket. He waved and removed the aviator sunglasses from his sunburned nose.

“You must be Scott,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Thanks for coming at such short notice,” he said, leading me to a table on the far corner of the terrace. “I have a tight schedule today.”

“You said it was important. What is this about?”

A teenaged waitress appeared and we ordered coffee.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” he said, “though to be honest, I’m not entirely sure what it is.”

I leaned into the shade of the umbrella. “What is my Uncle Neil up to now?”

Scott pulled a parcel from a bag at his feet and set it on the table with a thump. “He wanted me to see that you get this.”

I tore away the brown paper wrapping. “It’s his Bible. Why would he want me to have this?” The gold lettering on the leather cover had almost worn away and the corners curled from long years of use. I ran my fingertips over the pebbly surface.

“It came this morning by courier. Shortly after that Neil phoned. I could hardly hear him, even though he was shouting. There was a lot of noise going on in the background. I tried to find out where he was and why he was calling but all I could get was, ‘Take the package to my niece, Jill. Call her.’ He gave me your number. ‘She’ll know what to do,’ he said. ‘Go immediately and don’t let anyone follow you.’“ He spread his hands. “Presumably, you know what to do.”

I frowned. “Why didn’t he send it directly to me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is Neil in some kind of trouble?”

“Like I said, I couldn’t get much information out of him.”

I looked at Scott.  “What’s your connection to my uncle?”

“We have a long history,” he said, grinning. “I was his student a long time ago and we’ve worked together on several projects over the years. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me. Hasn’t Neil ever mentioned the work we did on the Incas?”