“What an extraordinary turn of events,”

  The upbeat tone of Dr. Winslow Fletcher always seemed to brighten the mood on an otherwise dismal day. Celeste had a mental list of boring lectures that would have put anyone to sleep if it hadn’t been for Dr. Fletcher. Once the police had signed off on her apartment, taken statements and evidence. Celeste figured the last place she should hang out there and she wasn’t eager to know who else might decide to swing by for a visit.

  Dr. Fletcher had a bushy mustache and wore a tailored suit several years out of date, but it suited him well and gave me the appeal of the wise academic that would accompany the adventurer on an epic quest in the jungle or across the desert. Celeste had spent the better part of the past two days fixing bullet holes and buying a new couch. A thrift store across town had taken it, but the clerk had offered some mixed expressions when they noticed the holes along the armrest.

  “That’s not exactly the word I would use,” Celeste said briskly. “The more I think about it. I’m confused about how quickly someone came out of the woodwork and with a connection to Pierre Beaumont. I didn’t exactly post on social media that I was in the jungle, and it wasn’t picturesque to think that any hunters, other than a select few people would even try. I can count how many times I slipped.”

  “This statue is priceless,” Dr. Fletcher said, “and I do find it bizarre, but that’s why we operate as we have.”

  “Agreed,” Celeste acknowledged, “and I’m not ignorant of the risks I take. I mean, I figured someone would come after the statue, but in order to find me so quickly, she would have been on my tail since the airport and how did she know it was me? I didn’t use my actual passport, and I would have said that my ability to spot a tail was top-notch. Right now, though, I’m not so sure.”

  “Oh no!” Dr. Fletcher said with a furrowed brow. “I can’t have you doubting yourself. You’re the best in the business.”

  “I’m still planning to go to Thailand at the end of the month,” Celeste countered with a smile. “I just have to admit that I got beat. It keeps me humble.”

  “Good,” Dr. Fletcher said firmly.

  “Although,” Celeste continued, which earned a groan from the professor. “I have to say that I don’t quite get what the woman meant by the key. There weren’t any rumors of a secret treasure or some secret stash of cash and documents. Why does Pierre seem way more interesting than the professor’s murder and this statue?”

  “Good question, unfortunately,” Dr. Fletcher said.

  “And if they were out there and were worried that I had what they wanted, why did they wait until I got back to the States?”

  “There could have been a number of reasons,” Dr. Fletcher said his squinty eyes as he examined the statue. “Not that I’m speaking from experience, but gunslingers, I would reason, are city slickers. They’re not travel-worn and seasoned to take on rugged and unpredictable terrain.”

  “But they still tracked me from the jungle to my home,” Celeste insisted. “I did check with the Academy security, and no one approached my storage unit, but the same car did circle the block a few times, at least, I’m betting one did.”

  “Did you tell the police everything?” Dr. Fletcher asked. He set the statue down and carefully removed his cloth gloves which he secured in a stiff plastic bag.

  “As much as I could,” Celeste replied. “I didn’t exactly have a work order to head into the jungle in pursuit of an internationally wanted fugitive because I wanted to get my hands on a priceless relic to avenge the death of a renowned professor. Have you seen cop shows and cheesy rom-com mysteries? The police don’t actually look favorably on citizens taking the law into their own hands.”

  Dr. Fletcher adjusted his glasses. “I can’t argue with you there. The case against Pierre Beaumont has turned into something for the record books. Any association with him is bad news, and that’s putting it lightly.”

  “The crew I encountered didn’t seem at all interested in the statue,” Celeste said. “In fact, they seemed more concerned and determined to find other things: a codex, a signet ring, and a ledger.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “How diabolically vague.” Dr. Fletcher said, “A codex is a term for an ancient manuscript. Popular culture has transformed the word into something synonymous with cults and secret societies, which those that really did exist had their fair share of cryptic writings, but a codex can contain simple lists, chemical formulas, and diagrams.”

  “The fact that these guys referenced what it is by the name codex, it seems each one knew what they were talking about.”

  “So, it’s a code word,” Dr. Fletcher said. “And what do you make of the ledger?”

  “Mafia lore,” Celeste began, but her straight face broke as Dr. Fletcher’s shoulders began to bounce up and down before shooting a glance in her direction with wide eyes and a large grin.

  “Clever girl,” Dr. Fletcher said, “you almost had me.”

  “I was so close,” Celeste joked, then took a second to compose herself. “Anyway, a ledger is an obvious accounting tool, and it is a word that is used to refer to secret accounts or some kind of documentation that tracks illegal activity. Did the professor somehow know more about his illegal activities? Or did he have primary sources or some other kind of trinket that would have made him a target?”

  Dr. Fletcher shook his head. “Not according to anything that has been made public. He didn’t have any treasures guiding his studies and research. I am acquainted with the dean, and he was fairly tight lip, but I got the impression that everything the victim had brought everything with him.”

  Celeste took a hard look at the statue. “Why rob and kill a professor, steal a relic that you could sell for a pretty penny only to make such a public show of it to then crash and lose out on everything.”

  “Those are the questions, and no one appears to have answers,” Dr. Fletcher said. “The authorities have made public that they had narrowed down the search and are closing in on a possible location for the wreckage.”

  “That’s another thing that troubles me,” Celeste said. “I found the wreckage, but the threesome was way ahead of me. I saw them using some kind of state-of-the-art tracking device and that tells me that they knew him. Or at least had intimate knowledge of his movements prior to the crash. What sounds more logical? Pierre had his hand in a cartel’s cookie jar; he was the leader of a cartel, or they wrangled him into being their accountant or the public where they could funnel their dirty cash to avoid the authorities.”

  “That’s giving Mr. Beaumont way too much credit on all accounts,” Dr. Fletcher said, “there are plenty of businessmen who have shady business deals and work with questionable people. Pierre wouldn’t have crashed if he had been better connected, and more organized.”

  “Fair enough,” Celeste replied.

  Dr. Fletcher scratched his nose. “Either way, I think we are better suited if we put this topic to rest.”

  “It’s a little hard to do when I have people gunning for me,” Celeste added.

  “Which is why should you still to archives and lecture halls for the next few weeks,” Dr. Fletcher suggested. He set a protective case on the table and adjusted the blanket and security blocks to make sure the contents were secure during transport.

  “I don’t like having unanswered questions but we’re not in a position to safely explore it”

  “Something tells me the police may not be in a position to explore it either,” Celeste said, and she opened the case as Dr. Fletcher gripped the statue, one hand by the base and the other around the middle. The statue resembled some kind of animal, but the details had faded since its creation.

  “I’m curious to look at this thing a bit closer,” Dr. Fletcher said. Celeste laughed as the old academic moved his mouth. It was a movement she had often seen him do, probably subconsciously when he tried to write or was thinking about his next academic paper.

  “I want to know its age and who created it; I’m also curious about who might have coined the name.”

  “All relevant questions, Oh no!” Celeste exclaimed.

  Celeste extended her hands at the last moment when she saw Dr. Fletcher’s wiry, trembling fingers slip off the base just enough where it fell from his grasp.

  “No!” Dr. Fletcher exclaimed. The statue’s base collided with the case’s edge and Celeste bit her lip as it cracked like an egg and spread across the tabletop. Celeste’s jaw unopen in disbelief.

  “Blasted!” Dr. Fletcher stammered. His emotions were a mixture of adamant fury and self-depreciation.

  “They say leave it to the professionals!” he lamented, “I am a professional. Good heavens, I am one of the best professionals.”

  He looked down at his hands and wrinkled his nose. Celeste wanted to share his outrage. It was a travesty, but not an uncommon one in relics and antiquities. She pulled her mouth closed and licked her lips when something caught her eye. Celeste reached for a pair of gloves while not pulling her eyes away from the spot.

  “Doc,” Celeste said. Dr. Fletcher tapped his fist against the table.

  “Dr. Fletcher, look at this.”

  Celeste seized the base and pulled out several papers rolled up and secured in place with a dirty string.

  “This thing was in a plane that crashed and it survived Pierre stumbling out of the plane and falling to the ground.”

  “Well, this is unexpected.” Dr. Fletcher said.

  “And this means the job isn’t done,” Celeste said. “It must have been switched. This could be a part of the ledger those criminals were referring to.”

  “Maybe,” Dr. Fletcher said. “I don’t like it, but if they’ve come after you once. They’ll probably come after you again. These pages may be the only way to be one step ahead of them, whoever they are.”