“I don’t think so. But we can always give it a go.”
God had probably created the Tree of Life with a chemical compound with unique physiological properties, making it a one-of-a-kind substance not found anywhere else except in that tree. She and Harrison could speculate all they wanted on what such a compound was capable of doing, but the truth was, they were likely only skimming the surface. They couldn’t know anything for certain until they found more and began testing it.
Was that what her dad had intended for her to do? Find more holy water? Revive him? So that then he could direct them to the location of the wellspring which would allow them to do further experimentation on the water?
Her pulse surged with a new sense of anticipation and energy. “You said there are only three of the St. Thomas ampullae left in the world—well, two now, since we have this one. Can we locate the others?”
“Such a task is doubtful. Arthur likely attempted to acquire them from various museums and didn’t get anywhere. But hopefully, he’s left us clues for how to find more holy water some place.”
Harrison powered his wheelchair, backed away from the table, and steered toward the door. He gave a few brief instructions to Drake, who bowed and then hurried away.
“Ready?” Harrison fiddled with his bow tie, tightening it into place. “Time to get on with it, then.”
“Where are we going?” She began gathering up the papers.
“We need to work out a way to save Arthur. And since his clues seem to be pointing us to the crypt of the cathedral, let’s have a look and pray we’ll find the answers we need there.”
~ 7 ~
“THE CATHEDRAL CONSTABLE won’t be able to stall our stalker for very long.” Harrison glanced over his shoulder toward the entrance. With the permanent ramp at the north door, the crypt was handicap accessible—a positive facet of their investigation of Our Lady under the cathedral.
The negative was that their stalker might suspect they were looking for something in the crypt and try to interfere—or steal whatever information they found. If they found something, and Marian fervently prayed they would.
They’d been followed almost from the moment they’d pulled out of Chesterfield Park. It only confirmed that Dad had truly been on to something important, perhaps even world-changing.
“We need to hurry.” She strode the rest of the way down the ramp around Harrison and an older couple ambling slowly along. Drake followed closely after her, his steps echoing ominously.
Even though column F wasn’t labeled as such, she’d studied the crypt diagram and had nearly memorized the floor plan on the ride over. She headed directly to it and found the carving of the man with the tongue sticking out just the way it had been drawn on the page from Archaeologia Cantiana.
With brightly lit candelabra lamps hanging from the arched ceiling throughout, she had no trouble seeing the details of the carving. She rose onto her toes and ran a hand across the sculpture. Rough edges mingled with stone that had been worn over the centuries.
Think, Marian. Think, she silently chided herself. Why the man with the tongue? Tongues help with talking, chewing, swallowing, and tasting.
Maybe the clue had to do with the eyes. She poked the raised circles, ran her fingers across the eyebrows, down the beard, over the curled hair. Her mind raced with medical facts about each one. But nothing gave her any hints about why Dad had singled out this column with this particular architectural capital.
She glanced at the ramp that led back to the entrance. Their stalker would be in the crypt any second. She had to figure out the answer now.
Why had Dad left the information about the crypt? Why the cathedral? Because it was one of the few landmarks in Canterbury that had managed to exist from the past to the present? When so many other medieval structures had been destroyed by man, fire, or rot, this cathedral, this crypt, these columns, this capital had stood the test of time to endure.
“Maybe he’s sending a message.” If he wanted to communicate from the past to the present, he’d leave a note in a place that existed in both eras. If no one had discovered and removed his message over the centuries, it would be hundreds of years old, perhaps disintegrated with age, depending upon what material he used. Nevertheless, she needed to locate it. Quickly.
Communication. Mouth.
She skimmed the sculpture’s mouth and tongue, then prodded and poked at it. It wiggled, but only slightly. There had to be a secret hiding place somewhere, even if only a tiny one to fit a slip of parchment. She pulled harder, and it moved again, but not fast enough.
“Drake,” she hissed over her shoulder. “Help me move the carving.”
Harrison’s butler cast a frown toward the crypt entrance before reaching up and taking hold of the tongue. He wrestled with the carving for several moments before the stone groaned and the whole head began to slide forward like a drawer away from the pillar until it came off altogether, revealing a space about three inches wide by two inches high—bigger than she’d anticipated.
A tiny thrill whispered through her. How had her dad known this hiding place existed? For a second, she allowed herself to admire his exceptional intelligence in a way she hadn’t in a long time. But at a commotion in the entrance hall, she reached up and tugged loose the objects inside—two ampullae and an old watch.
The cathedral security man wouldn’t be able to detain their stalker for long—though Harrison had slipped him cash to try.
“Quick put the head back.” Even before the words left her mouth, Drake was already fitting the sculpture into its original place.
Heart hammering, she stuffed the findings into her purse and hurried away from column F toward Harrison, who was peering into St. Gabriel’s Chapel and studying the bright fresco painted on the walls.
She barely reached him when a man stalked down the ramp. His gaze shot around until it landed upon Harrison and her.
In several long strides, Drake crossed to her and put a hand on her elbow in a protective gesture while at the same time sending a warning look toward the newcomer.
“Did you get the clue?” Harrison powered his chair toward the next exhibit.
“Yes.” As much as she wanted to peek into her purse and examine the articles, she resisted the urge.
“Good on you.”
She slowed her steps to accommodate him, even though everything within her wanted to flee out of the crypt to the waiting Bentley, especially as the stalker began to wind toward them through the columns. Surely he wouldn’t confront them with so many people around. Likely he was just keeping tabs and waiting for them to reveal something important.
The man didn’t appear familiar. In a black leather jacket and dark jeans, he was shorter and stockier than the person who’d attacked her outside the bank. Were both working for Lionel Inc.? Or were multiple companies trying to get their hands on Dad’s information?
“Act like a tourist so he doesn’t suspect you’ve found something already,” Harrison whispered with a forced smile. “Take some snaps with your mobile.”
She feigned interest in the Jesus Chapel at the eastern part of the crypt and began taking pictures like other visitors of the vaulted ceiling with its intricate decorations.
As Harrison stopped to examine artifacts, she responded with what she hoped was the appropriate enthusiasm. But with every step she took—even with Drake by her side—she could sense the stalker behind them, watching their every move.