For once Rachel didn’t insist on coming with me. “Whatever.” She didn’t look up from her computer. “Just text me when you’re there. I’m busy.”
“Okay.” I stood at the door for a moment. “Love you.”
She sighed and turned. “Me, too. Just go. And come back. It’s your turn to make dinner.”
“Right.” I left.
Up in Evanston I parked down the block from Minas’ house and called Sia. “I’m here.”
“Ten minutes. The traffic is terrible.”
I chuckled. “Always. Don’t park right in front. Let me know when you’re here.”
Twenty minutes later a red Subaru parked on the opposite side of the street. Sia sat behind the wheel. I waved her over and popped the locks.
She slid in next to me. “Where is he?”
“Two houses back there.” I sipped some Starbucks. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going in there and get the goblet back.” She was in a red sweatshirt, black jeans, and sneakers. She still looked sexy. Damn it.
I grabbed her arm. “He’s got a gun.”
“He won’t shoot me.” She pulled away. “I know him. He’s all talk. You’ll be fine.”
I’d heard that before. It never turned out well.
We walked down the sidewalk. Up to the house. Three steps up to a narrow porch, flowers growing in ceramic pots. Sia pushed a doorbell button.
We waited. One minute. Two. “This is typical,” I said. “He might not even be—”
The door slammed open. Minas stood behind the screen door, in jeans and a gray unbuttoned shirt.
I hadn’t gotten a good look at him last night. He had a beard and bushy eyebrows, and broad shoulders. Plus a hairy chest, although I hadn’t seen that when he’d burst into the room to seize Sia’s goblet.
“You.” He smiled. Then he glanced at me. “Who the hell are you?”
“Tom Jurgen.” At least he didn’t seem to be armed now. “I’m a—a friend of Sia.”
“Right.” He pushed the screen door in our faces. “You might as well come in.”
I stepped through first, ignoring my usual habit of holding the door for a lady. We followed Minas into the living room.
Three people sat on the floor, in various states of undress. A young Asian woman in black shorts and a white sportsbra, a middle-aged white man in boxers, and another white guy in his 20s pulling a T-shirt over his bony shoulders.
The goblet sat in the middle of an oriental rug.
The middle-aged guy stood up, buckling his belt. “Uh, Minas? I’m going now. Thanks for the, uh . . .” He looked up at the ceiling. Nine feet high. “Thanks.”
“Fine, Herb.” Minas smiled. “Tonight. Seven o’clock. If you want to fly again.”
He staggered through the door. “Yeah. Tonight.”
It’s like being high.
Sia smiled. “Hey, you guys. I’m Sia. Who are you?”
The skinny white guy looked up. “Uh, Grady.”
The Asian woman frowned, pulling a gray sweatshirt over her shoulders. “Scarlette. Or just Scar. Whatever.”
Sia smiled wider. “You can come up to Icarus Farm. Both of you. We work the land. We eat good food. We enjoy the sun. And we fly.” She raised her arms like wings. “Every night.”
Minas glared at Sia, both of them still clutching the goblet. “Go away. You can have your little commune, growing vegetables and sleeping on cots. But the goblet is mine. Just get out. Now.”
Sia stepped toward the goblet. “It’s mine, Minas. You’ve had some fun. Now I’m taking it back.”
“You?” He blocked her. “No. You stole it from me. Bitch.”
Wait, what? “Okay, where did that come from? Who does it belong to, really?”
Minas blinked at me. “Who are you? Her latest boyfriend? Stay out of this.”
I would have laughed if I wasn’t utterly confused. “Not exactly. Tom Jurgen. Just an old friend.”
“Then shut up, Tom.” He bent down to grab the goblet. “This is mine again.”
Sia grabbed it. For a moment it was a stupid game of adult tug-of-war.
I tried to get between them. Minas kicked my shin, hard. I yelped—a manly yelp, but still a yelp—and backed off.
Sia punched his shoulder and Minas dropped the goblet, cursing. He bent down, reaching for it just as Sia grabbed for it.
Then Scarlette—or just Scar, whoever she was—jumped on top of Sia, pummeling her back with her fists. They all fell to the carpet.
Grady just stood back, confused.
Minas clawed at Sia’s shoulder. I bent down and rolled the goblet away, then grabbed at Scar. Trying not to be too inappropriate, but under the circumstances . . .
Scar reared up. “You asshole!” She swung a fist at me. I ducked.
Then Grady leaped up, the goblet in his hand. “Yes! I’m out of here! Good-bye, motherfu—”
“No!” Sia leaped up and kicked Grady’s ankle. He fell over. The goblet dropped from his hand and rolled into a corner.
For a moment the room was filled with gasping and moaning. I lay on my back, trying to catch my breath. Sia’s legs lay on top of me.
Minas sat up, groaning. “Everyone stop!” He leaned toward a cabinet. “That belongs to me!”
Oh, hell. Was he going for his handgun?
Grady limped to the door. His hand slipped on the doorknob. “Okay, okay! I just thought—”
He punched through the screen door and ran.
I scrambled across the floor to the goblet. Get it, get it, get it—
Scar snatched it up. “Wow. This is heavy.” She held it in both hands. Lifted it to her lips, but it was empty. “Maybe—”
But Minas had his handgun. “Set it down, Scar.”
She handed it to me. “Here. Take it.” She backed away, hands up.
I took it. Scar was right—heavier than it looked. But Minas’ handgun looked bigger up close too. I remembered that it had apparently been filled with blanks last night, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to risk that now. And even a blank cartridge can do a lot of damage at close range.
Still—I’m not brave, just stubborn. And curious. It had made me a good reporter. And it might make me a dead private eye.
“Where did this come from? Really?” I hoped my voice didn’t shake too much.
“He stole it.” Sia jabbed a finger at Minas’ face—making sure to step away from the pistol’s snout.”
“Me? We stole it! Together.” His eyes were red with anger.
“From the Oriental Institute. At the U of C.” Sia backed next to Scarlette. “It’s from Mesopotamia, wherever that is.”
Great. “So it doesn’t really belong to either of you.”
“You want to argue about it?” He waved the handgun at my face. “Put it down!”
“Tom.” Sia shook her head. “Don’t be stupid. Give it to him.”
Thank god. I held the goblet out. “Take it.”
Minas lowered his pistol. “All right. Now get—”
Scarlette grabbed his arm. The one with the gun. Oh hell.
Sia’s eyes went wide with fear, but instead of jerking away she clutched Minas’ other arm, pulling for the goblet. Minas dropped it, trying to bring his gun hand up while Scarlette twisted his wrist.
That left me. Damn it.
I lurched forward and slammed a fist at Minas’ face. It hurt. It hurt my hand, at least, but Minas dropped his pistol and Scarlette kicked it away.
“Goddamn it!” Minas kicked at Sia’s legs. “Bitch! Slut! Liar—”
Sia slapped his face. I tossed the handgun on a couch, safely out of reach, and kicked the goblet under a chair. Then I yanked on Minas’ collar. “Shut up. No one talks to my ex-girlfriend like that.” I took a step back. “Now calm down—everyone!—or I’m calling the cops and letting them sort this all out.”
My heart was pounding. I felt full of testosterone—mixed with terror. Fortunately Minas staggered back against the cabinet, breathing hard. “It wasn’t even loaded.”
That didn’t make me feel any better. “We’re going. Don’t follow us.”
“And don’t come back to my farm.” Sia gripped his arm. “We’re going to start investing in shotguns.”
“This isn’t over.” Minas glared at all three of us. “That doesn’t belong to you.”
“You’re right.” I bent down for the goblet. “It belongs in a museum.”
Sia stepped toward me, furious. “You don’t mean—”
“This is going back.” I tucked the goblet under my arm. “Maybe you can try to steal it again, but if you do, don’t call me the next time you get into a custody battle.”
“But I need—” She looked at Scarlette. “You know what it’s like, don’t you? You flew.”
She nodded. “It was great. I’d like to do it again. Sometime.” Scarlette put a hand on Sia’s arm. “Maybe we can find another way. Where’s this farm of yours again?”
Shipping the goblet back to the Oriental Institute anonymously was tricky. I had to go to the nearest Office Depot for packing materials, then drive out to a far suburb to a Mailboxes-R-Us and pay cash, using a made-up return address that the nice young woman behind the counter didn’t pay any attention to.
I told her I was on a road trip and had forgotten to drop this off for a friend. I wore a hoodie and a pair of reading glasses I’d bought at Walgreens two towns away to hide my face. At least I didn’t resort to a fake mustache.
Rachel was cooking dinner when I got home, exhausted from all the driving—and the events of the day. It wasn’t her turn to cook, but all she said when I told her the whole story was, “Really? ‘This belongs in a museum’? Who are you, Indiana Jones?”
“Bullwhip and all. Or maybe bull—something else.” I gulped on a beer.
“Don’t go messing with whips unless we’re in the bedroom.” She kissed the top of my head. “So . . . how’s Bridget? Or Sia, whoever she is?”
“Mad at me. Everyone at her commune wants to fly. I don’t know how many will stay if they can’t, but . . .” I shrugged. “She’ll survive. Somehow.”
My phone buzzed. The Etterlings. But it was Dawne.
“Hi, Tom.” She sounded cheerful. “Thanks for helping out yesterday. I just wanted to let you know I’m going back up tomorrow. There’s still lots of work there. But I’ll call mom and dad every day. It’s all good.”
I hoped so. But I had to say—“You won’t be able to fly. That’s, uh, gone.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Well, I still want to help. They’re good people.”
I wondered what Scar and Sia were up to. “Good luck.”
“Thank you. Mom says to send her your bill.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“So . . .” Rachel set a pot of ravioli in front of me. “Is she still hot?”
What was safe to say? Nothing. So I decided on the truth. “Yes. But it was a long time ago. Hey, at least she’s a vegetarian.”
She laughed. “You got a thing for us vegan girls, don’t you, jerk?”
I grinned. “One in particular.”
“Let’s eat.” She sat down. “New season of ‘Sex Education’ starts tonight. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
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