Grace and Witherbloom: The Obsidian Emperor (Book 5) by Jon Welsey Huff

Author:Jon Welsey Huff [Huff, Jon Welsey]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-03-04T04:30:00+00:00

“Hold up there, Blake. What’s your hurry? We get paid the same whether we run or walk,” said Jones as he followed a few paces behind the younger man.

“I’ve got a wife and two kids to get back home to, Jones,” said Blake. They’d stored the crate the black statue had come in, binned the feathers and had finished tidying up the archway room for the exhibit tomorrow. Now they just had to check back in one last time with Timmison before they could finally go home. “Don’t you have any loved ones waiting for you?”

“The little ones aren’t little any more. My wife passed a couple years back,” said Jones, without any of the emotion Blake might have expected.

“Sorry to hear that,” said Blake.

“It’s nothing. It happens. That’s the way life goes, I suppose. You spend your life working to support them and then they all just… drift away,” said Jones. Blake sighed to himself. The old bugger could be a real pain at times. Jones had only been with the museum a couple of weeks but his attitude was already starting to wear on Blake, so he was grateful when they finally reached Timmison’s office. The door was wide open and the light was still on.

“Good ol’ Timmison. Still burning the midnight oil,” said Blake as he entered the office. Jones nearly ran into the back of him as Blake froze on spot. On the floor was Professor Henry Timmison, lying in a pool of his own blood.

“Oh my God. My God Almighty in Heaven,” whispered Blake.

“Don’t just stand there, boy, come on. Come on out,” said Jones, taking the other man by the shoulders and leading him out of the office.

“His head… it was almost… almost taken clean off.” Jones looked into the young man’s eyes. For the first time, the older man didn’t seem as dispassionate as he usually did.

“It’s a horrible thing. It truly is. Now get yourself together.”

“The statue’s gone too. Do you think they stole it? Whoever… whoever killed him?”

“Probably, but here’s the thing Blake. It doesn’t matter. Not to us,” said Jones, his eyes growing hard and determined.

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Of course it matters! The police will want to know why someone might… we’ve got to contact the police!”

“No. That’s the last thing we need to do.”

“Are you insane?” asked Blake, brushing Jones’s hands away from his shoulders.

“Look at us, Blake. An important gentleman like the Professor there gets killed and the only other people in the museum are a bunch of rough-looking, lower class working men? They’ll pin it on one or both of us in a heartbeat,” said Jones, his eyes growing wild and his voice getting harder.

“But we have an alibi.”

“That we were with each other, cleaning up. They’ll just think we were both in on it. We go. Now. You go home back to that family of yours and don’t think about it again. Ever. Got it?” hissed Jones. Blake looked at the man with suspicion.

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