* * *
"What happened to you?" I ask as I hold the patio door open. My uncle steps inside, dripping wet from head to toe. "And why are you so late? I thought you were going to be here for supper."
He sighs. "It's a long story, Sarah. I think we had best get inside first and then I'll explain everything."
I step aside and he moves past me, his wet shoes squeaking on the hardwood floor. He looks at Troy and Josh as he removes his fogged up glasses. “It’s a bit wet out there.”
“Uncle Marty, it’s like a waterfall out there,” I counter, closing the patio door as rain begins to dampen the floor.
“I won’t disagree,” he says with a small chuckle.
“Seriously, Uncle Marty...you’re soaking wet. I’ll get you a towel.”
He looks down at the puddle of water pooling at his feet. “I suppose I could use one...”
I smile and push him toward the large armchair in the corner. “You sit and I’ll go get you a towel, Uncle Marty.”
“Thank you, Sarah. Have I mentioned you’re my favourite niece?”
“I’m your only niece,” I say with a laugh as I hurry from the room and up the stairs where I know the linen closet will have a dozen or more towels, mom being a fiend for towels and linen. When I return a minute later, puffy, white towel in hand, Uncle Marty’s already halfway through a slice of pizza.
“Hungry, are we?” I ask, handing him the towel.
“Famished,” he answers without removing his eyes from his pizza.
“Why are you so late anyway?”
“I’m not too late am I?” he asks, glancing at the watch on his wrist.
“Uh, yeah, it’s like,” I look up at the clock on the wall, “seven thirty. You were supposed to be here at six.”
“Well, I was delayed, unfortunately.”
“Delayed?”
“Delayed. It would seem that someone chose this afternoon to break into my apartment.”
“No!” Troy exclaims, his expression concerned.
I stare at my uncle. “Are you serious?”
He nods. “Afraid so.”
“Well, was...was anything stolen?”
He shakes his head as he polishes off the slice of pizza in his hand.
“They didn’t take anything?” asks Troy, clearly as dumbfounded as I am.
“Not a thing. Well, so far as I can tell at least. You know me...I’m not one for fancy things.”
I smile sympathetically. Poor Uncle Marty.
“I know. But...still...Uncle Marty...that’s not good. Did you call the police?”
He shakes his head as he reaches for another piece of pizza. “No. That would have delayed our trip to France.”
My hands move automatically to my hips. “Uncle Marty, this is a teensy bit more important than a trip to France.”
“Actually, it’s not,” he says mildly, setting his pizza on his knee so that he can dry himself with the towel.
“What are you talking about?”
“Well,” he says, looking at me, “I believe the break in has to do with the expedition.”
Troy looks shocked. “What?”
He nods and sets the towel aside. “Last week, while I was in London - for the Celtic Conference - ”
Troy nods. “Right.”
“ - a man paid a visit to my hotel room. The day I was leaving.”
I watch my uncle closely. “What did he want?”
“He wanted to know where we believe the Dumnonian Hoard to be.”
“What’s a doom - no - nee - en hoard?”
I glance at Josh to see if he knows, but judging by the vacant expression on his face, he’s more clueless than I am.
Uncle Marty chuckles as he takes up his pizza and picks a hair from it. “That’s quite a story.”
I look at Troy to see if Uncle Marty’s pulling my leg, but Troy nods in agreement.
“What kind of story is it?”
Uncle Marty takes a bite of pizza and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s a story that spans about four hundred years.”
“A four hundred year old story?” Josh blurts.
“No. The story itself is about a thousand years old. But the time period over which the story takes place covers about four hundred years.”
I gape at my uncle. “The story’s a thousand years old?”
“That’s right.”
“And...is this a true story?”
My uncle sniffs as he takes another (small) bite of his pizza. “We believe it to be.”
“Well, tell it to us!”
“Tomorrow,” he says, his tone severe. “We’ve got a long journey ahead of us and there will be ample opportunity to tell you the story then.”
“But I can’t wait until tomorrow!”
I look to Troy for some sympathy.
He makes a face. “It is a pretty long story, Sarah. It’s also kind of complicated.”
“But...but...”
“In the morning,” says Uncle Marty, finishing his slice of pizza and rising from his chair. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll head to bed.”
“But...I want to hear the story...and what about your apartment? If you were broken into, Uncle Marty, I really think - ”
My plea falls on deaf ears.
“Tomorrow, Sarah,” says Uncle Marty, heading for the bathroom. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Let’s just get a good sleep tonight and all will be better in the morning.”
“But everything’s good now!”
Troy throws me a sympathetic smile as he gets up off the couch and carries his plate to the kitchen.
Why do adults always do that? Tell you something and then don’t tell you the rest until later!? I hate that!