Read Online The Runestone Incident (The Incident Series, #2) by Neve Maslakovic - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Neve Maslakovic
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would have relied on the waterways.
The runestone matter had grown more urgent. Quinn hadn’t been bluffing about having evidence. Abigail had noticed that a photo was missing from Sabina’s room. It was one we had taken of the girl sweeping the street in front of her father’s shop on the morning of our last day there. Celer was also in it, lounging in a shaft of summer sunshine. As I had pointed out to Abigail, we had no way of explaining their presence in a photo of a bustling Pompeian street, complete with a single-domed, pre-eruption Vesuvius in the background.
“Sure there is. Creative editing,” Abigail had suggested. “Photoshop.”
“Yes, but I doubt that the fake background we’ve given her as an Italian immigrant would stand up to more than a casual inquiry if Quinn posts the photo online. Not to mention that Sabina doesn’t speak Italian like we claimed but a very early version of it.” I added with perhaps more optimism than the situation warranted, “I’m hoping that Quinn will return the photo with the signed divorce papers.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Abigail had said.
She and I had agreed that it was best not to say anything to Sabina, not until it was absolutely necessary. Luckily she hadn’t noticed the missing photo yet.
As for Nate—I knew that if I told him what was going on, he’d turn the car around to find Quinn and arrest him for blackmail and theft, letting the chips fall as they may. Instead, I went with a half-truth. I wasn’t proud of it, but I had to put Sabina’s welfare first. All I wanted was for this to go away quietly.
So when Nate asked me why I was interested in the runestone , I told him I was just brushing up on local history, in case any related STEWie requests popped up. If he assumed that it was just a pretext for spending the day with him, well, so be it.
Nate nodded at my answer and, speeding up to pass a U-Haul truck, asked, “What are runes, anyway? Foreign languages are not exactly my strong point.”
He had mentioned that before. As a child of grandparents who had come from four different backgrounds, he’d had plenty of opportunity to pick up languages other than English, but apparently none of them had stuck.
I had garnered a bit of information from reading the books on the runestone. “It’s the early alphabet of the Germanic languages—what Old English was first written down in. The Scandinavian version is the futhark , named for the first six letters , F, U, TH, A, R, and K. Runes were developed for writing on wood, so they have few curves. They look a little like stick figures ,” I said, thinking of the poster Dr. Holm had shown me in the Coffey Library. I rattled off a few more facts and added, “By the way, thanks for coming out with me.”
“Happy to do it. So is this thing real, this stone?”
“That’s what I need your opinion on.”
“I’m not a historian.”
“I’ve already got an opinion from a historian. Dr. Payne—his specialty is American history—said that the stone is a hoax, and a poorly executed one at that. Dr. Holm, whose specialty is runic linguistics, sounds like she thinks there might be something to it and would be happy to tackle the problem with a STEWie run or two, if only she could secure a green light from Dr. Payne and funding. I’m guessing you’ve come across hoaxers before?” I asked before remembering what had made him leave the BWCAW. A photographer he had been smitten with had been setting wildfires throughout the Boundary Waters wilderness. Why she had done it never became clear, but before Nate and everyone else had caught on, one of the fires got out of hand, killing a park ranger. The pyromaniac was now in prison. Wanda had been her dog. But I wasn’t sure that counted as a hoax exactly.
Apparently neither did he, because all he said was, “Only of the identity theft kind. It doesn’t apply in this case.”
“Yeah, I don’t think the runestone was carved for financial
The runestone matter had grown more urgent. Quinn hadn’t been bluffing about having evidence. Abigail had noticed that a photo was missing from Sabina’s room. It was one we had taken of the girl sweeping the street in front of her father’s shop on the morning of our last day there. Celer was also in it, lounging in a shaft of summer sunshine. As I had pointed out to Abigail, we had no way of explaining their presence in a photo of a bustling Pompeian street, complete with a single-domed, pre-eruption Vesuvius in the background.
“Sure there is. Creative editing,” Abigail had suggested. “Photoshop.”
“Yes, but I doubt that the fake background we’ve given her as an Italian immigrant would stand up to more than a casual inquiry if Quinn posts the photo online. Not to mention that Sabina doesn’t speak Italian like we claimed but a very early version of it.” I added with perhaps more optimism than the situation warranted, “I’m hoping that Quinn will return the photo with the signed divorce papers.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Abigail had said.
She and I had agreed that it was best not to say anything to Sabina, not until it was absolutely necessary. Luckily she hadn’t noticed the missing photo yet.
As for Nate—I knew that if I told him what was going on, he’d turn the car around to find Quinn and arrest him for blackmail and theft, letting the chips fall as they may. Instead, I went with a half-truth. I wasn’t proud of it, but I had to put Sabina’s welfare first. All I wanted was for this to go away quietly.
So when Nate asked me why I was interested in the runestone , I told him I was just brushing up on local history, in case any related STEWie requests popped up. If he assumed that it was just a pretext for spending the day with him, well, so be it.
Nate nodded at my answer and, speeding up to pass a U-Haul truck, asked, “What are runes, anyway? Foreign languages are not exactly my strong point.”
He had mentioned that before. As a child of grandparents who had come from four different backgrounds, he’d had plenty of opportunity to pick up languages other than English, but apparently none of them had stuck.
I had garnered a bit of information from reading the books on the runestone. “It’s the early alphabet of the Germanic languages—what Old English was first written down in. The Scandinavian version is the futhark , named for the first six letters , F, U, TH, A, R, and K. Runes were developed for writing on wood, so they have few curves. They look a little like stick figures ,” I said, thinking of the poster Dr. Holm had shown me in the Coffey Library. I rattled off a few more facts and added, “By the way, thanks for coming out with me.”
“Happy to do it. So is this thing real, this stone?”
“That’s what I need your opinion on.”
“I’m not a historian.”
“I’ve already got an opinion from a historian. Dr. Payne—his specialty is American history—said that the stone is a hoax, and a poorly executed one at that. Dr. Holm, whose specialty is runic linguistics, sounds like she thinks there might be something to it and would be happy to tackle the problem with a STEWie run or two, if only she could secure a green light from Dr. Payne and funding. I’m guessing you’ve come across hoaxers before?” I asked before remembering what had made him leave the BWCAW. A photographer he had been smitten with had been setting wildfires throughout the Boundary Waters wilderness. Why she had done it never became clear, but before Nate and everyone else had caught on, one of the fires got out of hand, killing a park ranger. The pyromaniac was now in prison. Wanda had been her dog. But I wasn’t sure that counted as a hoax exactly.
Apparently neither did he, because all he said was, “Only of the identity theft kind. It doesn’t apply in this case.”
“Yeah, I don’t think the runestone was carved for financial
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