Jamie Brodie 02 - Hoarded to Death

works there. I don’t know if it would be worse if he was prepared, or not.”
    “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. Elliott told me last week that Matt quit his job not long after the party. Apparently Brashier was asking Matt to do things that Matt wasn’t willing to.”
    “ Things . Like, dishonest things, or sexual harassment?”
    “Harassment. Elliott had been after Matt to quit, and I guess that was the final push.”
    “That’s too bad. Matt didn’t really want to quit his job. He said it was impossible for an art history major to get a job in a field that was even related to art these days.”
    “Yeah, I can understand that. But I do think Elliott is serious about him. He’s not just going to kick him to the side of the road. Actually, he said that he was trying to talk Matt into going to graduate school.”
    “Is Elliott going to pay for it?”
    “He said he was.”
    “Good. That’ll be good. One of the things Matt was worried about was what he’d do all day when Elliott was at work. Now he’ll have a dissertation to write.”
    “Do you want to be a kept man?”
    I laughed. “No, thanks. I’ve already written a dissertation. Besides, right now I make a little more money than you. You’d have to be the kept one.”
    “But I’ve already written a dissertation too.”
    “Well, then. We’re both just going to have to keep working.”

    Val didn't come up and Susannah couldn’t make it, but the following Saturday, Pete and I reconvened with Jennifer, Mike the organizer, Dr. Hayman the psychologist, and Stan the Junk Man and his remaining crew. All the remaining boxes and bags had to be opened and examined. We convinced Jennifer to concentrate on the boxes, since that’s where anything of value would be found.
    About half of the boxes were books. Jennifer and I sorted through them. When we found something that I thought might possibly have any value, we put it aside. Everything else went in a stack for donation to the public library. There were still quite a few boxes with other items – clothes, shoes, craft supplies, school supplies, all kinds of stuff. Most of it was suitable for donation, and that's what Jennifer wanted to do with it. The local women's shelter was about to get lucky.
    We were about halfway through when I opened another box and pulled out a large book. It was a book of religious-themed art from around the world. I opened the cover to see if there was a signature or any edition information, and a sheet of paper slid out onto my lap.
    A sheet of very old paper.
    "Holy shit ." I stared at what was in front of me. "Pete!"
    "What is that?" Jennifer reached out for the page.
    I blocke d her hand. "No, don't touch it."
    Pete came in at that same time. "What have you got?"
    "I'm not sure." I turned to Jennifer. "Do you have a pair of cotton gloves? Or if not, a bandanna or a handkerchief?"
    "Yeah, I'll find something." She scrambled to her feet and out of the room.
    Pete bent down over me to examine the page. "Do you think that's a complete page like the one that got torn?"
    "It sure looks like it." The page was big, at least 10 by 12 inches, and divided into two sides. Both sides were covered in elaborate , chunky Latin script. There were several colorful decorations down the left side of each block of script, and several smaller decorations scattered throughout the written lines. There were a few small holes in the page here and there.
    It looked very, very old. The surface was uneven. And it didn't rustle exactly like paper.
    I was almost afraid to move.
    Jennifer came back with a pair of scarves. "This is all I could find. They're silk so they should be okay." She stood back. "Does that look like what the dead guy had in his hand?"
    "It does." I draped the scarves over my hands, slid my hands under the page, and stood up. Not an easy task without using my hands. Then the three of us stood there, just looking at the page.
    I said, "We shouldn't breathe on it too closely." Pete and Jennifer backed up a little.
    I looked at Pete. " I have to call Eckhoff about this, right?"
    "Yeah..." Pete knew what I was thinking and smiled a little. "Eventually."
    "Okay." I nudged the book that the page had slid out of with my toe. "Pick that up for me, please? This was safe in there; I'm going to put it back in there for now to transport it." I maneuvered the page back into the book it had come from without touching the page, and closed the book. I handed the scarves back to