Jamie Brodie 02 - Hoarded to Death

you think about the origin of this page?”
    Clinton nodded. “I believe that it is possible. That this may truly be what it appears to be.”
    Conrad looked at me. “Perhaps it is time to contact Trinity College.”
    Clinton looked back and forth between Conrad and me. “I believe that is warranted.”
    I got to work an hour early the next morning and went straight to the basement. Conrad placed the call to Trinity College and spoke to a member of the staff of the Book of Kells’s curator. The woman transferred us directly to the curator’s office. Conrad introduced us, then told the curator what we thought we had.
    The curator was silent for a moment. Stunned speechless, I was guessing. Then he said, “My goodness.”
    Quite possibly the understatement of the century.
    “Indeed.” Conrad was all business this morning. “What would you recommend that we do next?”
    The curator agreed that someone from his staff should come and examine the page. He suggested that he send his assistant. If she thought it was worth further investigation, she would make arrangements to transport it back to Dublin. “There is no claim from your university on the document?”
    “No. We’re just serving as the storage facility. The document was found in the belongings of a young lady, a relative of Dr. Brodie’s as a matter of fact, in a closed box of books that she had inherited from an elderly friend. We have no idea of the provenance.”
    “Very well.” The two men made arrangements to set up the assistant curator’s visit, right after the New Year. So the manuscript page would be resting at UCLA for the holidays.
    I called Eckhoff and let him know. He said he’d told Belardo about the second page. Since there weren’t any clues from the page we’d found to the identity of the murder suspect, Belardo wasn’t interested.
    Fine by me.

    Saturday morning, Pete went off with Kevin and Abby early for a hike. At 9:30 on the dot, Eckhoff showed up at the door. He was dressed similarly to me, khakis and a polo shirt, except he was wearing a sportcoat too. Necessary to hide the shoulder holster, I guessed.
    I invited him in while I got a bottle of Coke from the fridge. He looked around, appreciatively. “This is nice.”
    “Thanks. Pete inherited it.” I grabbed the keys and followed Eckhoff out to his car, a Civic that was his personal vehicle. “What name do you want to use as your alias?”
    He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. Something common, that would be easy for you to remember. We can use my real first name.”
    I thought for a minute. “Williams.” My college boyfriend’s last name. Why was that the first name that occurred to me?
    “Okay, sounds good.” We got in the car, and he handed me a list. "These are all of the dealers in town that might handle a manuscript like this. Any thoughts on where to start?"
    I pointed to Kendall's name. "I know this guy; he's the one that I already visited. We can go back there first and see if he's heard anything. After that, it doesn't matter. Do you want to save Brashier for last?"
    "Yeah." Eckhoff looked at the addresses. "Brashier’s in Brentwood. After we see your friend, we can head out to Porter Ranch and then work our way back this direction."
    So we did. It was a long day. We stopped in to see Kendall first; he still hadn't heard anything about a manuscript but was keeping his ear to the ground. At the other shops, we generated quite a bit of interest, but no information. No one had heard of any pre-tenth century manuscripts coming available, but they'd be sure to let us know if they did. Eckhoff had given me a cheap cell phone with a new number and business cards with the number that we were leaving with each of the dealers. If they did hear anything, they'd call me (in my role as the university’s representative) and let me know.
    And so it went, until finally it was time to see Quentin Brashier.
    Brashier was a small man. His gray hair was just a little longer than you'd expect for a man in his fifties wearing a suit, but it was perfectly styled, curling just over his collar. He was wearing a pinstriped navy suit, a white shirt that I thought was probably silk, and a red and blue striped tie. He wore a tie pin and cuff links. The first word that jumped into my head was dandy . An old fashioned word, but one that worked in this situation.
    He had a bearing that said, I am a superior being, but I shall condescend to greet you, as you may amuse me. Pretty