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“Let’s take a look,” said Christie, picking up a flashlight that was lying on the floor. Turning it on, she peeked in. “I can see what you’re saying, but honestly you can’t unring this bell.”
“Well, he doesn’t have to ‘unring’ it, but that doesn’t mean we can’t open it up just to check to see if it’s a body,” said Fiona. “Anybody got a crowbar?”
“Do you think we should?” asked Lori.
“Here’s the thing—if it isn’t a body, and I don’t think it is…” started Fiona.
“And you base that on what?” asked Jessica.
“Because whatever it is, it’s standing up on its own. It’s not leaning against anything, so unless someone killed somebody and waited until rigor mortis set in…”
Christie shook her head. “No, that wouldn’t work. Rigor mortis takes six to eight hours to fully set in and only lasts about twelve hours. What are you going to do with a body until it’s in full rigor? And then I don’t think you could get him bricked up and the mortar set in that twelve-hour window.”
“Chef Stuart? It’s your restaurant.”
“I’d hate to call the cops to come down here and find out it isn’t a murder.”
“And pretty much anything else is going to be yours,” said Christie.
The chef located and then handed Fiona a crowbar. Using the small end inserted into the hole, they took turns loosening the bricks and pulling them out of the way. The chef changed their order and had food and drink brought down to them. Restaurant staff on break came back to help and move the debris out of the way. There was a growing sense of excitement and camaraderie, as if they were all on a great adventure.
“I owe you all lunch,” said Chef Stuart.
“Don’t be daft,” said Christie.
“We’re having way too much fun,” said Lori.
Jessica shrugged. “I’m with them. The meeting at my house wasn’t nearly this exciting.”
They continued working until they had a large and stable enough opening to take more flashlights and step inside. Whatever was inside the canvas shroud was life-size but oddly misshapen.
“Chef? Would you like to do the honors?” asked Fiona.
The chef shook his head. “Good god, no. I’m still afraid it’s a body of some kind.”
“Well then, ladies?” asked Fiona.
“This is your hometown and your meeting,” said Jessica. “You do the honors.”
Standing on her tiptoes, Fiona reached up and untied the knot in the canvas bag that enclosed whatever it concealed within. She opened it up and the canvas fell away with a puff of dust and dirt, only to reveal a black covering tightly wrapped and bound with rope.
“What is that?” asked Lori.
“It’s canvas covered in tar. Before the invention of plastic tarps or black plastic sheeting, sailors used canvas covered in tar to protect things from the elements and the sea. Anybody got a knife so we can cut through that rope?”
Chef Stuart laughed. “I have a whole kitchen full of knives. Pete, go get one of the serrated knives.”
“Yes, Chef,” the sous chef said, running back to the kitchen and returning quickly with a knife, which he handed to Fiona.
Fiona began to saw through the rope, handing pieces back to Jessica and Lori, who were holding small flashlights. Christie found a larger floodlight and a kitchen stool to stand on so that the light was shining downwards as opposed to up. Finally, the last of the rope was removed, and Fiona began to unwrap the object.
There was a tingly feeling flowing through her system. Fiona was laughing and shaking as she peeled away the black-tarred canvas. Grinning from ear-to-ear, she pulled on the black tarp, revealing the tops of bronze-covered wings.
“Holy shit,” Fiona whispered.
“What?” asked Jessica.
Fiona pulled the covering down to reveal an aged bronze wing. There was a moment of absolute stunned silence. It was as if someone had cast a spell, and no one but Fiona could move or speak. Carefully, hand-over-hand, she drew down the black, tarry canvas. As she backed away step-by-step, the water-proofed canvas slid down the life-size bronze figure of an angel who seemed to be staring off into the distance, and who had once looked out to sea. They’d found Nagisa.
