Page 3 of Boxed In

Ordering herself to settle down, she got up and locked the door before returning to the job.

So where should she start? Unwrap everything—or do the inventory piece by piece?

It wasn’t going to be a simple task. In addition to listing each item, she also had to write a description, and that might require some research on the Web or in some of the reference books that lined the shelves above the computer table.

She unwrapped a couple more pieces from the shipment, setting them on the table. Then, almost against her own will, her hand was drawn back to the box. When she touched it, she felt the same tingling sensation she’d experienced before, as though it had an electric current running through it.

No, it was more than that. Somehow she felt the tingling inside her head. Like it was getting into her mind.

Stop it, she ordered. You’re letting your imagination run away with you.

Still, she knew the chest had to be something extraordinary.

And it had come in a cut-rate shipment from France?

Please.

She stroked her finger over the carved surface that had become nicked and scarred over the years, then gently traced the curve of a three-quarter moon before picking up the rectangle and holding it near her ear. Maybe she detected a faint buzzing, although that might be her imagination. When she shook the box, she heard a faint rattling sound, like someone had locked a little piece of plastic inside.

What was in there anyway? And how did you open it? As far as she could see, it had no obvious lid. It must be like one of those Oriental puzzle boxes where you had to press a sequence of places on the surface to make panels slide to one side or the other. If you did it in the right order, the lid opened.

She fiddled with the chest for a few minutes, but she couldn’t locate any hidden panels.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe whoever had made the thing had intended it to just be a paperweight.

Although she didn’t believe that, perhaps she could get some help from an expert. She started to reach for the phone, then drew her hand back. Carl was a real cheapskate who had a limited calling plan and monitored the phone records. Knowing he’d complain if she made a personal call on his dime, she dug her cell phone out of her purse, then dialed Beth Lawrence.

Beth and her husband Len owned a small shop on Main Street in Ellicott City that carried a charming selection of antiques and gift items.

When Olivia had done an internship with them during her senior year at the University of Maryland, they’d become good friends.

Beth answered on the second ring.

“I’m glad I reached you.”

“Olivia! You sound . . . upset. What’s wrong?”

“Well, I’m stuck at the office with a big shipment of antiques from France. I’ve got to write up an inventory, and I was hoping you could tell me something about one of the pieces.”

“What have you got?

“A carved box. It’s very old. And it looks like it came from India or maybe China.”

She used her phone to send Beth a picture.

“And there’s no obvious way to open it?” Beth asked.

“No.”

Her friend was silent for a moment. “I . . . “

”What?”

“From what I can see, it might be associated with an ancient religious cult.”

“What cult?”

“The Moon Priests. They flourished on the Indian subcontinent almost two thousand years ago. Also in mainland Greece. At one time, they were a powerful force in the world.”

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