The Lost Choice by Andy Andrews Read Free Book Online Page A

personalities.” He wasn’t exactly sure what his sister had meant by “rabid” personality, but felt that he might have one too.
    â€œHello?” Dorry stuck her head in and smiled.“Dylan?” She wore jeans and a pink Polo shirt that made her red hair look as if it were on fire.
    â€œDorry. Hi,” he said as he rose from his chair and moved around the desk, sneaking a look at his watch.“You’re on time.”
    â€œYou said 2:00. It’s 2:00. I am on time! Believe me, if it had been 2:01, I’d have called.”
    Dylan laughed.“Last of a breed.”
    â€œNo,” Dorry smirked,“evidently, there’s still you.”
    Dylan laughed again. He liked her.“Yep, there’s still me. Hey, I enjoyed meeting you and your husband the other night. Mark, right?”
    â€œYeah, good memory. You know, Mark has the ‘on time thing’ too. He’s a detective with DPD so that goes with the territory.” Dylan nodded. “I really appreciate you taking the time to see me, Dylan. It’s more of a curiosity deal than anything, I suppose, but you’re the only person I know who works in a museum, so . . .”
    Dylan was used to that particular line of thought. You work in a museum! You must know everything. It was funny to him. People treated the janitor the same way. After all, he worked in a museum too. Excuse me, sir, I know you’re waxing the floors right now, but during what paleontological period did DNA manifest itself to bring about a broadening of the species? It was incredible. Dylan wondered if they treated other professions the same way.
    â€œWell,” he said, “let’s see what you have.”
    As Dorry dug through her purse, Dylan retrieved the chair from behind the door and unfolded it.“Have a seat. Sorry, it’s kind of cramped in here.”
    â€œBigger than my office,” Dorry remarked as she produced the object from her purse.
    Dylan took the object, glanced up at Dorry briefly, and moved around behind his desk. Seemingly transfixed by what he was seeing, he slowly lowered himself into his chair and turned on a small lamp attached to some sort of magnification device. Frowning, he said,“You got this where?” “My son found it. Basically in our backyard.”
    Dylan looked up, a bemused expression on his face.“Oh, come on. Seriously?”
    â€œYeah. Why?”
    â€œI don’t know,” he said casually. “I suppose it’s not just every day one comes across a Mesopotamian relic beside someone’s patio in Denver.”
    â€œWhat?!”
    Dylan chuckled. “I don’t mean to be melodramatic. Frankly, the piece is not totally unusual . . . I don’t think. I just happen to recognize it because there are fifty jillion pieces just like it in museums all over the world . . . The question mark is with your kid finding it where he did.” Dylan paused.“And there’s this script, too, of course . . .”
    â€œSo that is some kind of writing?”
    â€œUh-huh.” Dylan ran his fingernail into the grooves. “I don’t recognize it, but I’ll pass this on and find out what’s what. We should know more in a week or two.”
    â€œTwo?” Dorry’s eyes were wide-open. “I just thought we might be able . . . I mean that you could . . . two weeks?”
    Dylan smiled, stood up, and came around to Dorry’s side of the desk. “Look”—he shrugged—“this kind of thing is not in my area of expertise. I’ve got some buddies though. We’ll figure it out.”
    Dorry stood and nodded. “Okay, thanks. That makes sense. I’m just sort of a ‘right now’ person, you know. And I thought, hey, he works in a museum . . .”
    Dylan smiled.
    After Dorry left, Dylan shut the door and went back to his desk. Sitting down, he began slowly swinging the chair back and forth with his foot.