The Gun Also Rises

by Sherry Harris

  “Anyone not recommended by Ruth.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s just something off about that woman.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I hung up and stared at my phone. Ruth had seemed cold to me, but then, so did a lot of New Englanders. But maybe it was something more.

  I tried calling Roger to see how he was doing. He didn’t pick up. It all made me feel more isolated and alone. I couldn’t just sit here feeling sorry for myself, so I stood and headed to the kitchen. I’d stopped and bought stuff to make fluffernutters on the way home, along with a bag of chips and cookies. At least making a sandwich and eating would give me something to do while I figured out my next move.

  I was halfway down the hall when there was a knock on the front door. I reversed directions, went into the living room, and peeked out the window. For the second time in a matter of hours, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Luke, my younger brother, stood there with a brown leather backpack slung over his shoulder. I raced to the front door and threw it open. “What are you doing here?” I asked as I pulled him in and closed the door. “Seth’s not here.” Why would Luke be visiting Seth? Then I realized he didn’t look surprised to see me. “You knew I was here. How?”

  “I’ve been to the police station. I wanted to straighten things out with them after what happened last May.”

  I just stared at him. We’d been estranged for almost twenty years. He’d dropped in and out of my life so fast in May, I’d started to wonder if I’d dreamed the whole thing. But here he was. Gazing down at me. His brown hair was shorter, he had a neatly trimmed beard, and he didn’t look as defeated as he had.

  “How’d that go?” Even though I was mad that he’d left so abruptly in May, I didn’t want him to be in trouble. Yeesh, I was still trying to take care of him as I did when we were little.

  “That Pellner guy is one hard-assed cop. But when it came right down to it, I think it was more because I hurt you than because I broke any laws.”

  “Oh.” The thought of Pellner defending me was an unusual one.

  “He described in detail your reaction to the news I wasn’t around.” Luke put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I did that to you.”

  “You can’t just pop in and out of my life. It hurts too much.” And I’d had enough hurt, more than enough, the last few months to last a long time.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  I led him into the living room, still feeling awkward about being here. Luke sat on the couch. I sat in the chair I’d bought for Seth and had reupholstered. When I realized I was perched on the edge, I slid back. It was like my body was telling my mind not to get comfortable here.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “For you. You’re all over the news.”

  “Ugh. I saw some of the stories.”

  “You might want to check again,” Luke said.

  I grabbed my phone and searched my name for what seemed like the millionth time today. It had gotten worse since the last time I’d looked. There were stories in the local and regional newspapers. Holy crap! There was an article in The New York Times about the missing Hemingway stories. And the murder. And me. I was just one story away from being a guest on 60 Minutes or, worse, a guest of the Massachusetts prison system, the way some of these stories were spun.

  I held up my phone. “You can wave a magic wand and make this all go away?”

  Luke was a reporter. Maybe he knew people who knew people.

  “No. I wish I could, but I can’t do that.”

  My stomach rumbled. “I’m hungry. Want a fluffernutter?” I headed to the kitchen and took the ingredients out of a bag I’d left on Seth’s counter. I found a knife and a couple of plates. Ratios were important here. Too much peanut butter or too much Fluff threw off the whole thing. I spread pieces of white bread with peanut butter and with Fluff, and then cut the bread diagonally.

  When I turned, Luke was sitting at Seth’s dining room table looking perplexed. I held up a plate. “Do you want one?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  I brought the sandwiches, chips, and cookies to the table. We munched in silence, washing the sandwiches down with glasses of water. I hadn’t thought of getting anything else to drink and didn’t want to use anything that wasn’t mine.

  I looked at Luke. “You look worried,” I said when we finished.

  “I don’t like to see my big sister in the headlines.”

  “So what can I do about it?”

  Luke ducked his head, as he had when we were little and he hadn’t wanted to give up bad news. But this time he looked back up. “Not much. Have you talked to Mom and Dad? They’re bound to see this.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t even think about them. It’s been crazy here. I’ll send them a quick text.” I typed away for a few minutes, reassuring my mom I was okay and didn’t need to come home. I knew her first reaction would be to tell me to move back home to California. “Can you think of anything else?” I asked.

  Luke leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “I can get out your side of the story.”

  I liked that idea. “How?”

  “I’ll interview you. Write a piece and submit it to the Globe.”

  He meant the Boston Globe. I knew he’d written for them in the past. “Interview me? You want me to spill my guts? Have my life splashed all over the place?”

  “It already is splashed all over the place. But not from your viewpoint.”

  I narrowed my eyes as a mean thought crossed my mind. “This would help you out. Your career. Is that why you’re really here?”

  Luke leaned away from me. He looked hurt. “I can see why you’d say that. I was here, got your help, and left without telling you, when I promised I wouldn’t do that.” He leaned back in and took my hand. “But that’s not why I’m here now.”

  Luke had always gotten to me with his eyes when we were growing up. He was just ten months younger than me, and we’d always been close. Maybe too close; maybe that’s part of the reason why the rift between us had become a deep gorge.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, pulling my hand away. “Where are you staying?”

  Luke shrugged.

  “Stay here.” Not only was I invading Seth’s space, but now I was inviting guests without his permission. But maybe being here wouldn’t be so awkward with Luke around.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” It would give us a chance to talk. We’d been under a lot of stress when we were together in May. Maybe we could start to have some kind of normal relationship again.

  “Why don’t you tell me your thoughts on what’s been going on?”

  I looked at him, trying to figure out his true motive.

  “Completely off the record. I know you’re good at making connections, so maybe talking it out will help you.”

  I nodded. “Okay. So you know the basic story.”

  “Yes. You found some valuable manuscripts, a woman stole them, ended up dead, and now the manuscripts are missing. What’s your theory?”

  “I think Kay was in the house looking for a missing limited-edition copy of The Sun Also Rises. If she was looking for the short stories, she would have found them.”

  “What? That hasn’t made the news. Tell me about it.”

  I filled him in.

  “How did she find out about it in the first place and get herself hired?”

  “I’ve been wondering that too. Either Miss Belle’s former housekeeper was in on it or someone paid her to leave, setting up the opportunity to get Kay in place.”

  “That seems pretty risky. Miss Belle could have hired someone else.”

  “I’ve thought about that too. But it worked.”

  “It did.”

  “I think stealing the manuscripts had to be a crime of opportunity. When I found the manuscripts and took them down to Miss Belle, Kay must have overheard us talking about them.” I explained how I’
d gone back upstairs to work and after a couple of hours had heard Miss Belle cry out, and then the rest of what had happened that morning and Roger’s story of his day.

  “Wow,” Luke said. “So how many people do you think were involved?”

  “At the very least Kay, the person who killed her, and the person who found the overnight case.”

  “Who may or may not be the person who killed her,” Luke said.

  “Right. And the person who was after Roger.”

  “Do you think they’re all working together?”

  “I’m not sure.” I took another drink of water. “I keep asking myself why Kay hid the suitcase in the woods.”

  “Have you answered yourself ?” Luke grinned.

  “What if between the time she heard Belle and I talking about the manuscripts and contacted whoever wanted the book she realized how valuable the manuscripts were? She called Roger that morning and asked him to meet her. Maybe to see if he’d help, but she never showed up.”

  “So she scrapped the Roger plan and decided to get more money out of whoever she was meeting,” Luke said.

  “Exactly. And they didn’t like it.”

  “How did she die?”

  “A limb was shot off a tree and it killed her.”

  “That’s a lucky shot,” Luke said.

  “Or a really bad one, if the person was just trying to scare her in to telling where the overnight case was.” I swirled the water in my glass. “I keep thinking she called someone she trusted and told them where the overnight case was, just in case things didn’t work out with whoever she was supposed to meet in the woods.”

  “Whoever took it could be long gone.” Luke tapped his hands on the table for a moment.

  “I know. It’s all my fault that the missing Hemingway manuscripts are missing again.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s Kay’s fault.” Luke stood. “I’m going to go over to Ellington and mingle with the locals.”

  “You make them sound like some kind of strange tribe you need to study.”

  Luke laughed. “I want to find out what I can, so I can prepare a strategy for making sure people know you’re on the side of good.”

  I needed all the help I could get. “Have you ever heard of the League of Literary Treasure Hunters?” I asked.

  “Come on, you’re joking.”

  “I’m not.” I filled him in on the details. He checked out their website.

  “And these people are in town?”

  “Swarms of them.”

  “Hmmm. They may be helpful too.” He stood and gave me a kiss. “I’ll see you later. Maybe I’ll find out something that can help find the manuscripts. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t have any idea.”

  * * *

  After Luke left and I could hear the sound of the refrigerator again, I realized I’d go nuts just sitting here in another quiet house waiting for something to happen. I decided I’d drive back into Boston, even though it was almost eight, to call on Roger. Maybe I should pick up some hair dye and scissors, the way women always did in movies. I could have Luke help me dye my hair brown and then we could chop it short. But I just laughed at myself for being melodramatic as I climbed in the car. Not going to happen.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, I parked down the block from Roger’s store. It was a little risky because it seemed the treasure hunters might come here with or without knowing about Roger’s involvement. They loved rare books, and he sold them. I pulled my hair back into a loose bun and tucked it back under my baseball cap again. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but the best I could do on short notice.

  I slipped into the store, which was pretty busy. One woman was ringing stuff up, and a man was showing someone in tweed a book he’d taken out of a locked case. Oh, no. Maybe I should leave. But he was distracted so I headed toward the rear of the store. I remembered that Roger had mentioned an office and security system. I walked down a quiet hall, past the bathrooms. A door marked Employees Only was locked, and no one answered my knock. I went back out and started looking for security cameras.

  The first one I spotted was in the Mystery section. I plucked a first-edition Agatha Christie off the shelf and opened it. But instead of looking down, I looked up at the camera. Trying to make sure Roger saw me, if indeed he was here. There was also one of those big, round mirrors in the corner, slanted down, that gave me a good view of the store. Someone was behind me. Someone who looked familiar. Bull.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Before I could stop him, he’d yanked me into the hall with the bathrooms. It was quieter back here. And darker.

  “We need to talk,” he said with almost a growl.

  “Let go of me.” I jerked my arm, but he didn’t release it.

  Over his shoulder, I saw the office door open. Roger stuck out his head and put a finger to his lips. He slipped out of the door.

  “So what do we need to talk about?” I asked as Roger crept toward us. “Why are you chasing me?”

  “I can explain.”

  I heard a sizzle, and Bull let go of my hand and dropped to the ground with a puzzled expression. Roger stood there with a TASER in his hand.

  He looked at it, then Bull. “It actually works.”

  Bull groaned.

  “Come with me,” Roger said.

  He turned, and I hustled after him into the office. Roger locked the door. We slipped out a back door.

  He leaned against the brick wall that formed the back of his store in the alley, which was old, narrow, and dark. There were a couple of fire escapes on buildings, a few trash cans, and a smell I couldn’t identify and probably didn’t want to.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. His face was pasty in the dim light.

  He bent over and put his hands on his knees. “I Tased someone.”

  “It’s okay. He’s okay. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where? No place is safe.” His voice had an edge of hysteria.

  “My car is parked down the block.” I started hurrying down the cobblestone alley, hoping I didn’t twist an ankle. I didn’t hear Roger following. I turned, and he stood in the middle of it. “Come on.”

  Roger finally started moving, and we trotted down the alley.

  At the corner, we peeked left and right but didn’t see anyone. We scuttled to the next corner and checked again. I found my car and pushed Roger ahead of me toward it.

  Bull came charging out of the front of the store and spotted us just as I slid into the driver’s seat. I cranked the engine, and the V8 roared to life. I hit the button that would start the Record mode for the dashcam as Bull ran to the curb. He’d seen us. I wondered if the hidden dashcam got a picture of him. Bull now knew the make and model of the car. Maybe he’d even gotten the license plate number. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to call Mike.

  * * *

  I pulled up in front of a warehouse on the edge of the Charles River at eight forty-five. It was dank and seedy-looking. The building had no signage.

  “Are you sure we should be here?” Roger asked. “The man you called didn’t sound very happy when you broke the news to him about the car.”

  “I don’t think we have any other choice.”

  “You could have just dropped me off, like I asked you to.” Roger sounded like a whiny kid.

  I wanted to smack my head on the steering wheel. We’d gone over and over this since we’d left the store. “We’re probably safer together. Where else are you going to go? Crazy people are everywhere trying to find us.”

  “Yes, but I heard you call Mike Titone. Do you know what people call him? The Big Cheese. Do you know why? He’s a mobster. You get on his bad side and you find a piece of cheese on your doorstep. Then you disappear. Forever.”

  “That’s a rumor. Really, who would leave a piece of cheese on a doorstep when it could be traced back to them?” I gripped the steering wheel. “I think it’s just an urban legend.” I really, really hoped that was true. I pulled
out my phone to call Mike and let him know we were here. Just then, a big garage door rolled open. There must be cameras out here somewhere that spotted us. I pulled into the building and the garage door eased down behind us with only a whisper of electric wheels turning.

  I turned off the car and got out. There was a door just a few feet away in front of us. Other than that, the space was empty. Concrete floor, walls of dry wall, and a light bulb swinging above us on a string. I walked toward the door and realized I hadn’t heard Roger get out of the car. I went back and opened his door. “Come on, let’s go.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to die.”

  I had to admit the space was creepy, but sitting in the car accomplished nothing. “Okay, just sit here, then. I’m going through that door.” I pointed. “Maybe these walls close in and crush cars. Maybe noxious gas is going to flood the space. You can wait here and find out.”

  I spun around.

  “Wait, okay, I’m coming,” Roger said. “I’d rather not die alone.”

  “No one’s dying.”

  “I’ll bet Kay thought that too. She’s dead.”

  “Well, Kay was stupid. She stole something that wasn’t hers. I just borrowed a car.”

  “From a mobster.”

  “Keep your voice down. Please.” There could be microphones in here. I put my hand on the doorknob but hesitated. What if Roger was right? I shook my head. Mike wasn’t going to literally kill us, but that didn’t mean he’d be happy. I glanced back. The big garage door looked solid, and I didn’t see any way to open it. No place to go but forward.

  The door flew open before I turned the knob. Mike’s brother, Francesco, stood there. Behind him, a dimly lit hall stretched toward another door. These walls were cement and not at all inviting.

  “Hey, Sarah. Ran into a bit of a problem?” Francesco looked behind me and spotted Roger. “And you’ve brought a mystery man.”

  “This is Roger. He’s in rare books.”

  Roger gave a quick nod, his face pastier than usual. I saw him stick his hand in his pocket. Oh, no! Did he still have his TASER? I hoped he had enough sense not to use it here.

  “How’s Mike?” I asked.