The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies

by Connie Spittler

  “That’s a twist. Tell me how the theft was discovered,” the detective said.

  “We met this morning in front of the display to pack it up, so it could go on to the next city. This was only a brief stop,” Director Trummel said.

  “When I saw the exhibit, I noticed something wrong,” the rep said. “There was an empty holder in the back row.”

  “I unlocked the case right away, and took out the bronze stand.” Ms. Trummel stepped forward. “The tour representative was here the night I arranged the books and he was present when we set the alarm. He was here when we unset it this morning.”

  “That is true,” the rep said.

  “I don’t understand how the deuce this could happen.” President Humphrey looked squarely at the library director.

  “I don’t know either. I followed established procedure, but somehow the Book of Cures is gone.”

  “When I notified our headquarters and the insurance company, I found out the book wasn’t even part of our tour.” The rep started to move away. “I hope I can be on my way now.”

  “Wait a minute, sir,” the detective said. “A few more questions. What book is missing?”

  “It’s called the Book of Cures. There was a packing list,” Ms. Trummel said, “but in this case, there was also a small separate sheet concerning the book and its title. The representative was present to direct the process.”

  Durand frowned. “I was worried about the condition of our books after traveling, and didn’t direct my attention to checking off the number of volumes. But the society is certain it is not one of our books and we have no interest in retrieving it. Here is my card. I really must be off.”

  The detective exchanged the card for one of his own. “You may go, but leave the tour itinerary. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Nice to have met you. Good luck,” said Durand.

  Jamison consulted the forensic team and gave instructions for fingerprinting. He ordered a search of the premises and parking lot.

  “Okay, now I’d like everyone in the building to proceed to the conference room.”

  When they were assembled, Jamison introduced himself to the employees gathered around the big oak table. He produced a recorder. “So you know, I will be taping the information I receive today. The most puzzling thing is that the Global Antiquarian Society and its representative do not know anything about the stolen book. Any ideas?”

  President Humphrey pointed to the library director. “Ms. Trummel will speak for the library, since she set up the display. What thoughts do you have, Ms. Trummel?”

  “I haven’t the faintest notion about any of it,” she said.

  The detective stared at her. “Could the book have been taken the day before, or did it disappear in the night?”

  “Anything’s possible.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her nose. “Once the display was in place, everyone resumed a regular schedule.”

  “Was there special interest in this particular tour? Or this particular book?”

  “It was a successful short stay. If it had been scheduled for a longer time, it might have rivaled the famous comic book tour from last summer. I’m unaware of anyone who called about the missing volume.”

  “What can you tell me about the book? Was there anything at all unusual about it?”

  Ms. Trummel dabbed at her lashes. “Only that the form required the book be shown closed. It was a sealed book with a red cover. Naturally, we wouldn’t break the seal.”

  “Where was it positioned in the case?”

  She closed her eyes. “In the back row.”

  President Humphrey tapped his cane on the floor. “The library director and I walked by yesterday and noted the crowd numbers. I’m sure the book was there at that time.”

  “Anyone else wish to comment?” Jamison said. “Or remember anything else?” He waited for a response, but no one spoke. “Then may I ask if you’ve noticed any suspicious characters around lately?”

  “No more than usual,” Ms. Trummel mumbled.

  “We called the police and our lawyer immediately.” President Humphrey produced a paper from his suit pocket. “In consultation with our lawyer, we prepared a statement for the media.”

  The detective directed his gaze at the board president. “From your first phone call, we started preliminary work. We’re fingerprinting the case, and we’ll check the prints against all employees. In the past, libraries didn’t always report such thefts, because of bad publicity, but now, there’s a global network set up to earmark the sale of rare books. That’s usually how the cases are solved. From what I can tell, the time of theft cannot be determined. Not even the date, because no one remembers exactly when the book left its position. Is that correct?” He waited.

  Director Trummel sniffled into her handkerchief.

  “Unfortunately, that seems to be the case,” Humphrey said. “The press release we sent out to the media offers a reward for information. Also it mentions our Special Collections Room.”

  Ms. Trummel stepped forward. “It does so because we have an encyclopedia in that room that refers to the Book of Cures. It’s in an article about the Jardin Estate in Alsace. One of the library personnel was talking about it in the lunch room.”

  Detective Jamison looked at the library director. “After this meeting, I would like to be escorted to that room.” He nodded to the group. “We will track down the missing book and find out who owns it. This could be global, or a local matter. At any rate, I will post information about the stolen book on the international databases as well as notify surrounding law enforcement. Any suspected criminals will be kept under surveillance and the thief will ultimately be apprehended. Now, let me see that encyclopedia.”

  He followed Director Trummel through the hallway to the Special Collections Room and did a quick tour of the stacks. “Anybody ever try to steal one of these?”

  “No. Someone is always present when a patron studies any of the volumes here.”

  “Which book would bring the highest price?”

  Gloves in place, Ms. Trummel pulled out Unexplained Ancient Mysteries, Volume II. “I have no idea. Here’s the encyclopedia.”

  “Tell me who was talking about it.”

  “I can’t remember. I wasn’t paying too much attention to the conversation. Let me see.” She scanned the index, then flipped through the book. “This is not good. That page you wanted to read has almost been cut out of the book, but it is still in place. Be very careful.”

  “Can you make me a copy of the article to take with me? How could someone damage your book?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, who checked it out last?”

  “No one is allowed to remove any of these books from the premises and we keep a record of those who view it.”

  “And that log is where?”

  She pulled open the desk drawer. “Right here, but don’t get too excited. The page from the encyclopedia could have been damaged some time ago. We have no way of knowing.”

  He checked the names of people who’d viewed the encyclopedia in recent weeks. The signatures were tangled scribbles and it appeared someone had brushed a dirty hand over the lot.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “Is that Lillian Newcastle? C. or G. Vorhees? Maybe Z. Vinlies. And this looks like Marxie Muntor? Maybe Sam Martar. Then B. Ralshow or Ruheu or R. Rustrauv.” He pulled an evidence bag from his briefcase. “I will need to take the log book, so I can work through the hen scratching. The location scrawls looked like Nawler or Nawlie. I suppose that’s Nolan. The log will be returned.”

  “Take it. We’ll start a new log book. Return it when you’re through.”

  “Who uses this room?”

  “Ordinary people. No different from anyone else coming to the library. Teachers and college students use the facility for research. But no one seems to stay long.”

  “I’ll wait up front for the copy of the article.” He handed her a card. “If you think of anythi
ng else, I’ll be at work at my desk.”

  At the station, Jamison assigned his sergeant the job of checking out the Global Antiquarian Society and their representative, so he could concentrate on the Jardin family and the Book of Cures. He pored over the encyclopedia article on the Alsatian estate before he scanned the pages of the log book. There wasn’t much activity in the Special Collections Room before the illegible scrawls began. He set the technological wheels revolving on the scribbled names, and the Internet whizzed off to retrieve information. Gradually, from a process of cross-checking and elimination, the illegible names in the guest book emerged. Llewellyn Blanding from Neubland Pharmaceutical, outside Groverly. The others were residents of Nolan. Griffo Verkie from the Verkie Goat Farm. The proprietors of the Used Stuff Store, Maxine and Sax Morton. Finally, Boris Ratchov, manager of the Emporium. Five possible suspects for a start.

  He found a judge on the library board who issued a short term warrant for probable cause on the guest book signees. The detective pushed through the necessary requisitions for initial surveillance on those officially under suspicion, including taps on business and cell phones.

  His Internet research revealed the recent death of Duke Quincy and the name, Duke Remy, the son now in charge. The detective checked overseas time, found the number for the Jardin Estates and dialed. “This is Detective Hugh Jamison, from the Groverly California Police, calling from the United States. I wish to speak to Duke Remy of Jardin.”

  “This is he.”

  “It seems your father died recently and suddenly.”

  “Yes, he was a very old man. Our family physician made the judgment that it was a natural death. Why do you wish to know?”

  “I’m in charge of a case involving a stolen book. An old volume entitled the Book of Cures was taken from a library tour in the States. We believe that book belongs to your family.”

  “We have such a book, but we’ve kept it locked up for hundreds of years.”

  “It appears your book was part of a rare book tour sponsored by the Global Antiquarian Society in Strasbourg.”

  “I don’t see how ….”

  “This was a very old sealed book, entitled the Book of Cures that was displayed in a California library and disappeared. Are you sure your book is not missing?”

  “It couldn’t be.” Duke Remy dropped the phone, ran to the storage cave and dialed the combination. The vault door creaked open. The shelf where the book belonged was empty. Empty. Saved for centuries, the Jardin garden manuscript had somehow crossed the ocean to America to a California library and was now missing. “Great God in heaven,” he whispered.

  The wind chattered against squares of window glass in the man’s room. He curled into a breathy ball of heat on the firm mattress. He could almost hear the buzzing created by rumors of the stolen manuscript. The sound must stretch to the far corners of the earth by now. He’d decided to stay close. It seemed more sensible than running. His sensitive nostrils quivered. Was his connection to the book traceable? How could he know for sure?

  If, for any reason, the authorities found proof of his travels that he might have overlooked…. If some scrap of evidence or fingerprint appeared…. If the police showed up at his door unannounced… if… if… if….

  Turning from side to side, sweating on the sheets, he considered better places to hide the book. In case of a search, he needed a hiding spot away from his presence. A safe haven. Somewhere no one cared about or ever looked. Suddenly, he knew where it was. An unlikely place so out-of-the way that authorities would never search there for a valuable masterpiece.

  A push of reckless wind curled around the goat pen, grazed the farmhouse and deposited dust on every surface. In her bed, Aggie heard the garbage lid clatter, the tin cover unhinged from its place by the backdoor. When her eyelids refused to stay shut, she got up and fixed some tranquility juice, an age-old gypsy remedy for relaxation: one lettuce head boiled in salt water.

  She gulped down a big glass of warm lettuce juice.

  Jamison researched cases of book theft. In addition to stealing and selling for profit, there were those who pilfered for the beauty of the volume. Those who cut out important pages. Those who stole to increase the price of their own collections. He shook his head when he read that as far back as 600 BC people stole written works and thefts were combated with warnings, like:

  Whosoever shall carry off this tablet or shall inscribe his name on it side by side with mine own may Ashur and Belit overthrow him in wrath and anger and may they destroy his name and posterity.

  CHAPTER 14

  Detective Jamison’s next phase of the investigation started with Neubland Pharmaceuticals on the outskirts of Groverly. He took one of the company tours and followed the pretty, young guide who led the group through the antiseptic facility, the office spaces, big warehouse, and shipping areas. She paused to let the group peek through an inside window overlooking the research lab.

  “What’s the most promising new drug now on the table?” Jamison asked.

  “I’ve heard rumors about our lab studying the properties of something called monkshood.”

  “Exactly what does that do?” he said.

  “I don’t know. It’s all confidential. They don’t give that kind of information to tour guides.”

  On his way out, he stopped by the reception area and asked for the card of a Neubland salesman named Llewellyn Blanding.

  Back at his desk, he looked up monkshood and whistled, then studied the list of people from the library log book who’d asked to see the article that mentioned the Book of Cures. He picked one and dialed the goat farm.

  A woman answered. “This is Aggie.”

  “Is Griffo Verkie there?”

  “No.”

  “May I ask where he is?”

  “No notion. Some suppertime he’ll show up when he’s hungry enough. Who is this?”

  “Just a friend. Wanting to talk. I’ll call back later.”

  Jamison stopped by the chief’s office with an idea. “I’d like to take this case on the road. Several suspicious names have popped up, all near or in Nolan. Let’s see what I can discover.”

  After his plan was approved, he grabbed a disguise in the locker/equipment room of the police station, and put on an old T-shirt and jeans, a baseball cap and sunglasses. The wheels of his unmarked car whirled off toward Nolan. Turning off a highway exit, he braked at his first stop, the Emporium.

  “With you in a minute,” a voice called.

  His hand slipped under the front counter and pasted on a tiny listening device. Then, he strolled through the store and ended his survey by picking through the rental DVDs.

  A husky guy sauntered out of the office. “I’m Boris, the owner. Can I help you?”

  Jamison held up the DVD Curious Yellow. “I could be curious, since yellow’s my favorite color.”

  “It’s not in color though. It’s an old, subtitled Swedish classic in black and white. Cash or debit?”

  “I heard about it years ago. That’ll be cash. I was looking around. I don’t see any books.”

  “You don’t see them because I don’t carry any. Just DVDs.”

  The detective drove into Nolan, past tidy homes, little shops and a bright orange bookmobile parked at the town square. When he saw the Used Stuff Store, he pulled in.

  The woman at the register greeted him. “Hello, can I help you find something useful?”

  “Just passing through.” He poked around used kitchenware.

  “I’m Maxine. What do you need?”

  “Just browsing.” He perused the crammed bookshelves. “You ever get any valuable, old books? I’m a collector, of sorts.”

  She shook her head. “If we thought any book was valuable, we’d sell it ourselves to a dealer in Groverly.”

  “Guess I’ll take this book of poetry, Cowboys & Wild, Wild Things.” As he waited for his change, he pasted the bug underneath the counter.

  He drove out into country sunshine, past the goat far
m, but didn’t stop.

  Rocking on the porch, Aggie watched the car slow down as it drove by the farm. A few minutes later, she watched it go by in the opposite direction. There was no reason to wonder or worry about it, but in true gypsy fashion, she did both.

  Since Hugh Jamison’s schedule was light, he checked into Motel 5 to give himself a temporary stopover in Nolan. Later that evening, he installed the voice activated taping equipment in the bushes outside the Emporium. He traveled on to hide similar equipment behind the batches of foxglove at the Used Stuff entrance.

  Shifts of Neubland lab workers crushed dried leaves, smashed stems and collected the sticky fluid of monkshood. They separated petal from stamen from pistil. They made elaborate charts and kept meticulous records as they tested poisonous levels. Multiplying. Fortifying.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Open the windows for the daily airing, Sax,” Maxine ordered. “And don’t forget to unlock the front door.”

  “Yeah, before the crowd breaks through the gate.” Sax wended his way through the old furniture. He pulled up the shade, cracked open the door and called out, “The Morton Used Stuff Store is now officially open for business. Oh, hello, Piper.”

  Maxine smirked. “See, I told you. A customer.”

  “Morning, Sax, I’m looking for a little reading lamp.” Piper’s step was lively as she moved toward him.

  “Lamps to your left. All sizes and shapes.”

  “Hey Sax, did you hear any more about that book worth a million?” she whispered.

  “You know about that?” he said.

  “Only what I heard at the Emporium that day, but I was curious. I found out some books are really worth that much.”