“I like it.” He paid the tab. “Gotta run.”
When Piper put the sports magazine away, she noticed the ragged package Jeremy left on the table. She popped it in a plastic grocery bag for protection and put it next to the cash register. She’d drop it off at the Hopper later. Better yet, she’d take it to the gas station and ask Freddie to return it. It would be an excuse to talk. At home, all they did was avoid each other.
Aggie wove a basketweave pattern, up and down, back and forth, through the streets of Nolan, but she saw neither Griffo, nor his roadster. He’d disappeared, like a circle of smoke, carrying her family book and wearing the old cape of her dear, dead husband. Distracted by the image of Griffo in the haunted clothing, she fled to the farm. As suspected, the drawer in her bedroom chest was empty. He’d stolen the dark wrap that comforted her, that wrapped her in Camlo’s soul. Nights would be colder now without it. A tremor passed through her.
Later, when she checked the mailbox, she found the family book. “But no cape.” She strode back to the farmhouse, repeating over and over, “I do not forgive him. I will never forgive him.”
When Aggie saw Lily sitting at the kitchen table, she waved the family book in the air. “The return of my beloved book. I know it was Griffo who took it, but he’s still a thief. Scum on the pond, that nephew.” She put a piece of mail on the kitchen table. “This came for you.”
Lily ripped open the envelope to find a new plastic credit card engraved with her name. “Now I can stay longer. I can pay the rent.”
Aggie threw up her hands. “You think this crazy gypsy lady takes credit cards? You pay in herbal leaves, not dollars.”
With the vardo door locked, Griffo spun the thin sword around in the afternoon sunlight. Held so it caught the light, where the rust did not cling. He turned three times and stood erect. He straightened his neck to make a long line of his body and whispered to himself, “Open your gullet wide. Easy does it. Do not gag. Stay erect. Remember, do not gag. The cool metal will slide in and down. Smooth. Smooth as oil.”
He did not breathe. As the metal touched his lips, his throat closed and refused the sword. Nausea swept over him, and he put the instrument away. He knew he could master the art of sword swallowing. Just not this minute.
There was always the snake. But when Griffo crooned to the serpent, when he sang funny tunes, when he put a yardstick inside the cage to pet it, he met with little success. Inspiration hit, and he sped off to the Used Stuff Store, to the book stacks in back. It took awhile, but he found a purchase that might solve his problem. He sidled up to Maxine at the register. “Does this book apply to animals and creepy crawly things?”
“Who knows? It might,” she said, “since it’s called How to Be Charming, Ten Ways to Improve Your Personality. At 50¢, you take your chances.”
Griffo nodded and tucked the book under his arm. Back in the vardo, he read the first chapter heading, “Create a Pleasant Atmosphere.” The creature stayed balled up in a corner of the cage. Leery, Griffo eyed the glint that came from the reptile’s eyes. He threw some shaving lotion into the air and lit a candle. Since the snake had been abandoned by the stripper, maybe it was lonely. He came closer. Beady eyes stared him down, menacing and suspicious.
He crooned, “I think you miss your stripper friend. But now I’m here to keep you company.” At the sound of his voice, the snake began writhing in its box. Griffo couldn’t look away. The graceful movement of his cold-blooded guest captivated him, but the snake wasn’t a friend yet. The creature held something back, something dangerous and tantalizing. Griffo was mesmerized.
“Watch this. I’ve got some moves too.”
He took off his shoes and socks and waved them in front of the cage. He removed his shirt and swung it over his head. He swayed his bare arms to emulate the dance of the serpent. The gypsy’s body undulated to and fro as a throbbing swept over him. As he pulled off his pants, he wondered, was he charming the snake or was it the other way around? The creature gazed at his captor, offering an intense degree of beadiness. Their eyes locked together in primordial rapture.
“Here I am, Griffo Verkie, the great gypsy. And I am pleased to meet you.” Off came his boxers.
The snake twisted in the cage and buried its head. Then, suddenly it twitched and raised up. A forked tongue darted out. Griffo went weak from the sight of the fangs, afraid that poison would plume out into the air of the vardo and destroy him.
He sighed. Obviously the creature didn’t find him all that charming at the moment.
When the phone tap on the Emporium went silent, Detective Jamison traveled to the store with the warrant in his pocket, to find the neon sign off, blinds closed, and door locked. He tapped firmly several times. After no answer, he plodded around back for a less noticeable place of entry. The door cracked open at his touch.
“Hello in there, coming in. Detective Hugh Jamison, with a warrant.”
The unusual herbal smell still pervaded the store. He snapped on the lights. The metal birds were silent. There was no sound of conversation or TV. A quick walk through of the apartment, closet and bathroom revealed clothing and personal items missing. Boris was gone.
The detective returned to the store proper. Pacing up and down the rows of DVD rentals, moving on to the sparse herbal section, he looked for anything unusual, but everything appeared the way he remembered with the exception of a missing owner.
He peered behind the purple drape and found the tattoo area, but after a careful examination of photos: anchors, bridges, grand monuments, animals, birds, cold blooded creatures, and heartfelt words like “Mother” and “Sweetie,” he saw no connection to the robbery.
Foraging through the storage area, his excitement flared, when he unwrapped swords clad in muslin and found one blade with a small speck that might be blood. Men’s clothes, sports equipment, and a chess set didn’t interest him, but in one corner, several pieces of expensive women’s clothing hung on a makeshift rack. It could mean a woman lived or occasionally stayed on the premises. Did Ratchov have a special friend and conspirator in the theft? Was it Lily McFae? Thinking back to the conversation between Ratchov and Lily, Jamison recalled words like “confidentiality” and “rewards,” which could apply to the sale of the antique book, or some other arrangement. Did Boris head up a group that included Griffo and the librarian? Or Sax and Maxine? Or the book club members?
He grimaced and left to continue his inspection. In the office, he spotted three blood-smeared fingerprints on the counter and made a note of their location. He looked around one more time and left. His visit to the Emporium had unearthed more questions than answers.
Back at the motel, he called the police station and ordered an evidence-gathering team for the Emporium, hoping to reveal if the woman in question was girlfriend, accomplice, or both. The blood spots on the counter and sword might indicate violence and a victim somewhere. Was it someone listed in the Groverly Special Collections log? Although Lily McFae’s name wasn’t in the book, more than the others, she’d had access to the encyclopedia.
In a few hours, police work proceeded at the Emporium. Detective Jamison and the team attempted to fit stray pieces together as they deconstructed the DVD section, herb shelves, tattoo enclosure, office with its sharp knife display, the apartment and storage area.
A review of customers showed that Maxine Morton had checked out several DVDs, with Lust in the Dust, her last rental return. Jamison ordered an expert to analyze the blood samples on the office counter and sword, as well as take fingerprints from various areas. All supplies on the herbal shelves were noted, digital photographs of the tattoo displays were snapped. Next, the swords were documented, in case any showed up stolen. When the police left, everything looked normal.
In Groverly, a desk officer typed customer names from store receipts into the computer. A click of the mouse sent off a silent searching with invisible twangings to data bases that captured multiple threads about identities, neighborhoods, addresses, telepho
ne numbers, police records, financial reports and vital statistics. When the results were in, Jamison acknowledged he’d hit a blank wall. Not one sign of a rare book, sold or unsold. No victim. No missing persons. No bloody body. Not even any pot.
Fred’s pulse jumped when Piper put five gallons of gas in her car. He wiped his hands on a paper towel, waiting for her to come in. The photography book was open to a draped painting of the female form.
She walked into the station office with flushed cheeks. “I thought I’d stop by and see how things were going.”
“Going great. Just great,” he said. “How about at the salon?”
She laid the newspaper wrapped package on the counter and touched his tan arm below his rolled up sleeve. “Like always. Little slack now and then.”
“What’s that?” He picked up the package. “You bring me a present?”
“Uh, no. It belongs to Jeremy. I thought you’d see him at the Hopper before I do.”
Fred thought her voice went soft when she said “Jeremy.”
“So where’d you see him?”
“What do you mean, where? He came in for a haircut.”
“What did you mean, I’d see him first? You think I turned to drink since you left our bedroom?”
Piper shook her head. “No, I meant that I don’t get there often. Once with the book club members. You’re the one known to drink a beer now and then, not me.”
“Yeah, I heard about you and your cohorts and your tipsy time at the Hopper.”
“Now wait a minute, we were only there about an hour, and we didn’t even order anything. What are you talking about?”
Fred concentrated on the page of the half-clad woman. “I mean, from what I heard, you ladies had a high ole time. The town’s buzzing about it.”
He felt Piper’s warm breath wash over his ear.
“Oh, forget it,” she said, “I see you’re reading something inspirational. Not like the high-class stuff we enjoy at the Erotica Book Club. I’ll leave Jeremy’s package on the counter. Do with it what you want.”
“Hey, wait just a minute. This book came from….” When Piper stomped off, he closed the book. “…your librarian friend. It was done by a guy named Goya. I thought you’d be interested.”
He watched her car wheels spin on the pavement. She was incendiary, a flaming match. Did she feel too confined in a small town? Was he too damn boring for her? Was that why she’d joined a radical book club? Who knew what guys belonged to it? Hell’s bells! He marched out and tossed Jeremy’s package into the bed of his pickup truck.
With no information about the Book of Cures on the black market, Hugh Jamison pored over the suspects at hand.
He started with Lily McFae. Parents deceased. No mention of other relatives. After college she’d taught in New Guinea. He read documentation that covered several years of employment in the Groverly library system and the notice that she was let go. She’d received a recent speeding ticket a couple miles outside Nolan. A recent car wreck with information on her totaled vehicle was listed, followed by information about her purchase of a bookmobile owned by the next county. A story in The Groverly Gazette featured a photo of the exterior of the orange van, with an inside shot of the librarian’s back as she returned a volume to the shelf. Because she’d been connected to the library’s rare volume collection, had been fired, suddenly left town at the exact time of the theft, now owned a vehicle filled with old books, and had connections with other suspects, her name stayed high on the suspect list.
He examined the file of Boris Ratchov. No known live relatives, but a recently deceased uncle. No marriage license. No mention of a companion. A license for his vehicle appeared in order. His passport record revealed a life of travel and some close calls with international authorities. His credit rating exhibited shakiness, but his taxes were paid. He frequently closed up the Emporium.
The name of Griffo Verkie brought forth a few glitches. Complaints of illegal charity poker games. Complaints of overcharging as a taxi driver. Selling used books on a city sidewalk without a license. Use of other identities, but no convictions. No outstanding warrants. The license for his car was current. Hugh knew he’d left the goat farm recently, and although his whereabouts had been unknown for a while, his gypsy wagon had surfaced recently at a nearby craft fair, but apparently he’d moved on.
Max and Sax Morton inherited their store from deceased parents. The twins inherited matching trust funds. No arrests. Taxes paid. Recently, the Used Stuff Store had been closed for a brief time. This might have been unusual in Groverly, but appeared to happen regularly in Nolan.
Hugh’s mind flew into orbit. Overseas, an old duke died and a family book disappeared. In the same time frame, the Emporium and the Used Stuff Store closed up temporarily. A gypsy wagon’s wooden rims rolled away from the farm, about the time a bookmobile’s tires sped away from Groverly. As far as he could see, the black market book world continued to spin round on its wobbly axis, with no sign of the antique book surfacing. All he could do was look for tie-ins and motivations.
Piper marched into the bookmobile, now parked in its usual spot at the town square. “Hey girl, get ready for a wild shopping spree. You’re too serious.”
Lily gave her an odd look. “What do you mean, serious? What about my birthday escapades? And for heaven’s sake, I drive a bookmobile.”
“Once a year doesn’t count. And a form of transportation is not considered wild. It’s necessary to get you from here to there.”
“Well, since it’s a slow day, guess I can close up shop.”
“Then follow me to my car. We’ll need the trunk.”
Piper drove one block to Used Stuff and sauntered in, Lily a few steps behind her.
Maxine worked at the register and looked up at the prospect of customers. “Hey, you two, you’re in luck. The half-price sale is almost over. Can I urge you to buy something? Anything?”
“Consider us serious book buyers.” Piper headed for the book area.
“Best buy is the collection of Zane Grey. It’s a beaut.” Maxine glanced toward the back. “Histories. Geographies. Biographies. Novels. College books on all subjects. Five volumes of a medical encyclopedia. And remember, everything’s half price.”
“How much for the lot?” Piper asked.
Maxine dropped her pencil. “Uh, I’ll make you a deal. Ten bucks should do it.”
Lily stared at Piper. “You’re buying all those books? Are you starting a home library, Piper?”
“No, the books are for you and your bookmobile.” Piper put down a ten dollar bill and scurried to the back, with Maxine and Lily trailing behind.
Lily stood at the bookcase, a puzzled look on her face. “It’s a great gift. I’m not used to presents and I don’t know what to say.”
“When I get an idea, I jump. You know, like starting a book club.” Piper pulled volumes from the bottom shelf. “Besides, everyone in town gets the benefit from more books in your van.”
“Let me help.” Maxine grabbed empty cardboard cartons stacked against the wall. “You hand me the books, I’ll box them up.”
Lily joined in and in no time, they dismantled the shelves and the unit stood bare.
Piper gave Lily a hug. “From me to you, for getting the Erotica Book Club started.”
Maxine grinned. “Erotica, huh? Maybe I should deliver the boxes to the club in person.”
“Just a joke, forget it.”
Pulling the boxes on a dolly, Maxine wheeled the load outside and they all joined in, stacking the books in the car trunk.
Piper started the engine. “Now we go sort this lot at the bookmobile. Who knows? Might find some sexy gems. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“Wait. Wait.” Maxine ran up to the car, waving a stack of bookmarks. She handed them through the window to Lily. “You can put one of our promotional bookmarks in every book. “It says, ‘Would I were’ or something like that.’”
Lily ran her fingers through her wispy bangs. “Yes, in
deed. ‘Would I were.’ And now quite happily, here I am. And off we go.”
In Groverly, Minnesota Fiddler clicked away at one of the public computers at the library until she found the newspaper feature about Lily McFae and her orange bookmobile, now planted in Nolan, California.
Boris returned to the Emporium in the middle of the night. Worn out from the drive, he slipped in the side door of his dark apartment and flopped on top of the bed. Moonlight drifted in through the window as he stretched out and fell asleep.
CHAPTER 22
The next morning, Boris woke, still in his clothes. He stretched and opened the blinds, gazing at a morning fog that fell over Nolan. He looked around. The shade on the lamp by the chair tilted the wrong way. A quick inventory of the apartment revealed everything was almost in place, but he knew someone had been poking around his possessions. When he stormed into the store, he noticed things changed there too. Some of the DVDs not filed correctly. Bottles and jars of herbal products too neatly shelved. In the supply room, the wrapping on his swords looked slightly different. The office calendar hung crooked on its hook. Since nothing was missing, he was certain that it was the authorities who’d searched the place. He grinned. It was a waste of their official time. There was nothing to find here. Once he restored perfect order, he flipped on the neon sign to announce the store reopening.
Looking for any clues attached to the suspicious librarian, Detective Jamison visited the automobile auction house in Groverly and presented his credentials.
“What can you tell me about the purchase of a bookmobile recently by a Lily McFae? And give me the history of the vehicle, if you have it.”
“Yes sir, I’ll look that up immediately.” The clerk left for a few minutes, then returned to present the detective with the purchase paperwork. “That gal made out like a real bandit on the deal. Matter of fact, there was another inquiry on the bookmobile after the sale.”
The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies Page 18
