by Susan Murray
Breaking into a finish-line sprint Marley charged up the few blocks towards Uncle Max’s home and swept inside, panting and hugely relieved to be safely home.
CHAPTER 12
October 30th – 9:45 a.m.
Marley’s run had taken longer than she’d planned and there wasn’t much time to shower before her meeting with The Dark at Sherman’s Rare Bookstore. Once she’d changed into blue slacks and matching sweater, Marley toasted a bagel with cheese and tomato then ate breakfast on the go. She didn’t have time to read the paper, but did manage a glass of juice.
With minutes to spare, Marley locked up the house and quickly walked to Sherman’s Rare Bookstore for her meeting with The Dark, still keeping an eye out for Galea. Twice along the way she reminded herself that she had no actual claim on the child. No reason to take an interest in Galea’s well being beyond her one-time offering of food and shelter the previous night. No reason to feel so bereft now that Galea was gone. Still, she had a nasty feeling of loss.
Ha. That’d teach her to be charitable.
Sherman’s Rare Bookstore was tucked in between A Piece of Pi and the New Uptown Diner. Red and yellow striped beach umbrellas stood guard over the five marble tables that were outside in front of both Pi and Sherman’s. Matching chairs sporting cheery little plastic cushions invited the casual passerby to stop a while, have a cup or two. On occasion Gaspare liked to take his morning coffee out in the sun but Marley didn’t see his newspaper on any of the tables.
Marley hadn’t been inside the bookstore since two weeks before her uncle’s death. The last time she’d seen her Uncle Max, they’d had dinner together at an Indian restaurant just around the corner. The food had been delicious but the evening had been memorable because of how excited Max had been, telling Marley about his research into stolen artifacts from the Middle East.
Over appetizers Max had told Marley about how The Minnesota Historical Museum had hired him as a consultant to help assess the authenticity of various bits and pieces of looted papyrus and other ancient scrolls and manuscripts which had been flooding the antiquities black market for well over a year.
He had been helping his colleagues at the University catalog and photograph items that had been found at an historically significant archeological site, known as site A432. Historians and archaeologists around the world were in agreement that the artifacts on the black market were the real deal, incredibly valuable and irreplaceable. They had been carbon-dated back to the time of ancient Sumeria, around 4000 B.C. and even earlier.
As months had passed and more and more artifacts had appeared for sale from the same source, it had become clear that out in the desert someone had looted a tomb complex and likely even a temple complex as well. And if both tomb and temple were present perhaps an entire undiscovered city lay near.
And so despite it being a hidden, illegal dig, the mystery site was the hottest archaeological find of the decade, similar in importance and scope to the discovery of King Tut’s tomb. Sadly, its exact location still remained a mystery to everyone except the looters who had pillaged and were selling off its contents.
Uncle Max had shown Marley digital pictures of a two-foot square carved stone panel depicting a standing woman robed in a floor length gown, holding a sword in one hand and a sheaf of wheat in the other hand. At the woman’s feet a huge lion sat gazing adoringly up at her, one huge paw trapping a sphere-shaped object of some sort against the earth.
According to Uncle Max, the woman on the panel was the Sumerian goddess of war and bountiful harvest. Ishtar, Isis or Inanna as she was also called, had existed in many guises in the ancient Mesopotamian valley.
Marley had listened in fascinated silence when Uncle Max had glanced around, lowered his voice and described his investigation into domestic and international shipping companies that could easily move unlisted containers containing illegal artifacts in and out of the country.
One such company had been operating under a shadowy corporate facade based in Minneapolis and Uncle Max had reached the conclusion that this particular company had been responsible for smuggling pillaged items from site A432 to various points in the continental U.S. With the help of his crew, Uncle Max had been in the process of tracking down proof to support this theory at the time of his death.
Marley was so deep in these memories of her Uncle and his work that right up until she put the key in the door to unlock Sherman’s Rare Bookstore she didn’t even notice that there was no need to use one. The door was already unlocked. Marley’s heart bumped hard up under her ribs as the knob turned unresisting in her hand and opened easily, swinging inward with a faint groan.
The destruction inside the bookstore was savage. It looked like a landslide followed by an earthquake followed by a tidal wave, then windstorm. Books of all persuasions had been strewn about and lay in crumpled piles on the floor. Fiction, reference, autobiographies – none had been spared. Apparently someone out there held a grudge against all genres equally.
“Is anyone in here?” Marley called loudly. There was no response. Presumably the burglars had long since departed the scene of the crime. Swallowing her dismay, Marley tiptoed through the disaster without touching anything. No doubt the insurance adjusters and police would want to assess the damage to the store before she cleaned anything up. Gingerly using the eraser end of a pencil to avoid smearing potential fingerprint evidence, Marley checked the cash register.
Just as it had when Uncle Max was alive, the cash register still held several hundred dollars in bills and coin, all of which remained untouched. Ironically its last transaction had been protected from whatever destructive force had rampaged through the rest of the store.
Marley placed a call to the insurance adjuster on file in the bookstore rolodex, then called the police. Two officers responded to Marley’s summons almost immediately, probably because they routinely hung out next door at the New Uptown Diner between shifts.
A mere five minutes after making the call, Marley was giving her statement, which was about when The Dark arrived at the bookstore, right on time for his appointment. For one crazy moment as he walked through the door and stood silhouetted against the morning light, Marley could have sworn that the fellow threw no shadow. That he actually soaked up the light around him. Then she blinked and the illusion passed.
Taking the situation in at a glance, The Dark waited quietly in a reading nook by the door until Marley had finished with the police. Once the attending officers had wrapped things up and left the premises The Dark crossed to Marley’s side. “I see you’ve had a break-in.” His tone was concerned.
“It looks that way.” Marley nodded in the general direction of the disaster area. “As you can see, I couldn’t possibly show you the store right now. The entire place is a crime scene right now and I have to wait for the insurance adjuster.”
The Dark nodded solicitously. “I understand. Was anything stolen?”
Marley shrugged, glancing around at the extent of the damage. “It’s hard to say at this point. I’ll have to clean things up and do an inventory later.”
“Is the safe intact?” The Dark wondered aloud. Marley squinted at him, puzzled. Tone speculative, he said, “You know, usually small stores have a wall safe hidden somewhere.” At her silence he continued. “Or maybe there’s a secret floorboard hiding place around here.” His playful smile invited Marley to reciprocate. She didn’t and The Dark went on, “Perhaps a safety deposit box with the bank?”
“Those are all very good questions. I wish I had an answer.” As far as Marley knew Uncle Max hadn’t been big on secret hiding places and if he had, she doubted he’d chosen to store anything of real value in the bookstore. Anything like that would more likely be stashed at his house, but she didn’t say so.
T
he Dark’s face grew serious and his eyes narrowed sharply as he pinned them to Marley. “I’m interested in finding a very rare old book. It could be something written in a foreign language that looks like hieroglyphs. Have you ever come across a book like that?”
The light around Marley seemed to dim as though a bulb were burning low somewhere and the air smelled charged with ozone. Marley felt a droning, buzzing hum in her middle ear and her vision narrowed into black and white. The Dark still stared at her intently and she found she could not tear her eyes from his. Were his pupils actually red?
The moment passed and Marley shook her head, breaking her eyes free of the strange contact. “No I don’t think I’ve ever seen a book like that,” she replied honestly. “I’ll check the inventory later and let you know if I come across anything that matches your description.”
A woman walked in just then, interrupting them. A tall brunette wearing a navy blue suit and carrying a briefcase. “Are you Marlyn McCormick?” At Marley’s nod, she introduced herself, “I’m JoAnn Noonan with Associated Mutual Insurance. We spoke earlier. Looks like we might want to fill out a claim form.” A brisk look around and she summed up the situation with professional understatement.
CHAPTER 13
October 30th – 10:30 a.m.
“I’ll be going then.” The Dark reached for Marley’s hand and held onto it, a creepy gesture meant to be courtly. “I’m sorry you’ll miss the Dark Brunch this morning but I can see you have a lot of work to do here. I hope I’ll see you at the Forum and Rave events later today?”
As she was forming her reply, Marley felt the light touch of something icky on the back of her hand. She looked down in horror to see that The Dark’s strange pet had crept out from under his cape and down along his arm until it was close enough to lick her. That loathsome tongue. Marley jerked her hand back.
“She won’t bite.” The Dark grinned at Marley, once again amused by her reaction to his pet’s overtures. To the contrary Marley thought it seemed very much as though the creature would bite, perhaps even venomously. However the well-trained and continuously employed journalist rarely profits by antagonizing the subject of her assignment.
So Marley said nothing at all even when the creature hissed malevolently at her as it scuttled back up under The Dark’s cape. The sight of its six legs along that hairless body was enough to churn Marley’s stomach. Surely that had been a trick of the light?
“Gack.” JoAnn Noonan had a frozen, frightened look on her face, a what-the-heck-was-that-thing? kind of bewilderment. Ms. Noonan had obviously seen The Dark’s pet too. She took several gasping breaths as though either calming herself or preparing to holler really loudly but then The Dark stared her down, his eyes taking on a hot gleam. After a couple of seconds the color came back to Ms. Noonan’s face and she slowly lost her look of alarm.
Breaking eye contact with The Dark, Ms. Noonan turned briskly to Marley without even a hint of her former distress. “Why don’t we get started on filling out some forms and filing this claim? You aren’t going to want to lose any business by staying closed for too long.” Despite having made no plans at all for the future of Sherman’s Rare Bookstore, Marley really couldn’t argue. Tipping his hat, The Dark left them to their paperwork.
Once all claim-related details of the burglary had been photographed and otherwise documented properly, and Ms. Noonan had driven away in her green Cooper Mini, Marley tidied up a little, righting a dented, stained-glass lamp in the reading nook, and tucking Uncle Max’s old leather swivel chair in at his desk in the back of the store. She missed him more than ever at that moment.
After doing what she could about the mess in the store (she’d need outside help), Marley closed the door and was about to walk away when a white van emblazoned with the words “Smith & Smith, Locksmiths” pulled over and parked at the curb outside the bookstore. Who had called the locksmiths? Maybe Ms. Noonan had made the call.
Smith & Smith turned out to be a single, elderly man who reassured Marley that the door to the bookstore was reparable and that her keys would still work later, so Marley left the matter of repairs in his capable hands.
She’d gotten halfway down the street on her way home when she was startled to see her Uncle Max Sherman himself step out from inside the drugstore on the corner of Hennepin. He was wearing a red flannel shirt, blue jeans, black boots and vest, sunglasses and a black cowboy hat. It was a far cry from her Uncle’s usual style but the fellow was recognizably him.
Marley raised a hand in astonished greeting and reflexively cried out, “Uncle Max!” At the sound of her voice the man glanced toward Marley, observing her dispassionately. But he gave no sign of recognition nor indicated that he’d taken her shout as meant for him. After that one briefly impersonal glance in her direction, the man turned and casually walked away.
Thus Marley realized she’d made a mistake. She should have known she was wrong. The fellow hadn’t really resembled her Uncle after all. He was sporting a full beard and Uncle Max had always been firmly opposed to facial hair of any kind.
Most importantly, and not to be forgotten, was the fact that Uncle Max had died in an explosion a week ago. According to the police there was no doubt of this because charred human remains had been found at the site of the explosion. Marley felt a fresh wave of grief as she realized once again that her adopted Uncle was really and truly gone.
She’d heard that people who lost loved ones at times “saw” their deceased relatives in the faces of strangers among a crowd, that this phenomenon was not at all uncommon. A normal part of the grieving process in fact. Still it felt pretty awful. That sudden rush of hope followed by crushing disappointment. Blinking back tears, Marley rapidly walked home.
For safekeeping she carried home with her a cardboard box holding the contents of the cash box and several of the rarest books in Uncle Max’s collection. Lugging these upstairs Marley dropped them off in the front bedroom on the second floor where Galea had spent the night.
Marley headed back downstairs to the kitchen to brew and enjoy a cup of the chamomile tea she’d spotted in the kitchen earlier. As she sipped her tea with pleasure and finally began to relax a little there was the sound of a meow and something brushed softly against Marley’s ankle. Jumping up and back from the kitchen table so fast she spilled her tea, Marley was startled to observe a large black cat strutting across the floor of the kitchen into the den area, tail waving majestically in its wake like a conquering flag.
The cat wore a bell on a golden chain around its neck and judging from its attitude was a very important creature indeed. It gave Marley a single cursory glance over its shoulder then strolled toward the library as though it definitely knew its way around.
Marley had never heard her Uncle mention having a pet but maybe he’d just forgotten to say anything about the animal to Marley. Upon following the cat into the next room, Marley was astonished to find it curling up on a gold silk pillow in a large wicker cat basket sitting in front of the picture windows in the library.
Marley distinctly recalled the stuffed red velvet sofa and matching wing-backed chairs. She also remembered those two brass floor lamps with their tulip-shaped frosted glass lampshades across the room. But Marley would have sworn six ways from Sunday that the room had not contained a wicker cat bed that morning when she’d left for the bookstore.
And yet there it was.
Marley watched silently as the black cat kneaded gold silk with its paws and purred loudly, settling in for a nap. Marley frowned, thinking hard. Maybe while she’d been out one of her Uncle’s friends had stopped by to drop off the cat and bed. How many sets of house keys had Uncle Max handed out, and to which of his friends? Marley watched as the animal fell fast asleep, supremely undisturbed by her confusion.
Perhaps th
e cat belonged to Uncle Max’s housekeeper Becky. For lack of any answers or a better plan, Marley let sleeping cats lie.
CHAPTER 14
October 30th – 11:00 a.m.
Max Sherman ducked around the corner of Hennepin and Lake Street, moving as quickly as he could without actually running. The cowboy boots on his feet chafed a bit around the ankles but he didn’t stop his hustle until he was halfway down the alley behind his bookstore and opening the locked door there that led up to his most recent abode. Unbeknownst to Marley and his attorneys, Max had a small one-room efficiency apartment over the bookstore.
It had pained Max to walk away from Marley’s greeting shouted across the street, but he figured it was best for her personal safety if she were to continue believing that he’d died in the houseboat explosion. Now was not the time for a big family reunion. Even so, Max truly regretted putting his adopted niece through the trauma of losing her closest relative.
Were it not for the very real threat to Marley’s safety, he would never even consider hurting her in such a way. But if The Dark ever found out that Marley had learned the truth about the houseboat explosion, he would be forced to kill Marley. Which was not an option, so the secret would have to be kept.
Max settled his big cowboy hat more firmly on his head and, with a final careful glance over his shoulder, took a set of narrow back stairs two at a time up to his apartment. It had been over a week since Zoey and Zach’s deaths and Max’s lucky escape. He was still on high alert mode, and so far his paranoia had paid off handsomely.
