Cooking the Books: A Sloane Templeton Novel (2012)

by Bonnie S. Calhoun

  "Professor Mabry!"

  He continued walking, appearing deep in thought.

  "Professor Mabry!"

  Mabry's head flashed up as he turned to face the voice. Reggie Hatland, his research assistant, lumbered across the quadrant, all two hundred pounds of him. Mabry held up a hand. "Stop running in this heat. You're going to have a heart attack. I've told you before, boy, you need to lose some weight."

  Reggie ignored the comment and huffed, puffing out his cheeks as he staggered to a halt. "Professor . . . you need to see . . ." He bent over and put his hands on his knees to steady his breathing.

  "For heaven's sake, how do you think you're going to join me on a dig if you can't even navigate the width of this courtyard?"

  "That's why I was trying to find you." He inhaled deeply and pushed out the long breath, steadying himself. "Your second team in Egypt just reported in. They found the reliquary."

  Mabry grinned broadly. "Outstanding." He'd beaten his brother to the punch on finding the first key of the cipher. Now all we need to do is gain control of the book."

  Reggie pushed up the right side of his mouth in a smirk, then winked. "I think I've created a solid plan to do just that." His cell phone rang. He fumbled with the folders in his hand and reached in his pocket to retrieve the phone.

  "Hello, Professor Mabry's office. . . . Yes. . . . One moment." He pushed the mute button and turned to Mabry. "Lucius wants to talk to you."

  Mabry waved a hand to dismiss him and continued walking toward the building.

  Reggie trotted behind him through the lobby doors. "Professor, please! What should I tell him?" He held out the phone.

  Mabry pushed out a sigh, snatched the phone from Reggie's hand, and jammed it against his ear. "What do you want, Barlow?"

  Lucius Barlow laughed into the phone. "I guess I know that you're having issues with me trying to buy the book."

  "How can you tell?" Mabry spit out the words as he marched into his office, dropped his briefcase on the desk, and lowered himself into the swivel desk chair.

  "You called me Barlow. You always fall back on the discrepancy in our patriarchal lineage when you're annoyed with me."

  "Well even though our mother was not monogamous, I'm still older, and it will always be that way." Mabry leaned back in his chair.

  "That can be remedied."

  "What! Like the accident to my work crew in the Sinai last year?"

  "You know good and well that I had nothing to do with those deaths. You're just angry about that young wife of yours. How is she, by the way?"

  Mabry sat up poker straight. "I'm no longer with her. I bet that makes you exceedingly happy. I couldn't trust her any more than I can trust you, brother."

  "Listen to me. Blood is thicker than water. We need to come together on this."

  "Come together?" Mabry spit out the words. "You mercenary! You cheat at every turn, and now that I've reached the book first, now you want us to come together?"

  "Face it, Carlton. We need to close ranks. I just came from the bookstore. They know the true value of the book. The woman said there would be an auction. This means other interested parties may be involved."

  "She said the same to me." Mabry slapped his hand on his desk. "How dare she insist on an auction for the book? I should have mentioned our involvement with her mother."

  "No, it isn't the time to tip our hand. Neither of us alone can afford the book. But together, we can do this."

  "And how can I be sure that you won't cheat me out of it?"

  "There is enough unrevealed information in our recent dealings that either of us could send the other to prison for many years if there is any double-cross."

  21

  I PINCHED MY NOSE TO BLOCK THE ODOR. MAN, OH MAN, IT SMELLED horrific. After this box disgorged its contents, it was going to take a quick trip out back to the recycle pile. I hoped the books hadn't picked up that wretched stench.

  The box cutter followed the grooved flap line on the corrugated top, splitting the tape. Brown cardboard flaps eased apart. A putrid smell radiated from the box and slapped me in the face. "Phew!" My stomach lurched.

  I closed my eyes for a moment as the rising stink had begun to make them water. But I needed to see what I was doing so I turned my head away from the container and scooped a pile of Styrofoam peanuts from the box and into the garbage bin. I lifted the final layer of corrugated stock keeping the books in place, then bent over and shoved the slice of cardboard down into the side of the garbage can.

  Straightening up, I pushed open the flaps.

  My eyes stretched open wide as my heart jumped into my throat and erupted into a scream.

  It was a large, rotting rat. A long gash in its side was held open by a three-inch pen knife buried to the hilt in a broiling mass of maggots, with a note that said "Sloane, now it's your turn."

  I stumbled back from the counter and my hands flew to cover my face. Bile rose up in my throat. My hip banged into the nearby chair, propelling it into the desk, where it bounced off and into the aisle like a bank shot on a pool table.

  "Oh, my God, my God!" I wailed into my hands. "Jesus, help me!"

  Fifi scrambled from the coffee bar, grabbed me by the arms, and tried to remove my hands from my face.

  "Honey, what's the matter? Did you cut—" Her hands flew to her nose. "What is that rank smell?"

  I pressed into the corner beside the desk, lowered my arm, and pointed at the box.

  "What?" Fifi looked back and forth between the box and me. She touched my arm. "You're not hurt, though?"

  I shook my head violently and continued to sob.

  Fifi approached the box.

  I could hear myself wailing, but I couldn't stop. Tears blurred and doubled the images of Fifi and the box. I didn't want that evil box to be a double anything.

  Fifi looked back at me and then carefully opened the flaps of the box.

  An audible gasp blew from her lips as the contents came into view.

  Fifi released the flaps and gagged. "Oh, my Lord, save us from this evil." She turned to me. "Who would do something like this?"

  Braids slapped the sides of my tear-covered face as I shook my head. I bent over, holding my middle, and slid to the floor in the corner. My insides clenched and convulsed like I was going to hurl. I hadn't eaten lunch. My stomach muscles just continued to wretch without disgorging any contents.

  "I don't know." My head shook from side to side. "I don't know."

  Fifi grabbed me by the hand and raised me to my feet. "Think, child! Who would do this to you? We need to call the police."

  I gulped in air. It was still putrid and my stomach wretched again. I gagged. "No one hates me that much. No one except . . ." My eyes grew wide with fear.

  "Who?" Fifi grabbed my arm. "Tell me!"

  I winced under the tight grip. Tears rolled down my cheeks, splashing onto my gauze top and soaking in as though they were never there. "Trey is the only person I know that cruel."

  Fifi pushed the errant chair from her path. "That's it! I've had enough." She grabbed the phone from its dock and punched the buttons.

  "Who are you calling?" My stomach subsided. I wiped my hands across my face.

  "The police!"

  I raised my head heavenward and closed my eyes. "This is just going to get worse. But it really doesn't seem like Trey's style." My head swum with thoughts. "I should just stop going out with Andreas. Trey will calm down. I know he will. And it would let this be over."

  "Not on my tintype! That hooligan is going to pay for this." Fifi pursed her lips and paced with her cell.

  I felt panic. This was only going to get worse. "Who are you calling?" Like I didn't know.

  "The detective unit at the 88th."

  With flaps closed, I dared to look back at the box. There were no labels or identifying marks on the box other than the UPS information. Why hadn't I noticed that before? Because I'd just assumed it was books. Ironic. I had just used that word against Dr. Barlow.r />
  I would never again look at a shipment of books with excitement. The contents of this box were etched indelibly on my brain.

  I closed my eyes again. My whole life careened from bad to worse. But after today, what could worse possibly look like?

  I sat at the coffee bar resting my head on my arms. Fifi had made me sit with my back to the box, like a child in timeout.

  A knock sounded at the front door.

  I raised my head and turned, my glance sweeping across the offending box. I stopped as an involuntary spasm clamped my stomach. I inhaled sharply to quell the desire to upchuck.

  "I'll get it, sugah. You just sit still." Fifi strolled to the door. She passed by the box with her hand held to her nose while the other fanned the air.

  I wanted the box gone from the building. Actually, I would have preferred it be moved to the next county, but Detective Justice instructed us not to touch it.

  Someone felt compelled to try to terrify me. I wanted to act big, bad, and bold, but it felt like slapping at the wind. Who was my tormentor? I was beginning to understand that all these threats were aimed at me. They weren't stupid pranks. This was about real death. I struggled to wrap my brain around the concept that someone wanted me dead, like now.

  Fifi closed the shop early, sent everyone packing, and stuck to me like the skin on a banana. For that, I was grateful. Andreas's cell phone went to voicemail whenever I tried to call him. The meeting must have gone longer than planned. Normally, I could have run upstairs to Mom or down the street to him for comfort. Even with Fifi present, I had an odd sense of isolation.

  Fifi unlocked the front door for Detective Griffen Justice, who stepped inside followed by a CSU investigator carrying a large, black case.

  How ironic. A week ago, I would have been thrilled to meet a New York CSU. Those shows on TV were my favorites, but this was the second time in two days that I was actually part of an investigation. It sure left something to be desired. I tamped down my gag reflex as the CSU investigator put on gloves and pulled a large plastic bag from a compartment in his case.

  He handed Justice a probe. Mister Denzel clone used it to part the flaps and look inside the box. His head jerked back and he covered his nose with the back of his hand as the look of revulsion zipped across his face and disappeared behind a detective-like controlled facade.

  For a split second in time, it forced me to smile. What did he expect . . . Chanel No. 5? Ugh! I was filled with nervous energy. My snark always grew worse when I was scared. Good thing I wasn't speaking out loud.

  Fifi led Detective Justice in my direction. Broad shoulders, confident stride, there was something familiar about him other than his movie-star looks. I breathed a long and satisfying, albeit, stinky breath of air for the first time in the last half hour. His presence calmed my jitters, and his black and red pinstriped suit with coordinating shirt and tie sure made him easy on the eyes. Fifi had tried to get me to go upstairs, but I wanted to know everything she was going to say to Justice. I was glad and sad that I stayed, all at the same time.

  "We meet again. Have you been heeding my advice about your aunt's case? Or is this rodent some indication of your involvement?" He slipped a notebook from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and flipped open the cover.

  "This doesn't have anything to do with Verlene's theft." I sort of dodged his question. I didn't want to tell him about the beauty salon incident. But I did know that this didn't look like Trey's handiwork. I just couldn't convince Fifi . "Will you please take that thing out of here?"

  "Yes, of course we will. Have there been any other occurrences that you would consider threatening?"

  I shook my head. "No. No. Absolutely nothing. This is insanely sick for anyone."

  "What about the pop-up thingy on the computer or that shiftless good-for-nothing Trey?"

  Justice looked from Fifi to me. "Ma'am?"

  I waved my hand. "That stupid message on the computer wouldn't have anything to do with a rodent crawling with maggots." I glared at Fifi . "And Trey wouldn't do something like this." He would have just beat me to a pulp, not threatened it. I think. I hoped. My brain just didn't want to process any more of this. I didn't know what I meant anymore. I just wanted it all to stop.

  "Why don't you let me be the judge of that, Ms. Templeton." Justice said, his tone somehow firm and gentle simultaneously. He scribbled in the notebook. "What kind of messages were on the computer? Can you show me an example?"

  "I really think it's just a college prank." I hopped off the stool. This was a little too bizarre to think it was all connected. Trey's computer skills began and ended with PlayStation 3. "I deleted it but I did make a copy of the property code of the e-mail that downloaded it. I'll give you a co—"

  I stopped mid-sentence, not wanting to be near the box o' death. Thankfully, the CSU investigator had packaged it in plastic and was slipping it into a brown paper sack.

  I continued to the desk. The smell triggered another gag reflex. My stomach ached from the muscle clenches.

  Fifi hurried behind me, and whispered loudly in my direction as I bent over the computer to burn another copy of the disc while trying to hold my breath. "Sugah, you may be right about the message, but there's no way on God's green earth that you're going to convince me that Trey didn't have a hand in this."

  I leaned up to give her the look of "silence is golden."

  She turned to Justice. "He's a vile and evil man. And he's been trying to strong-arm Sloane for breaking off their relationship." She wagged her finger, her bangles tinkling judgmentally as they slid down her arm. "Mind my word. As sure as grits can turn to glue, that man did this."

  My brain slid into the abyss. She needed to shut up before she stirred up a real hornets' nest.

  "Don't accuse him when you don't know. I'm getting a feeling that we need to leave him out of this." I grabbed the copied CD and released the breath I was holding as I hurried back to the coffee bar. I couldn't hide the fact that Fifi's declaration was making me shake more than the dead rat. What could she be thinking, talking about him like that? Discussing it among ourselves was one thing, but bringing the police into it was another whole heap of hurtin'.

  Detective Justice eyed her. "What is this Trey's last name?"

  I hesitated. My shoulders began to quiver.

  Fifi pushed by me to Justice. "Alexander. His name is Trey Alexander. And he's the scum of the earth."

  "Fifi . . . don't . . ." I pulled my lips in between my teeth and clamped down.

  I cringed. Justice wrote down his name. This was not a good thing. Trey was unpredictable.

  Justice poised his pen on the next line. "Where can I find this person of interest?"

  "I'm not sure. He moves aroun—"

  "He's right down the street, sitting on that same stupid stoop he's always on, around the corner from the market." Fifi looked proud of herself for knowing the answer.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and dropped my shoulders. This could not end well.

  Justice held up the CD. "I'll have forensics go over this." He slid it into his inside breast pocket. "And the person of interest will be interviewed."

  "Is there anything new on Verlene's theft?"

  "No, not yet, but we have sent notifications to all the New York City and borough bookstores to be on the lookout for anyone trying to sell the book." He shoved his hand in his pants pocket. "This is going to be a long shot if we get a hit and catch them trying to sell it."

  I wanted to tell him that I had baited the thieves, but I was afraid that he wouldn't approve. Why that meant anything, I didn't know. I could feel the cool metal of my gun in my slacks pocket. I was sure glad that my loose top covered it. I didn't want to have to explain to a police officer why I was carrying concealed without a concealed permit.

  "Please let us know if you hear anything." That was all I could muster. I was a terrible liar, so it was better to not say too much and give myself away.

  Detective Justice drilled his gaze alm
ost through to my soul. "What are you not telling me, Ms. Templeton?"

  I shrugged. "Why would you ask that?"

  "Because I happen to read faces with extreme accuracy."

  I lowered my eyes. Auh breeze! Caught. Just trying to think up an excuse was making it worse. I sighed. "Okay . . . we sorta baited the thugs and their girls."

  "'We' did what?" Justice straightened. "Didn't I tell you to stay out of police business?"

  "She was just trying to help," added Fifi .

  "Did either of you stop to think that this could put you in danger? That this threat could very well be from them?"

  Fifi and I stared at each other. No, I suppose we hadn't thought of that.

  "But if the rat was from them, then the e-mails still weren't, because they started before the robbery."

  "One case at a time." Justice pulled out his notebook again. "Names and locations. Talk. Now."

  I guess those were my walking orders. I gave him all the names that I could remember. "I do know that they come from Bed-Stuy."

  "That helps. We can focus on bookstores in that area, as well." He put away his trusty notebook. "Now, please, I beg you to stay out of this case. Please?"

  "Yes." I lowered my head, while crossing my fingers behind my back. Juvenile yes, but it was the only thing I could think to do to ward off the lightning bolt of God for telling a big whopper.

  Justice leaned on one leg. "You're lying."

  "'Bout what?"

  "About staying out of my case."

  I tried a miserable imitation of being coy. "I will really try, Detective."

  Justice shook his head. "You're just like Verlene."

  "How well do you know my aunt?"

  "Her friendship with my partner affords me the opportunity to know that she's a real pistol."

  I froze. My gun suddenly tapped on my leg. Or was that my leg tapping on the gun?

  "I'll try and keep a tight rein on Sloane if you'll promise to keep us in the loop on any developments in the investigation," said Fifi .