They landed at East Hampton airport and found Beckley’s father waiting for them. Superficially, he appeared to be an older version of his son. However, his nose was more prominent, and while Beckley stood straight and had a certain male grace about him, his father was stoop-shouldered and his dark hair did not curl. His son had described him as a sixty-two-year-old who looked not a day older than fifty. The image she’d seen in his mind had indeed shown Dr. Hume as a vibrant, laughing figure. However, the man who greeted them now bore little resemblance to that person. A hunted, desperate light shone in his brown eyes and he waved them over to the paneled station wagon while looking left and right. Vie followed his search and saw no one paying them the least attention. No doubt theirs was not the first helicopter to arrive today bearing passengers nor would it be the last in this affluent corner of New York State.
“Quickly now. Your mother’s waiting.”
“Dad. This is Ms. Vie Tine,” Beckley said, standing at the open front car door, carefully avoiding touching his dad as they’d discussed on the way to the heliport. “Vie, this is my father, Dr. Hume.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” Vie said, holding out her hand.
The courtesy seemed to strengthen him. He stood up straighter and gained some control over his features. His handshake was firm, though not overly so.
“How do you do, my dear. Thank you so much for coming on such short notice.”
“Not at all,” she murmured. He had a lovely voice—mellifluous and warm.
“Shall we proceed? My wife is most anxious and I do not like to leave her alone for very long. She worries so.”
“Of course,” Vie said, smiling to herself. Now she knew where Beckley got his formal way of speech. “The matter is very grave.”
“Oh, yes. Indeed.”
Beckley held the door for her while she got in the front seat. He barely settled in the back before his father stepped on it and they roared across the tarmac—well, mewed would be a more apt description for the speed with which the old station wagon rushed along. It had heart but that was about all. Its get-up-and-go had long since departed.
“Your son said that the manuscript you were restoring has been stolen?” Vie asked. His nod was disjointed and his polite face dissolved into anxiety once more. “When did you notice it missing?”
“This morning. Not right away. I took the dogs for a walk on the beach like I do every day. Angie had already settled into her work in the study.” He pushed his wire-framed glasses up onto his nose, fumbling with them so much Vie thought they were going to fall on the floor. Once Dr. Hume had them in place, he explained. “She doesn’t go into my workroom unless I call her in to look at something so she hadn’t realized it was gone either. The room is atmosphere controlled, you see. No dust, no animals…humidity kept at a constant. It’s too hard to maintain optimums when there is toing and froing going on.”
“I understand,” Vie said. “Is the room locked?”
“Oh yes. Electronically controlled locks. I work on valuable manuscripts, Ms. Tine.”
“Have you received a ransom demand?” she asked. His shocked look focused on her for so long he almost ran a stop sign.
The car halted with a lurch.
“Are you all right, Dad?” Beckley asked.
“Yes, Son, I’m fine,” Dr. Hume said, looking both directions before commencing. “A ransom… No. We haven’t. Is that typical?”
“It depends,” Vie explained. “If the book was arranged to be stolen by a collector, then you’ll probably never see it again. However, if it was taken by a professional hoping to sell it to a collector, he or she may try to ransom it back to you. After all, the thief knows you already want it.”
“If we get a ransom demand, I’ll pay,” Dr. Hume said grimly. “Whatever it costs. We’ll sell the house if we have to.”
“Hopefully, I’ll be able to see who took it and we can go from there, avoiding any drastic measures. I’ll ‘look’ back in time to when the manuscript was taken. The thief will expect you to have cameras so he’ll be wearing a mask. However, with Beckley’s help I’ll work my way backward or forward in time to the moment when he thinks he’s safe. When that happens, he’ll remove his mask and I’ll be able to get a look at his face.”
“Uh…I’m sorry, my dear. I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say…” he started and then ran out of steam. Apparently, in his polite corner of the world you didn’t confront ladies whom you thought were bonkers.
Vie watched him make eye contact with his son in the rearview mirror.
“Don’t worry, Dad. Everything will be okay. Vie is the real deal.”
“I…uh…I…”
“Dr. Hume.”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Do not be concerned. I know what I’m doing,” Vie assured him. Though he kept his hands on the wheel, his long fingers drummed irregularly. “Is there anyone you suspect of wanting to have the manuscript?”
“To be honest,” he said cautiously. “Everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“He means everyone in the book world.”
Vie nodded. “As you may already realize, there are those who merely covet from afar and those who’ll break the law to have whatever they collect. They don’t care, you see, because they probably will never show it to anyone,” she explained. “Does that narrow the field much?”
“Not as much as you’d think,” Beckley said drily from the back seat. “The rare book world is more cutthroat than you probably imagine.”
Vie raised her eyebrows. Dr. Hume turned the car onto a long drive. They drove through a grove of trees and then across a wide expanse of lawn. The house proved to be a two-story, bluish-gray, shingle-and-gable home trimmed in white. Mature gardens and trees punctuated the acreage. An area next to the garage was fenced off and contained a swimming pool and multi-level wood decking. Beck, is that the fence you had to paint?
Yes.
I’m feeling sorrier for you now than I did when you told that story.
“What is this manuscript?” she asked his father, realizing she still didn’t know. “Would I be familiar with its contents?”
“My dear woman,” Dr. Hume said, stopping the car and turning off the engine. “Of course you are. It’s an early copy of the Aesopica.”
“Ohhh,” Vie drawled, hoping she sounded suitably impressed. Aiming her next thought at Beckley, she asked, What’s that?
It’s the collection of Aesop’s Fables.
Ah.
“How early?” she asked aloud, pleased with her ability to get information out of Beckley without his parent knowing. Such a useful talent, she thought to herself. They climbed out of the station wagon while Beckley’s father explained.
“The eleventh century,” he said reverently and then he launched into a brief but cohesive history of the fables, starting with the slave, Aesop, who was thought to have lived in the fourth century BCE and ending with the copy he was restoring.
A tall woman of imposing demeanor and impressive command came through the sliding doors onto one of the decks and regarded them over the fence. At first glance, she didn’t look at all worried. But upon closer scrutiny, Vie saw that her jaw was clenched and the knuckles on her clasped hands shone white amongst the smattering of age spots. Beckley’s mother wore her relaxed gray curls short and wispy at the ends and at her bangs, softening her severe, aristocratic features. Vie recognized her pale gray pant suit as Armani.
Following an impulse, Vie walked over to the fence, held out her hand to be shaken and said, “I hope I look as handsome as you do when I’m sixty-one. Is that an Etsy hand-painted silk scarf? Deep-blue looks fabulous on you.”
“Thank you. It’s called Passion Storm,” Beckley’s mother said, stepping forward to shake Vie’s hand. “The name sounds like a romance novel title—so silly really. But I love it. You must be Violet Tine, Beckley’s new employer. My name is Dr. Angela Hume. Please, call me Angie.”
“I will. I am Violet but almost everyone calls me Vie.” Keeping hold of the woman’s hand, Vie spoke confidently and with great depth of purpose, staring directly into her troubled hazel eyes. “I don’t want you to worry any more, Angie. Beckley and I will find that manuscript.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I am.” Vie released her hand and stepped back. She looked at her guide. He raised one eyebrow. “Dr. Hume as well, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“You never said,” she accused, glaring at him. “And here I was, treating you like an everyday person.”
“I am an everyday person,” he insisted, folding his arms.
Vie harrumphed and looked away from him to his parents, suppressing a smile.
“I suggest we get started right away. Beckley, if your father will accompany us so that he can be prepared to open his workroom when we need to go inside, I will begin ‘looking’ out here. When I see the culprit, we will move forward until we discover how he was able to enter and obtain the manuscript.”
“Wait,” Angie said, frowning at them. She looked at her son and then back to Vie. “I don’t understand. Beckley has told us your methods are unusual but very effective. I thought we could have tea and you could explain your techniques before you began.”
“Mom, Vie prefers coffee.”
Angie’s eyes widened. “I have some instant. Could I tempt you with that? I keep it for the gardener when he comes around. He’s Guatemalan.”
“And he drinks instant coffee?” Vie asked, her eyebrows shooting up.
“It’s very high-end,” Angie offered.
Vie didn’t doubt it. Swallowing her pride and succumbing to the urge to make a good impression with Beckley’s mother, she conceded. “I’d love a cup after this first effort. I believe we shouldn’t delay. Thank you.”
She turned away and glared at Beckley. If you tell Suzy I drank instant coffee without complaint I’ll switch the specialty teas you’re planning on purchasing with instant ice tea.
Fair enough.
Beckley smiled at his mother and almost touched his father’s arm to draw him back toward the rear of the car. He didn’t know how they were going to manage not to brush against each other during this search. The plan was to tell them about the danger but not to do it until the initial “looking” had taken place. They wanted to get his parents’ primary concern addressed before they introduced a new one.
“Dad, just stand to one side and listen. Do not speak to Vie while she is ‘looking’ because she won’t be able to hear you. I will guide her around anything that is different between what she sees in the past and what exists now. Vie will keep up a running dialogue about what she sees.” Beckley waited until his father gave him a confused nod before continuing. “Don’t touch me, either, please. It’s too distracting. I’ll be able to hear you, though, so you can talk to me about what’s happening if you want. Please open the side door if it’s locked.”
“Right,” Dr. Hume said, glancing from his son to Vie’s confident smile. He opened the side door with a key on his key ring and stepped back once it was swung inward.
“Are you ready?” Beckley asked Vie.
“Yes.” Vie held out her hand and he slipped his arm under it. “Okay, I’m going to start at last evening. Were you both at home?”
His mother answered. “Yes, we were. George came up from his workroom at about ten-thirty, let the dogs out for a run and then we both went to bed.”
“Do the dogs sleep in your room with you?”
“Yes. They are both very old and unfortunately they did not wake up during the night at all. They are Welsh Corgis.”
“Please, Mom, would you keep them out from under our feet?”
“Yes, of course, dear. I’ll put them in the laundry room.”
“Thank you, Angie,” Vie said and then Beckley watched her compose herself. Her eyes narrowed. “Okay, it’s ten-thirty. I’m looking down your drive toward the front of the property. I don’t see anyone coming but that isn’t surprising me because you don’t have enough security lighting.” Vie moved to the corner of the house and peered in all directions. “Still nothing. Ah, here come the dogs. Very efficiently done—and back they go in the house. The bedroom light is going on. I’m skipping through time now until eleven o’clock. The light is off and the entire house is in the dark. Dr. Hume, this is not a good safety feature. Everyone who may be watching this house now knows that everyone has gone to bed. I suggest you put a few lights on a timer.”
Beckley shook his head when his father opened his mouth to answer her. “There’s no use, Dad. She can’t hear you.”
“Is she actually looking into the past?” he whispered.
“Yes, she is.”
“I still don’t see anyone. I’m going to trawl through time five minutes at a time.”
“And right now she’s—”
“Yes.”
“Still nothing. It’s one-thirty.”
“And all you do for her is walk her around and make sure she doesn’t bump into things?”
“Dad,” Beckley drawled before his father could say anything they’d both regret later.
“Okay, now I see something.” Vie moved them back to the driveway. “There’s a man walking up the lane holding a flashlight. It’s turned on. What kind of an idiot keeps their flashlight on when they can see without it?”
Beckley, can you hear me?
Yes.
Good. Just checking.
“The person I’m seeing is definitely a man. By his gait, I’d say he was middle-aged or older. He has a bandana tied around the lower half of his face. Honestly? A red-and-white bandana? Does he think he’s playing at cowboys and Indians?”
“She’s not very politically correct, is she?” Dr. Hume whispered. “Do you really expect me to believe in her?”
“You believe in my ability to see auras, don’t you?” Beckley demanded, his voice rising.
“Of course, son. That runs in the family,” his mother said, having returned from locking away the dogs. Her arms rested on the top of the railing and she peered down at them. “Your uncle could also see auras. Do you think he could see the aura of the jellyfish that stung him?”
“Shh,” his father cautioned her. “She’ll hear you.”
Beckley rolled his eyes. “She can’t hear us.”
“Oh. Right.”
“He’s approaching the side door. He’s got a key. Dr. Hume? And I mean your father, Beckley. How many people have a key to your house?” Vie asked without returning her focus to the present.
“Uh…there’s you, Beckley. Your mother and I both have a key as does your brother and sister. The gardener and the housekeeper. Also, our neighbor, Clark Ackerman. You remember him?”
“Yes, I do.”
“He keeps an eye on the place when we are away,” his dad explained.
“We’d get the housekeeper to look in but she lives too far away,” his mother offered. “She doesn’t think it’s Clark, does she? He’s not been quite right since his wife died and he’s always hated that George restores books… Even so… Surely not? We’ve known him for thirty years.”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Beckley said and then silently relayed his father’s tally.
At least eight.
Great.
“Okay, Beckley. We’re going to follow him inside. The door better still be open because here we go.”
He and Vie led them through the side doorway into a long corridor.
“I don’t see a keypad. Dr. Hume, no house alarm? Really? When this is over I am going to hook you up with a great company—the same one that provided my place with its alarms.”
“Is she serious?”
“I’m pretty sure she is, Dad,” Beckley said, his tone dry. He’d been telling them to get a system for years.
This floor, though it had a ground-level entrance, was considered the basement because the lot sloped up from this point until the rear half of the foundation was completely covered. Several doors opened off this hallway. However, the investigators turned neither left nor right. At one point they passed his mother who now stood on the stairs watching them.
“He clearly knows where he’s going,” Vie said. She looked around—at the ceiling, the walls, the floors. “The intruder is approaching a key pad. Finally, some security. Beckley, I want to switch sides so I can see what he is keying in. For heaven’s sake, he’s not even wearing gloves. Who doesn’t wear gloves these days? No one, that’s who. There are so many versions of CSI on the tube that…never mind. He’s keying in 665665. The light is turning green. The right code, I guess. I’m going to use it. If this is a problem, Beckley, stop me.”
“Dad, is it okay for her to go in? Is that the right code?”
“Yes. Yes.” His father sounded stunned. He exchanged amazed glances with his wife. “Yes, she can go in.”
You can go in. You’ve impressed my father by knowing the number.
I bet he didn’t believe me before, did he?
Sorry. No.
Don’t sweat it. You’ll have to open the door yourself. The one that I can see is already wide open.
Okay. It’s open.
“I’m following him inside. For heaven’s sake, he’s turned on the lights.” Vie shook her head. “Now he’s putting on cotton gloves and taking something out of his pockets. Ah, pillow cases. I’m going to assume that the manuscript that is spread out all over the place is the one that was stolen. He’s being very careful as he gathers up the pages into a neat pile. Everything is going in a pillow case. Now he’s wrapping it up and putting it inside another case and then another. Now it’s going into the largest Ziploc bag I’ve ever seen. This guy is taking no chances.”
Beckley waved his father out of the large, sterile room, anticipating Vie’s next words to be that they were leaving. The older man tutted and retreated to the hallway. Beckley held the door ajar for Vie because an automatic closer usually kept it shut.
“He’s leaving. Is the door still open?” she asked.
Yes.
This new talent is proving very helpful.
Indeed.
They moved through the door and he let it shut. The hiss and click of the door sealing behind them punctuated the silence. His parents, clearly enthralled by Vie’s knowledge of the combination, appeared to hold their breaths for her next pronouncement.
“We’re in the hallway and he’s pausing at the bottom of the stairs. He’s shaking his head. I think he’s upset and angry… Obviously I’m guessing here.”
His mother slipped down the stairs ahead of Vie. “I’ll open this door again, shall I? It looks like they’re heading outside once more.” She rushed forward and just got the door open before Vie and Beckley rushed through it. “No wonder she needs a guide.”
They all congregated at the rear of the station wagon. The afternoon sun caused them to blink their eyes. Vie, however, squinted hers.
“We’re going to follow him down the drive. Let’s go, Beckley,” she said, taking his hand. “Dr. Hume? Bring the car, please.”
Vie tugged on his hand and they began running cautiously down the smooth drive. He heard his mother contend with his dad.
“Give me the keys. I’m driving,” his mother ordered in a firm tone.
“Maybe you should stay here where it’s safe, dear.”
“I’m not going to miss all the fun. You stay here if you want to.”
He heard two car doors close so he assumed they were both following.
Vie paused when the thief stopped for breath and then moved them forward when he advanced. They reached the bottom of the drive after three rest stops. The man leaned against the mailbox, struggling to breathe. Apparently unsuccessful, he tugged off the bandana and took in great gulps of air.
Mom’s got the window rolled down. She wants to know which way we’re turning.
Vie looked up and down the empty street. There were no parked cars in sight. Was he waiting for a lift? Or had he walked?
“There’s no ride for him. None that I can see so I don’t know yet where we are going. He’s taken off his bandana, though. He looks to be in his late fifties. Well, that nose is going to mark him wherever he goes—it’s bulbous and quite the biggest nose I’ve ever seen,” Vie commented. “He’s—”
Never mind. I know who he is, Beckley sent her. It’s Clark, the neighbor.
Vie returned her focus to the present in time for her to hear Angie’s blistering remark.
“That sounds like Clark. Save me from idiotic amateur historians who want to keep every artifact that is found in its original condition! I’ve often wanted to give him a good thrashing whenever he has taken up my valuable time with his pontificating. This looks like a good day to fulfill one of my most ardent desires.” Angie looked from her husband, who seemed too furious to speak, back to Vie and her son. “Telling Clark off is number twenty-nine on my bucket list. You two go back up to the house and put the kettle on. We’ll look after this twit.”
“Are you certain?” Vie asked, resting her hands on the door. “There could be more to this than we know.”
“I’m absolutely certain and I know exactly what’s going on,” Angie replied, her chin raised. Dr. Hume nodded once and Vie noticed his hands fisted on his lap.
“What if he’s in this with somebody else? Someone you don’t know who may possibly be dangerous. I’d feel much happier going with you,” Vie argued firmly.
“Clark Ackerman is a sanctimonious nincompoop,” Dr. Hume said through his clenched teeth. “He doesn’t care that mold is eating away the pages or that there’s water damage on the lower right-hand corner of half the manuscript. I’m making certain that the book will be legible for generations to come. It’s the contents of a book that matter. I’ve told him and told him and told him.”
“Dad, are you certain he’ll just give you the manuscript back?”
“Try not to worry, Son. We’ll get it.”
“The instant coffee is on the bottom shelf next to the stove,” Angie said to her. “Come on, dear. Let’s go get your book back.”
Vie stepped away as the car pulled out onto the street and drove off to the left. About a hundred yards down the road it hung a right and entered a driveway. She turned and considered Beckley. He was looking after his parents—a deep frown furrowed his brow.
“You don’t look any happier about this than I feel,” she offered.
His lips compressed. “I’m not. Clark is a hothead and both of my parents are very passionate about restoration. I’m concerned the situation will regress.”
“Regress, huh?” Vie repeated.
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go after them.”