So, telling someone that they are misinformed about their own lineage wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had, but Rainwater had me enrolled in a self-defense class last summer. My last lesson had been on dodging flying objects, so I put it to good use when Imogene hurled her cane at me and was able to jump out of the way. A vase that had held some of the wedding flowers had not been as lucky and lay shattered on the floor.
Imogene covered her mouth. “Oh my word! I’m so sorry about your vase. I—I don’t know what came over me.”
Now that she no longer had the cane on her, I felt more comfortable walking around the sales counter. “I’ll get a broom and some paper towels.”
Faulkner was in the tree, squawking and crying. “Off with her head! Off with her head!” It was his favorite proclamation when he was upset. Emerson, for his part, was on top of the mantle. It seemed that he had jumped straight up in the air and landed there next to a portrait of Emily Dickinson.
“Faulkner, calm down. Emerson, jump down from there.”
They must have sensed that my tone meant business this time because the cat jumped to the couch and Faulkner fell silent.
“Why don’t you have a seat on the sofa there while I clean this up, and then we can talk?”
She nodded dumbly and shuffled over to the couches. She sat in the one facing the front of the shop and watched the entrance as if she expected someone to stride in at any moment and drag her away.
I hurried to the kitchen to grab another broom, a dust pan, and some paper towels.
After cleaning up the mess, I sat across from Imogene on the opposite couch. To my right, the fire crackled in the hearth. “Imogene?” I asked when she didn’t say anything.
“I’m so sorry about your vase.” She picked up her cane.
“You’re forgiven, but what happened?”
She shook her head slowly as if the act of shaking it was made more difficult by its incredible weight. “It’s just what you said.” She took a breath. “I have heard this so many times. No one believes that Henry David was my ancestor, but he was.” Her dark eyes flashed. “He was! The book that you and Roma stole was proof of that.”
I held up my hands. “I don’t have your book.” I paused. “As for Henry David Thoreau, he never married nor had any children. There is no scholarship on it. If he’d had a child, someone would have found out by now. It would have been a huge bombshell in American literature.”
She opened her mouth as if she was going to argue with me again.
I forged ahead. “Furthermore, none of his three siblings married or had children either. There are no direct descendants of the Thoreau family. When his younger sister Sophia died in 1876, it was the end of the family line.”
“How would you know?” She sat up in her seat, and some of that fire in her demeanor that I saw before was back.
I scanned around her seat to make sure there weren’t any heavy objects near her that she could hit me over the head with.
“How can you question what I know to be true about my family?” Her face was as red as a strawberry.
“I’ve spent my entire adult life studying Thoreau. I’ve written countless papers on him. It’s because of my knowledge of the author and his family that Roma came to my shop to try and sell the book to me. But, for what I hope is the last time I have to say it, I didn’t buy it.”
She glared at me. “You’re one of those scholarly types who isn’t able to see the truth. If he didn’t have any children, why would there be a story in my family that we descended from him?” As if it were even more proof, she went on. “Why would I have the book if it weren’t true?”
“I’m not saying that the book wasn’t passed down as a family heirloom, but I’m saying there are no direct descendants of Thoreau. To say there are is a very serious claim.”
“It’s not a claim. It’s the truth.”
“If it’s something that you want or need to prove, you should also contact the author’s society. They would take a claim like this very seriously because it would have a huge impact on Thoreau’s story and what they know about him.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried? But those uppity weasels won’t even listen to me. They stopped taking my calls. They told me I was wrong.”
I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying that she probably was wrong. Being Thoreau’s descendent was her hard and fast belief. Just like politics has turned into a religion for many, this was her truth now, and there was nothing anyone could say or show her to make her think differently.
“I don’t need you to believe me. I just need you to return the book.” She held out her bejeweled hand. “Give it to me.”
“I don’t have it. Roma offered it to me, but I didn’t buy it.” I felt like a broken record.
“She said she sold it to you.”
“When did she tell you this?” I asked.
“Yesterday morning.”
Before I saw her at my wedding then.
“And when did she supposedly sell it to me?”
“Sometime before that. She didn’t say the exact time.” She folded her arms. “If you won’t cooperate, let’s just call Roma and prove you wrong.”
My eyes widened. Either Imogene didn’t know Roma was dead, or she was a very good actor. “You have her number?”
“Yes, I do. She was my dear friend for many years until she turned on me. What I have learned in this life is that everyone turns on you after a time. You can’t trust a single person—not even your blood.”
I winced. That was a very sad statement. “If the book was stolen, I think that you should speak to the police about this.”
She scowled. “I’d rather not. I have no use for cops. They aren’t trustworthy either. They are just another group that wants to stand in my way from proving the truth.”
“You’ve had run-ins with the law?”
She pressed her lips together. “I have been arrested a time or two. Nothing serious. Just when those uppity professors refused to listen to me about my ancestry. I set them right, and the spineless academics that they were called the police.”
I was itching to call Rainwater. He would want to speak to a witness who not only knew Roma but claimed to have a history with the missing book. Also, Imogene had spoken to Roma not long before she’d died. Rainwater would want to talk to her about that as well. However, I didn’t know how to do it without her noticing.
“The police will be able to help you with your missing book. Let me just make a quick call.” I removed my cell phone from my pocket.
Imogene picked up her cane from where it leaned on the sofa and pointed it at me. “If you make that phone call, I will wallop you. And this time I won’t miss. I don’t want to talk to the police. They just make things more difficult.”
I put the phone back in my pocket. Imogene was unstable at best. One minute, she was lamenting, throwing her cane, and then apologizing to me. The next minute, she threatened to do it again—and worse. The only thing I knew for sure was that her belief that she was Henry David Thoreau’s great-great-great-great-granddaughter wasn’t an act. She actually believed it.
“Now, just hand over the book, and I will leave.”
“I told you. I don’t have it.” Okay, this was enough. I wasn’t going down this path again.
She stood up with the cane in hand.
How dumb of me. I should have hidden the cane when I had had the chance. I jumped to my feet. I really didn’t want to get beaten up by a batty old woman. I knew I could defend myself, but I didn’t want to hurt her.
The front door of the shop opened, and the law strolled in. Rainwater filled the doorway.
“David,” I said with a sigh of relief.
“What’s going on in here?” Rainwater wanted to know.
Imogene spun around.
Rainwater was in uniform today, so there was no question he was a police officer. She pointed her cane back at me. “I told you not to call the police.”
“I didn’t! That’s my fi—husband. He lives here. He also happens to be the chief of police.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I should have known there was some kind of collusion with the authorities. If not, you would have been arrested and thrown in prison for stealing my book. It must be nice to be sleeping with the cops. Makes your life of crime that much easier, doesn’t it?”
“What’s going on?” Rainwater asked in a much sterner voice.
“Well, since you’re here, I might as well tell you.” Imogene thumped her cane on the floor. “Your wife stole my book. I want it back, and if she doesn’t give it back, I want to press charges. Not that I have any hope at all of the system being fair to me.”
“What book is this?” Rainwater asked, looking at me.
I raised my brow. “Walden, the copy that Roma Winterbourne had.”
Rainwater’s stance changed just a little. He was more alert. With a dead body sitting at the county morgue, he went into full cop mode.
“When was the last time you saw Roma?” Rainwater asked.
“Ye—yesterday,” Imogene stuttered as if she changed her mind about what she said next. “Yesterday morning. She’d had the book for three weeks, and I wanted it back. I had let her borrow it because she was going to help me prove my pedigree. She said that she had the connections to do it. What I didn’t know until later was that she wasn’t trying to help me at all. She was trying to sell my book to your wife.” She pointed her finger at me again.
That was really starting to get old.
“Pedigree?” Rainwater asked.
“Yes, this is Imogene Thoreau,” I said.
“Thoreau like…”
“Just like.”
Imogene straightened up. “I am the great-great-great-great-granddaughter of Henry David Thoreau.”
When Rainwater shot a look at me, I shook my head ever so slightly to the negative, but I decided to wait until this conversation with Imogene concluded before I told him what I knew of Thoreau’s family tree. I really didn’t want to get smacked with that cane.
Rainwater took a breath. It was clear that he was deciding how to proceed. “Ms. Thoreau.”
Imogene perked up when he called her that. So far, so good.
“May I ask where you were between four and six o’clock last evening?”
Imogene blinked. “Where I was? I was at home. I was at home worrying about my book!”
“Was anyone with you?”
“My son stopped by briefly to drop off dinner. He thinks I can’t feed myself. He’s a good son even if he becomes frustrated with me at times. I know he cares.”
“And when was that?”
“Five thirty, I guess. What does this have to do with her taking my book?”
“I can assure you that Violet does not have the book,” Rainwater said in a measured voice. “But you are right, it is missing. We believe that Roma is the last one who knew of its whereabouts.”
“Well, find her and arrest her!”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that. You see,” Rainwater paused. “Roma Winterbourne is dead.”
Imogene crumbled to the floor.