Twenty-One

Dusk was settling in quickly. Once again Ramble Street was blocked off, and the heart of the Oktoberfest was well underway, with the driving bass of Poe’s Crows, a popular local alt-rock band, shaking the mortar loose on the surrounding buildings. Strings of orange lights crisscrossed the street, bales of hay were set out for seating, tables and chairs were full in the fenced-off beer garden, and the air was fragrant with cider, grilled bratwurst, and popcorn.

The Ramble Street Oktoberfest had grown over the years from a one-block street party to a sort of Midnight Madness sidewalk sale supported by most of the downtown Elm Grove businesses and charities. Benny manned a table in front of the bookstore window. Around the corner, Diane and Kelsey manned the grill as a fundraiser for the Spring House women’s shelter. Philippa and her cameraman were recording the local color.

Sibylline Books itself was closed for the private party. The guests were mostly loyal patrons, and a mix of Corton University faculty and members of the O’Dair Society. Once again Margaret Milligan put herself front and center, as if it was her party and her venue, never at a loss to have something to say about nearly everything. Tread stood next to her, with a neutral expression. Charlotte had counted on Tread telling Margaret about the party, knowing the egomaniac prof would show up just to mark her territory. Simon stood a short way behind Margaret and looked at her with disdain when she let out another one of her theatrical laughs.

Charlotte got off the phone and joined Donovan for a break on the stairs that led to the second floor, which were roped off from the general crowd.

He leaned toward her to speak quietly in the noise. “Was that Detective Barnes?”

She nodded. “He got in touch with the medical trial that Jefferson was in. Evidently, he was one of their best successes. He was highly motivated, in good general health, and very careful about eating or drinking anything that would react badly with the compounds he was taking—especially alcohol and painkillers. They refused to believe he would attempt suicide in the first place, but said that taking a time-release painkiller was an incredibly unpredictable way to do it.”

“So he wasn’t drunk at the bonfire? Wasn’t he drinking beer with Tread?”

“It was root beer. Barnes is pretty certain that Margaret told the truth when she said her cooler was full of root beer and iced tea. And at her party? Remember he had a drink in his hand? I don’t remember smelling it. It might have been apple juice.”

“True.” Donovan thought it over. “That means it’s murder—unless it is the most unfortunate accidental overdose ever.”

Donovan nodded toward Tread, who was standing among those around Margaret. “Do you think Selim has talked to him yet?”

“I don’t think so, as Tread panicked when he saw Selim’s falcon tattoo, but we all have to touch base about it. It’s been so busy around here. Tomorrow is the awards ceremony. And at some point, I’ll have to nail down Ellis about school.”

“She’ll go back to Paris very soon. Back to the Conservatoire, and this time there will be a boyfriend.”

“Nah.” Donovan’s expression was dismissive. “If you tell anyone, make it Shelley, so she doesn’t fret—and so someone responsible over there knows what’s going on. But if Selim is already friends with Shelley, she’ll probably find out pretty quickly on her own.”

“Hey, kids.” Aldo shuffled down the stairs from his office, and leaned against the wall. “Another party, huh? You’d think nothing happened anywhere else in this town.”

Donovan rolled his eyes. “I’m ready to give it a rest. No more grand openings.”

“No more,” Charlotte echoed. “The next time we have a party, it’s just going to be for our nearest and dearest.”

“That will include me, of course.” Aldo nudged Charlotte until she laughed, then he jerked his head toward Margaret. “Who’s the prima donna?”

Charlotte sighed. “Professor Jefferson’s colleague, Margaret Milligan, and my favorite suspect in his murder.”

Aldo paused. “I’ll make a point of staying away from her, then. Right now, I gotta get a brat, the smell is making me hungry.”

Selim appeared as neat and collected as usual, but Ellis’ pale complexion gave away a bit of redness around her lips and high color in her cheeks. She sat down on the step behind Charlotte, and Selim moved forward, murmuring something to Donovan in passing. Donovan then followed him.

Charlotte looked up at Ellis. “You look like you’ve been having a good time.”

Ellis colored up some more, but her eyes sparkled and her grin was playful as she watched Selim work through the crowd to talk to Tread Rose. “It’s great.”

When Charlotte thought about it, she decided Ellis had a point, and shrugged, too. Then laughed. “That’s just the first thing everybody used to ask when it looked like two people were getting together and going out.”

Ellis looked at her with surprise, then laughed, too. “I really like him, and it’s—right now. That’s all I know.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I told him about the dementia, the treatment, and how Jefferson probably put it on the grant application. Then—” she stopped, and appeared to be exchanging a look with Selim. “Oh, man, here it goes.” She started down the steps.

What was going on? Then she saw that a truck from a parcel delivery service had pulled up on Harvey Street, in front of the bookstore. A uniformed man exited the passenger side with a clipboard. He stopped at the sale table and spoke to Benny, who waved for Donovan to come out. Donovan joined them, and signed the clipboard.

Charlotte hurried out to catch up with him. “What’s going on? A delivery now?”

Donovan sighed. “It’s apparently the book printing and binding machine that I leased. The alley access is blocked off for the Oktoberfest, so they’ve pulled up front. The timing could hardly be worse, especially if it’s as big as I think it is.”

“Damn if I know. I was going to wait until actually unpacking it before deciding whether it should go upstairs in an office, or to stay down here on the main level in the back room.” He pushed up his glasses and shook his head. “For the time being, though, I guess we’re just going to have to bring it in through the front door.”

“Our print-on-demand machine. A week early. We’re going to have to move the big table out of the way to get it into the back room, and it’s full of people—”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said Aldo, swallowing the last bite of his sandwich while he tossed the wrapper and napkin. “Make lemonade out of the lemon. You want people to know you’re going to offer this service, right? So make a spectacle out of unpacking it and answering questions. People won’t mind—they’ll find it interesting and they’ll talk about it.”

Donovan thought it over for a few seconds, then patted Aldo’s back. “Right as always, Aldo.” He turned to Charlotte. “I guess we’re gonna do this.”

They watched the driver and his assistant enter the back of the truck, as the alt-rock band pounded out the theme from Rocky Horror Picture Show. Charlotte had the feeling someone was watching her. She looked around, and saw Ellis staring at her, wide-eyed and nervous.

What? Charlotte mouthed the word. Ellis looked down and Charlotte saw that she had crossed her fingers.

The delivery guys unloaded a big cardboard box about the size of a small refrigerator on its side. Charlotte didn’t think it looked big enough for a machine that printed and bound books, but maybe there were more boxes. Donovan directed them to set it in the middle of the bookstore. Charlotte and Aldo helped him to get several people involved, including Selim and Tread, in moving the big table out of the way, opening the box by cutting down the sides, and then unwinding the miles of bubble wrap while Donovan explained to everyone about the reincarnation of Sibylline Press.

But as the layers of wrap came away, familiar bright colors emerged that were certainly not part of a printer. Donovan straightened and looked first at Charlotte, then at Selim, then rapidly tore off the rest of the wrap.

Shocked cries and a melodramatic gasping shriek from Margaret rang through the bookstore as the mummy case was once again revealed.

Philippa pushed through the crowd, her cameraman closely following. People outside peered through the front window.

Charlotte caught Selim’s eye, and the barest of smiles on his face told her everything she needed to know.

“Well, folks,” said Donovan, running his hand through his hair, which made it stand up more than ever, “I think it’s pretty safe to say that this isn’t a print-on-demand machine.”

“It’s horrifying!” cried Margaret, as the cameraman angled close to her. “It was sent to your father, and he died! It was sent to Aubrey, and he died!” She grabbed Donovan’s arm with both hands. “Now it is sent to you! It has to be the curse of the Order of Seth!”

There were many puzzled murmurs at this remark, and Donovan pushed Margaret’s hands off his arm. “Let’s not get carried away, Margaret.”

“I don’t understand!” Tread Rose looked as if he didn’t know what to think or what to do with himself, staring bug-eyed at the mummy case, and possibly even more distraught than Margaret.

Charlotte managed to get closer to Donovan. “We might as well see if the mummy is inside—and if it has anything else, you know?”

Aldo nodded. “Might as well keep this dog and pony show going. I’ll get the tool bag.”

And as happened at Jefferson’s office, the lid pried off without much difficulty, and the mummy was once again in the light of day, the dark ridged and lacquered skin crowned with dry strawberry blonde hair, hands crossed on her chest. But this time the hands held a single piece of note card.

Go forth, my love, without remorse—the sails will rise, the mists will part—

Commence your brave uncharted course, and hold me close within your heart.

Aldo looked back down at the mummy as if he was looking at something a dog would roll in. “The old girl has certainly gotten around.”

Philippa had managed to wiggle through to stand close to Donovan. “So, this is your mum’s predecessor?”

Margaret suddenly moved her hands off her mouth and pointed to the note card, which Aldo still held. “That’s Aubrey’s handwriting!”

Charlotte leaned forward to look. Margaret was right. It was Jeffers’ hard-slant writing, and must have been the card he read from the night of the bonfire. How had Selim gotten his hands on it?

“It’s the work of the Order of Seth!” Margaret’s head nodded in a tremor. “There is no other explanation! Adeen O’Dair’s cult has come back to haunt us all!”

“No,” said Tread, in a low voice. “No, that is simply not possible. It was a heart attack. Or suicide. You don’t know what you’re saying—”

“Aubrey would never commit suicide! And he was as healthy as a horse!” Margaret’s voice was harsh and broken. “He was murdered!”

Charlotte glanced at Selim, but he was closely watching Tread, who was nearly white with fear, beads of sweat forming along his hairline. Then Tread jerked his head and stared with equal fear at Selim.

Selim, however, calmly looked back, eyebrows slightly raised, like the look a parent gives an errant child: So what are you going to do about it?

“No!” Tread shouted, almost on the verge of tears, and struggling to get his breath. “Let me out of here!”

He pushed his way through the crowd, not caring who he stepped on or knocked into as he made for the door and left the shop.

Selim gave a quick nod to Donovan, and went after Tread. Ellis started to leave, as well, but Donovan held her back, with nothing more than a barely perceptible shake of his head. Margaret continued fretting. Philippa continued filming.

Although the Oktoberfest outside continued without missing a beat, the party in the bookstore fizzled out as Barnes dealt with securing the mummy and taking statements. He got Charlotte aside and spoke to her privately, concluding with a remark that forensics would be thrilled to have another go at the mummy.

Ellis helped Donovan and Benny take down the sidewalk sale tables and Charlotte did what she could to clean up the bookstore, tossing out empty cups and napkins from the refreshments, and whatever remained of the packaging material that Barnes didn’t take. Donovan locked the door after Benny left and moved a few boxes of merchandise to the back room. Ellis kept checking for texts on her phone and looking out the window, until she hurriedly unlocked the door to let in Selim.

“Good timing,” said Donovan, before Selim could explain himself. “Wanted to stay clear of Detective Barnes, didn’t you?”

Selim, however, didn’t flinch. “I avoid situations where I must tell a lie, even if for the greater good. I tried to follow Tread, but lost him. He did not go back to his hotel room, either.”

Ellis looked at him quizzically. “You walked all the way to the Inn and back?”

“Hardly,” said Selim. “There are several Domino operatives at different points in Elm Grove.”

Donovan wasn’t finished with him. “And I assume those operatives were the ones who brought that goddamn mummy here?”

Selim nodded, and Donovan’s temper flared. “Thanks for the heads up! And for wrecking the party! With friends like you, we sure as hell—”

Ellis crossed her arms and glared back. “Well, I suggested it. Selim still had the mummy, and I remembered that Donovan had the print-on-demand machine coming. I thought that would be a good way of getting the mummy here, to see if Margaret or Tread would freak out.”

Donovan’s angry look shifted to hurt and confusion. “I thought we all agreed to flush them out by telling them that Charlotte has all the research, and implying that she’s working on the code. Why didn’t you tell us you were doing this, too?”

Selim then spoke up. “That part was to protect you when you were questioned, and also because Philippa was getting everything on camera. Your surprise and concern would be genuine.”

Then Charlotte remembered what had alarmed her the most. “How did you acquire Jefferson’s note card?”

“It was on the ground where he dropped it that night,” said Selim. “Right next to the bonfire. It sounded familiar, and I wanted to look it up—and then it seemed like a good idea to hang on to it.”

Selim had the grace to lower his head. “I am afraid that is part of my job.”

“It was the epigraph from the book of poetry that came with the mummy,” said Charlotte.

“It’s also the epigraph for Least Objects,” said Ellis. “The original edition,” she added.

Selim shrugged. “I do not know, but I am certain something will come of it. Both Tread and Margaret were stunned, as we intended. Tread was also distressed by Margaret’s babbling about the Order of Seth being responsible for Professor Jefferson’s death. But I am still not sure why Tread is so frightened. He is acting as if the mummy’s appearance is—personal, or something.”

Donovan looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I get the feeling you aren’t entirely disappointed.”

Selim’s smile was faint, but there. “True, I am not. Anyway, all we can do now is keep an eye on those two and wait.”

“But there’s a problem with waiting,” Charlotte pointed out. “The conference is over—there’s only the O’Dair Awards tomorrow. After that, there is no reason for Tread to be here. I wouldn’t be surprised if the senator called him back to Indy tonight.”

An uncomfortable silence set in. Donovan closed the blinds on the window and door.

Charlotte felt a headache coming on, and went for the bottle of ibuprofen they kept under the checkout counter. The shelves were in the shadows, and she almost missed seeing the odd-looking envelope off to one side.

She picked it up and saw her name spelled in cut-out letters. Inside was a note, composed in the same way: