At the farm, Lily stopped by the kitchen to see Aggie. “I might be a little late getting to the meeting tonight. There’s something I need to do. Go ahead without me. I’ll use the moped.”
“Do you want some mint tea? Or a radish sandwich?” Aggie puttered around the room. “It’s safe. I just ate.”
“No, I don’t think so. I’ll be in my room.”
She carried up the bookbag and made sure to lock the door. She sat on the bed, a pen and notebook beside her, the package on her lap. Her meeting with Hugh Jamison was set for tomorrow, light years away. As the barometric pressure shot up outside the window, so did her excitement. She felt no guilt. Billions of earth dwellers weighed in with opinions on crime and punishment every day, everyone judging matters from self-interest. Each personal world turned on its own axis. Just like all the others, she deserved a point of view. Sometimes the earthly marble reflected the dark side of humanity. Other times, the light. And she was halfway in-between. Holding a stolen book she’d not stolen in her white gloved hands.
The once taped bookmark from Used Stuff hung loose on the newsprint. She smiled.
Oh would that I were where I would be, there would I be where I am not.
Leaning against the crumpled pillow, she drew a breath with the first page, translating the French.
Thanks be, our herbs and vegetables follow the whims of nature with blessings from above. Our humble garden is depicted for special eyes and pure hearts to appreciate.
With a delicate touch, her fingers turned the pages, paper old as mountains, binding fragile as a cuckoo egg. The seven beds of a garden radiated from a center. Graceful drawings of medieval herbs were familiar from the seeds ordered from the Jardin Estate.
She concentrated on each word, each illustration, each simple remedy for common illnesses, jotting down notes. At the back, a sealed pocket promised another mystery to be revealed, but some inner force kept her from opening it. She wanted to copy more things down, but the clock moved relentlessly, marking time before the evening meeting of the book club. At every gathering of the three, the bond that linked them together grew stronger. Lily closed the manuscript. Instead of racing through the book, she’d wait until afterward to resume this pleasure. Later, alone in this tranquil space, she’d forego sleep to decipher the depths of the book and learn its secrets. The manuscript was hers alone until tomorrow. She prepared for book club.
Meanwhile, Llewellyn relaxed in the last row of the Neubland annual meeting. He watched his brother update the group of forty shareholders, who attended the power point presentation on the latest R&D projects.
Elcott Blanding dripped confidence at the podium. “I have exciting news about Neubland that will change our fortunes forever. We’re diligently at work on new formulas for cancer and heart disease.”
After a burst of applause from the audience, he continued, “In this revolutionary new venture, we’re basing our laboratory work on ancient cures. In more than one way, we pursue the use of herbs from old European gardens.”
A young board member raised a hand and when not recognized, stood up. “Sorry to interrupt, but isn’t that contrary to the image of Neubland representing the most modern technology? Why put money into old remedies?”
One glance at his notes and Elcott clipped off his reply. “Think of belladonna. Extractions from its roots and leaves are used in small doses as diuretics and sedatives. Atropine, which dilates the eye, is also an extract. And foxglove flourished in old gardens. From its dried leaves came digitalis, the cardiac stimulant.”
“Tell them about the experiments for an aphrodisiac.” Llewellyn spoke with enthusiasm.
Elcott threw him a dirty look. “I was saving that for my surprise ending. However, now that you bring it up, it’s a remedy that might apply not only to Alzheimer’s, but to an extended vibrant sexual life. An updated version of products available today, but for both sexes.”
The group clapped with enthusiasm.
“Naturally, we’d have first shot at the new drug,” the voice of an old board member called out.
“Naturally,” Elcott responded. “I’ll put your name right after mine.”
“Don’t forget me.” Llewellyn’s cell phone chimed.
His brother glared at him from the stage. “You know perfectly well, no calls during the meeting.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” Llewellyn dashed into the hall to answer his phone. “Hello, this is Lew Blanding.”
The voice was clear. “This concerns a certain book.”
Lew’s stomach flipped. “I’ve been waiting for you to call.” He heard bird song twittering in the background. “Do you have the book? When do we meet? Elcott’s given me the okay to proceed with this project.”
“First of all, has Neubland come up with the money?”
“I have it ready to go. When can we get this done?”
“The authorities are still nosing around, but soon.”
“Reach me on my cell anytime. Day or night.”
The moment Llewellyn hung up, he raced to his brother’s office. He waited for the meeting to end, pacing about the room.
Elcott marched in, his face stern with annoyance. “You’re a distraction, Lew. You’ve got to get your act together.”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve done just that. That phone call concerned the stolen Book of Cures. My contact asked if we had the million dollars and I said yes.”
“Well, keep my name out of this transaction, will you? And be careful. The reputation of Neubland is at stake. You know how to get in touch with him?”
“I know where to find him.”
One flip of the large framed company logo behind the presidential desk revealed the safe. Elcott reached under his credenza for a leather briefcase, then jotted something on a slip of paper. He unlocked the safe and loaded stacks of bills into the open case until it was full. “Here’s a classy carrier. The rest is up to you.”
“I can do this. Trust me.” Llewellyn left the premises. The lines of worry etching his forehead eased as he drove off on the sales route he knew so well. For the first time, he controlled the situation. The difference: a briefcase filled with cash. Without even touching the money, it lit up his world.
He raced to Nolan, tires skimming the pavement, and jolted to a stop at the Emporium. The neon sign was off and the picketer was absent. He got out and tried the door. It was locked. The words, “Temporarily Closed,” made a dent in Llewellyn’s mind as he peered in the windows, pounded on the door, and shook the handle. His violent oaths spiraled through the parking lot. Boris was gone.
After a stop at the liquor store, Llewellyn pulled into Motel 5 to rent a room.
“With our low rates, we’re all booked up with circus folks, eager to sleep in king size beds,” the clerk said. “We even got a detective from Groverly renting space.”
“Really, I didn’t know about any circus. I planned on a quick stop at the Emporium, but it’s closed.”
“That guy comes and goes, but he shows up eventually.”
Unnerved at the thought of a detective nosing around, Llewellyn zoomed off to the Groverly suburb closest to Nolan and pulled into the parking lot of the largest hotel. Before he registered, he dropped by the bar, downed a vodka martini, and purchased a bottle. Back in the lobby, he filled out the hotel registration form, signing his name as “Larry Newsome” and reconfigured the numbers on his license plate. He paid cash for three days, then drove the car into the hotel underground parking. He held the new briefcase close to his body, stopping often to look back. Entering his room at the rear of the hotel, he double-locked the door and poured himself a tall drink. Without ceremony, he opened the new Neubland briefcase to count the money. “One thousand, two thousand,” he chortled. When he got to $200,000, the money was all counted. A big problem loomed ahead, not enough money to buy the book. The note at the bottom of the case said, “our down payment.” It was too late to back out now. After a few drinks, things looked brighter. If the cures were real, Elcott would come up with the rest of the funds. Neubland would deal.
He’d wait in this room quietly, until Boris arrived back in Nolan. As soon as he got the phone call, the deal would go down. Vodka would help until it did.
In the gypsy vardo, Griffo got ready for his revenge on Lily McFae. He went over to the cage and whispered to the snake. “I will share with you how it will happen, my friend. I will be stealthy. And swift. Grab her finger. Snatch the ring. What’s mine is mine.”
The snake hissed and twisted in its enclosure. Griffo hissed back. “Someday I may turn into your prince of magnificence, but there’s no time to be charming tonight.” He picked up a gunny-sack in the corner. “Wish me luck, buddy.”
He started his mission near the outskirts of town, at the row of streetlights that welcomed visitors to Nolan. From the pile of rocks on the seat of the roadster, he grabbed a hefty stone and got out of the vehicle. A perfect throw and shattered glass fell to the ground. He smashed the next globe and the next, until he’d snuffed out the lamps that lit the way to town. It was darkness he wanted for any vehicle entering this way.
Detective Jamison noticed the woman in the windbreaker sitting on the park bench again. He reached for his cell and told the sheriff about Minnesota Fiddler, the confiscated coins, and the bookmobile.
“I’d appreciate you stopping by the square to see what she’s up to, and follow her if she leaves. I don’t want to lose track of her and it’s possible she’ll contact Boris or others in town. I’m betting she’ll enter the bookmobile to get the coins when there’s no one there. I’d follow through on this, but I have another appointment.”
After his call, he stopped by the Hopper and watched the bookmobile from the bar window, while folks chattered of this and that. He ordered a beer, took a swig from his mug, and nodded to the bartender.
Jeremy came over. “Hey, mister-wearing-the-brown-tweed jacket, were you in here the night the book club met in back?”
“In fact, I was.”
“Well, the book club lady asked about you. She wanted to know your name.”
“Did she, indeed? I’m Hugh Jamison. I was wondering about her too. In fact, I just met her. Did she say why she wanted to know?”
“Aw, guess she figured you were cute.”
“Hm, don’t know about that,” he mumbled, then gestured out the window. “Have you noticed that woman hanging around the square?”
“Matter of fact, I have,” Jeremy said. “I don’t know who she is, but it’s not a good idea, hanging around outside a bar night and day.”
Hugh watched the light play through the amber liquid in his mug. “I keep hearing about a local book club. What’s the deal?”
The bartender grinned. “It started when Ms. McFae came to town.”
“How often they get together?”
“I think whenever they’re in the mood. Might be at the bookmobile, beauty salon, or the back of my bar. Guess that’s why they call it Erratic, A Book Club.”
Hugh smiled. “I wonder how many members there are.”
“Far as I know, only Piper from the Cut & Curl and Aggie from the goat farm. Kind of a different mix of women, ages and backgrounds, but you never know what brings people together.”
“According to my business, it’s often crime,” Jamison said.
“Aggie’s a good old gypsy woman. Sells goat milk in town. Has an interesting garden of herbs and such. Lots of raised beds arranged in some circular pattern. I’ve never seen it myself.”
Hughbert’s mug landed on the counter with a clunk. “How did she arrive at that particular design?”
Jeremy leaned in. “I can tell you that. Aggie’s husband finished it before he died. I think the idea came from some old book of Aggie’s. Griffo was in here talking about it one day.”
“Well, I read an article in an encyclopedia that described a garden like that, and I’d be interested in seeing her book.” Hugh swirled the beer around.
“If you’re headed that way, I’ve got a package for her.” The bartender reached under the pile of magazines at the end of the bar. He frowned and sorted through the stack. “It was here. Fred dropped it by. Damn, that thing keeps disappearing. Oh, well. You ready for another beer?”
“Nope, one’s my limit tonight.”
The TV weatherman began, “Intense weather dominates the globe. High winds from the outer bands of cyclone Cilla have gusted across Fiji. Heavy rains washed across Madagascar, and there’s flash flooding in South Asia. If you look at the map, a roiling path has whipped across the ocean to the States and is aiming directly at California. To the highlighted spot right here.” He pointed at Groverly and the surrounding area.
As Hugh sat on the barstool, his mind wandered off into his own chaos theory, imagining the book stolen from a castle, riding an Alsatian wind storm, lifted across an ocean, landing in a corner of this little town. It didn’t make sense, but here he was, waiting for something to wash in on Nolan’s beach of crime, bringing him the culprit and the book. And wondering if Lily McFae would wash in with it.
Outside, darkened skies sent the barometer skyrocketing. He looked at his watch. “I have an appointment to keep.”
He was on time for his surveillance of the book club meeting. The woman in the windbreaker was gone and Lily McFae was late. Aggie and Piper arrived as a few drops fell from the sky. He continued his stakeout of the bookmobile, checking his watch regularly. The leader of the Erotica Book Club did not appear. He gritted his teeth as the rain soaked through his jacket. He’d been conned by a librarian.
Lily caressed the manuscript, its exquisite…historic…mesmerizing…pages. She rewrapped it with care and placed it in her tote bag, then grabbed her notes for tonight’s discussion. She tucked them inside one of the two books she’d taken from the bookmobile to guard her prize. Since she had room, she put her scissors and repair kit in the outside pocket of the bag so she could fix the few books damaged by the break-in. With everything securely packed, she lifted it over her shoulder.
She glanced at the dark sky, with its low layers of thick woolly clouds. The farmhouse yard light beamed as she climbed on the moped and left the farm.
With the wind scooping along her back, she drove carefully along the graveled edge of the road. Even then, the moped wobbled, but the book rested securely under her wing.
The threatening weather made Lily wonder about her choice of transportation. She looked over her shoulder. Far down the road, car lights glimmered, creeping up behind her in the night. Raindrops went splat against her back, then drummed down hard. She slowed up to control the movement of skidding wheels. Ahead toward town, the road loomed black. The string of broken streetlamps stood like pinched out candles, marking the miles before the houses started. Kids with rocks, she thought, practicing some rite of passage, smashing lights for those who wished to see. Perhaps the same rambunctious kids who’d attacked the bookmobile in rebellion over book reports. Were there simple answers to the questions that worried the three women? Had they become a paranoid book club?
The bright eyes of the car flared up behind her and lit up the bushes, edging closer to her little moped. She thought of the detective following her, or was it someone else? Her nerves kicked in when she realized the car was bearing down faster and faster, aiming straight at her back. She swerved farther to the side of the road as the car engine roared, ready to rear-end her. Barely braking, she leapt off and fell, just before the front of the vehicle smashed into the moped. Pieces of metal flew into the ditch. Wobbly and disoriented, she dodged the scraps of falling red parts.
“Are you Lily McFae?” A rough voice came out of the night.
“Are you crazy?” She struggled to regain her equilibrium. “And yes, I’m Ms. McFae. Who are you?”
“I’m the SOB you swindled.”
“Is that you, Fred? You mean the barter? I can pay for the gas now.”
A dark figure approached.
“Is it Jeremy? Jeremy Judd? I’m sorry I took Aggie’s book from the Hopper, but she said I could. Wait, are you the woman on the bench?”
“I want my sapphire back.”
“Sapphire? I don’t have a sapphire.” Lily was on her knees. “You must mean someone else.”
His presence, an enormous shadow, hovered over her.
Instinct made her reach for the scissors in her library kit. “I’ve got a weapon. Get away from me.”
“No weapons, if you know what good for you.”
She flashed the scissors. Then a sack covered her head and a rock smashed through the rough cloth hitting her temple.
With the rain pelting down, the bag covered her mouth and gagged her. She couldn’t see, only smelled garlic mixed with rain. Someone grabbed one hand, then the other and shoved her down. Slowly, like a pebble sinking to the bottom of a pond, she fell in slow motion into the mud. Dark pain, more intense than the night, pulled at her as she collapsed into a suffocating black hole.
Her mind whisked off into oblivion. And the wind wailed over her still form.
In the bushes outside the farm, the man wearing the bee keeper bonnet watched the old woman come out the door and drive toward town. Then he waited for the lights to go out in the room over the garage. When he saw Lily leave, he crept up the stairs to the room overhead. He picked the lock to enter and turned on the light to set off another one of his intensive, destructive searches for the Book of Cures. In a flurry, he removed all objects from their resting places, scattering them to the far corners of the room. Finally, he realized the object he sought was not there. He left his signature page and departed in the rain.
The flashlight moved across Lily’s hands, then streamed briefly inside the sack to light up her face. Griffo pulled off the sack to see her better and muttered, “Dammit, you look different.” Then, he scurried back to his roadster and drove toward the goat farm, in time to see a car pulling out of the drive. Aggie must have got a ride to her meeting, he thought.
Griffo parked his car next to the garage, ran through the rain, and climbed the stairway to the landing. He turned the knob. She’d locked the door, but it didn’t matter. He bounded down the stairs and scrambled up the drainpipe. Leaning on the ledge, he shoved the window open and climbed inside. He flipped on the light. Puzzled, he saw piles of clothing and blankets scattered everywhere. Desk and bureau doors gaped open. Sweeping his arm under the bed, he created a hill of dust. He whipped through the woman’s few possessions on the floor. Clothes, papers, books.
“No jewelry. No damn ring.” He squatted on the floor for a minute, then unlocked the door and fled into the damp night.
In the old hand game, it’s rock smashes scissors. Tonight, that was the way it worked out for Lily McFae.
The detective ducked into his car parked across the square to check his telephone messages. He gave a low whistle, when he heard the conversation on Llewellyn Blanding’s phone tap: “book,” “money,” “soon.” He put a BOLO out for Blanding’s car and ordered officers not to intercept, but follow and notify him immediately.