by Alexie Aaron
“I’ve just experienced a redhead’s temper up close,” Nash said, taking a step back, anticipating the shove that Clara only managed to withhold because she wasn’t going to shove a man with a transplanted heart - especially not in front of witnesses.
“I’m sorry, of course, as a chef you know how to do inventory. My bad. I’ll go and sit on the naughty step.”
Clara couldn’t stay mad at him. “The naughty aisle has the Joy of Sex and National Geographic magazines before the 1970s in it.”
“I see you know your way around my bookshop.”
“I’m learning,” Clara said and walked towards the wall of journals.
Cam was waiting for him at the counter. She’s cute.”
“Cam, she’s beautiful and so out of my league. She has one fatal flaw.”
“Really? What is it?”
“She likes me.”
“Does she know about your physical limitations?”
“What? Oh, my heart?”
“No. You don’t know your own ass from your elbow. How are you possibly going to keep that vixen happy?”
“Cam, you’re fired.”
“I’m taking Mary with me.”
“Cam, you’re hired.”
Cam laughed.
Clara finished her inventory. She waited until Nash finished ringing up a customer and handed him the sheet. “You have one black journal missing.”
Panic showed on Nash’s face.
“Did you take the journal that you sent me, with the Rex Stout, out of inventory?” Clara asked.
“No, I didn’t, and I bet old Rex is still in too. Phew!”
“Forgive me if I’m reading too much into this, but you’re not the type of guy to be upset over a missing journal. Tell me what’s going on?”
“Later, when we close for the gloaming. Cam and Mary only work until three.”
Clara nodded. “Until then, let’s sell some books!” She clapped her hands together and followed a group of teens up the stairs.
Chapter Eight
Jones walked into Marc Davis’s room. The man still held the thousand-yard stare he acquired the moment he woke up with no teeth and, basically, half of his tongue missing. The surgeon reported that Marc had enough to swallow properly but would not be able to speak normally. On Officer Blunt’s insistence, Jones brought with him a speech-generating device the department had on hand for interviewing the mute. He set the keyboard down and adjusted the speaker so a male voice would sound at a normal conversational level.
“I’m sorry for what has happened to you. This is a SGD. It will help us to communicate. I’m taking for granted that you can type. My officer, Brenda Blunt, has been to see Argos, and he is doing fine.”
Marc seemed to come out of the funk he was in and typed, “Good.”
“Do you remember what happened to you?”
“Waking up on the floor with Argos and then passing out.”
“When my officer found you, she said Argos was protecting you. Do you know who from?”
“No.”
“What is the last thing you remember?”
“I bumped into a colleague I go to book club with.”
“Is this colleague Kabir Patel?”
“No. Monica. Monica something. I don’t know her last name. Marianne Irving or Wendell Baumbach would know.”
“Do you remember meeting Kabir in Beatrix?”
“No. The last time I saw him was in book club. Why?”
“He used you as an alibi. He said he bumped into you on Sunday.”
“I don’t remember Sunday, so it is possible.”
“How would you describe Kabir Patel?”
“A good honest man with deluded ideas on fiction.”
“Back to Monica. What do you remember of your meeting?”
Marc dropped his head to the side and then looked down as if he was trying to remember. He put and removed his hands from the keyboard several times before he typed. “She asked me to do her a favor. It wasn’t out of my way. I was going to go there anyway.”
“What was the favor?”
“I don’t remember.” Marc closed his eyes a moment and then reached out and typed, “Book! I remember a book. She asked me to return a book.”
“Where? The library?””
“No. It wasn’t a library book. I recognized the book as being Marianne’s. It was in her carry-all. She wouldn’t let me look at it. She said...”
“It was put there by mistake?”
“Yes!”
“So you agreed to take it back to the bookstore for Monica.”
“Yes. But I didn’t take it back. I wanted to read it first. That’s the last memory I have.”
“According to our records, you work for Chicago University.”
“Yes, I’m a professor in the poli-sci department. I lecture on ethics.”
“Do you like your job?”
“Sometimes I hate it.”
“Why?”
“In order to be a politician, you have to lie through your teeth, and sometimes, I’d liked to pull...” Marc’s hands covered his mouth. The stare returned. He lay back and was quiet.
“Detective, I think Mr. Davis has had enough for today.”
“I agree.” Jones moved to pick up the SGD.
“Could you leave this for today? I’ve ordered one from the speech pathology lab, but it will take a day. I’ll return it personally.”
Jones gave the nurse his card. “Just call me. I’ll have someone pick it up. I’m sure we will be speaking with Mr. Davis again.”
“Poor soul.”
They walked out into the hall.
“Nurse, if you were going to buy a good quality used book. Where would you go?”
“In the city?”
“Yes.”
“One More Time. Call first. They have odd hours.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you think happened to him?” the nurse asked.
“I think someone, or something, made him extract his own teeth and then cut out his tongue. After, he sewed his own mouth shut. I can’t prove it, but my gut says all of that was self-inflicted.”
“Can’t you ask him why he did it?”
“He doesn’t remember. I really believe he has no memory of what happened. I ran across another gentleman who has the same problem.”
“Oh dear.”
“If he needs to talk, call me.”
“I will, and I’ll pass on the information to the other shifts.”
Jones left the hospital and stopped and called in. “Do we have an appointment set up with Wendell Baumbach yet?” he asked Officer Blunt.
“He’s coming in at one. How did your interview go?”
“I think I have a few new avenues to look into. One is a bookstore, One More Time. It’s been mentioned twice, both Kabir and Marc. I thought I’d go in and check it out.”
“It’s on West Oak. Parking’s going to be tough on a Saturday.”
“Not for a cop,” Jones said.
It didn’t take Clara and Cam long to start competing with each other. Nash was ringing up more books per customer than was the norm. Mary was keeping score. Cam was well ahead, but Clara had a group of romance readers upstairs. Nash could hear a concert of giggles coming from the ladies.
The in-house line rang. “Yes?” Nash asked.
“Please, could you send Cam up with a few book baskets?”
“I could bring them…”
“No, Cam,” Clara insisted. “Trust me.”
“Alright.” Nash hung up and turned to Cam. “Clara needs some shopping baskets upstairs. Could you bring her a few?”
Cam frowned. “Sure. I have a bad feeling about this.”
Nash and Mary watched as Cam returned carrying three baskets, followed by the romance readers and Clara who handed Nash a list. “Mrs. Scott would like you to see if you can get these volumes. She’s decided to collect R
obyn Carr books. She has read the paperbacks but wants the hardcovers for her library. And Ms. Connelly is interested to know, how difficult would it be to obtain a pristine Gone with the Wind? I’m taking Ms. Beaufort over to the Rex Stout novels and novellas. I told her how I recently got hooked on them. She’s looking for a few that may entice her father to start reading again.”
“If she wants a Nero Wolfe, have her start with Fer-De-Lance.”
“Clara?” Cam asked. “What is your favorite quote?” he asked, calling her bluff.
“‘No man was ever taken to hell by a woman unless he already had a ticket in his pocket or at least had been fooling around with timetables.’ That would be in Some Buried Caesar.”
Cam looked at Nash.
“She’s right.”
“Mr. Greene, what is your favorite quote?” Ms. Beaufort asked.
Nash looked at Clara, and she smiled shyly and nodded.
“‘She turned back to me, graceful as a big cat, straight and proud, not quite smiling, her warm dark eyes as curious as if she had never seen a man before. I knew damn well I ought to say something, but what? The only thing to say was “Will you marry me?” but that wouldn’t do because the idea of her washing dishes or darning socks was preposterous.’ That’s in Too many Clients. I remembered it when I first cast eyes on Clara.”
There was a twitter of giggles from the romance ladies.
Clara wished she had recorded his voice while he was reciting. It seemed to enter her ears and move quickly to her heart.
Mary said, “When I first looked at Clara, all I could think of was Green Eggs and Ham.”
Clara laughed. “Oh, Mary, I think your observation is more on the nose.”
Clara walked away with Ms. Beaufort. Nash started to ring up the other two ladies and took their pertinent information so he could look for the books they were interested in.
Clara returned with Ms. Beaufort and a handful of Rex Stouts.
The bells over the door rang, and she walked over to greet the entering customer. A stern-looking black gentleman in a J.C. Penny sports jacket stared at her.
“Welcome to One More Time. Can I help you find something or are you just browsing today?”
“I’m looking to speak to the proprietor.”
“That would be Nash Greene. May I ask why?”
“Police business.”
Clara nodded. “He’s just finishing up at the counter. Can I offer you a coffee while you wait?”
“No, I’ll just look around.”
“I’ll inform Mr. Greene you’re waiting,” Clara said, turning on her heel and walking as casually as she could to the counter.
Cam walked by with the ladies in tow to carry their books to their car.
“Nash, that gentleman is here on police business,” Clara said in a low voice.
“Thank you. Stay at the counter until Cam comes back.”
“Will do.”
Nash strode over and extended his hand. “Nash Greene.”
Jones grabbed the offered hand and rated his grip as firm. “Detective Robert Jones,” he said and flashed his shield for Nash to confirm he was indeed from CPD.
“How can I help you?”
“Do you know Marc Davis?”
“Heard of him, but I don’t know him personally.”
“How about Kabir Patel?”
“He’s a customer of mine.”
“Wendell Baumbach?”
“He runs a book club and has been in a few times to arrange for volumes to be available for his members. He was just in recently asking me to display a flyer for his club. Evidently, he’s been losing members.”
“Are there any other members of this book club who come in here?”
“Marianne Irving comes to mind. She’s a very frugal woman and doesn’t collect books, so she tends to go after books in fair shape.”
“Did you sell or give her a black leather book?”
Nash’s surprise showed on his face. “You’re the second person to ask me today about that, and the third to inquire about it this week.”
“Did you?”
“No. I checked my inventory, and all my books or journals with black leather binding have been accounted for.”
“Who else asked you?”
“Father Saul from a psychiatric facility downstate - that was just this morning - and Kabir Patel.”
“Do you know what facility?”
“It’s run by the Sisters of St. Bernadette. I’ve never heard of it before.”
Jones took out his phone and Googled it and then took out his notebook and jotted a few things down.
“May I ask what this is all about?” Nash asked.
“I’m not sure. All I know is, two of the book club members got themselves in bad situations. One odd thing came up in each of the interviews.”
“And that was?”
“A black leather-covered book, a book thought to have come from this shop.”
“I sell secondhand books here. I’ve done inventory and found books I know I hadn’t purchased on my shelves. I assumed that a customer may have left one and taken one, and I have older patrons who may get things confused at times. I do try to track down the owners, but old books don’t carry magnetic code strips like new ones do.”
“What do you do when you find a book you don’t have on inventory?”
“I keep it in a box in the warehouse on the third floor for a while. Would you like to come and see them?”
Jones looked at his watch. “I don’t have time. Could you perhaps give me a list of those books? Honestly, I think I’m on the wrong track here, but there is something inside me that says ‘Robert, finish what you start.’”
“Anything else?”
“Your employee list.”
“That’s easy, Cam and Mary Richards. They work on Saturday and Sunday from eight to three for me.”
“What about the redhead?”
“Clara Tyler is my girlfriend. This is her first day here helping me out. She’s the head chef for Biscuit, Bagel and Buzz.”
“Lucky man,” Jones said.
“Thank you, I didn’t think I was lucky until I met Clara.”
“I won’t keep you any longer. Here is my card. If you think of anything that may help us find out what happened to Kabir Patel and Marc Davis, please call.”
“Detective, what happened to these men?”
“I guess I’m not telling tales out of school, but I would like you to keep this to yourself.”
“Yes, Detective.”
“Kabir woke up covered in blood with his memory of the last three days missing. Marc Davis woke up without his teeth or half his tongue, and his mouth was sewn shut.”
Nash turned green. “That’s horrible.”
“Davis doesn’t remember a thing, and we believe he did that to himself.”
“Detective, I suggest you speak with Father Saul. I can’t tell you why because I don’t want to break his confidence.”
“I understand. I’m going to forward you the book club member list. If any of them has been in recently or been acting strangely, please give me a call.”
“Send it to the email listed on the website,” Nash said.
Jones nodded. “Why do you close between three and five?”
“I need the break,” Nash said.
“It’s tough being a small business owner.”
“I’ll never get rich, but as long as I can feed myself - and if I’m lucky a future family - I don’t mind working hard.”
“You seem like a man who values life.”
“When you investigate me, you’ll see that I’ve been given a second chance at life. I don’t intend on blowing it.”
Clara watched the police detective shake Nash’s hand again and walk out. She closed her eyes and counted to ten to stop herself from running over to Nash. When she opened them, he was in front of her.
Nash had watched Clara s
tanding there. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth moved. He got the idea she was counting.
“Welcome back,” he said softly.
Clara’s eyes were dilated from being closed. It gave her brown eyes a dark sultry look. “I’ve come from the future.”
“Have you?” Nash humored her.
“Yes, and your children are making a mess of the upstairs.”
“My children?”
“Our children.”
“Clara, I swear to God, if you’re playing me, I’m going to break in so many pieces that a Lego genius will not be able to reassemble me.”
“I know it’s too soon. There are a hundred things that can go wrong, but I’d rather deal with the hundred things knowing that you’re in my life. Life isn’t a perfect journey. I’d just feel better if you were by my side.”
“I just get visited by the police and you have no qualms about being with me. I’m beginning to doubt your sanity.”
“Whatever that was, we’ll deal with it together.”
“This is too fast,” Nash argued half-heartedly.
“Maybe. I just didn’t want to leave this spot without you knowing my heart. I intend on winning you.”
“Go on and kiss her,” Mary said, walking by carrying an armload of children’s books.
Nash did. He kissed her softly and appropriately, considering that Cam and Mary were close by.
Cam rang the bell on the counter. “I officially call the Cam/Clara book-selling contest finished. Mary, please read out the tallies.”
Nash slid his arm around Clara while they waited for Mary to return to the counter.
“We only can count the books that have been sold. We can’t count the orders because they can fall through.”
“I agree,” Clara said.
“Cam has sold 219 books. Clara has sold 203 books. Cam is the winner!”
Clara clapped her hands. “Next time, watch your back, Richards.”
“You’ll never catch me, Clara. By the way, how did you pull off that Rex Stout quote?”
“My brother, Craig, loves Rex Stout. When I would run out of books, I would borrow his. I only recently saw the merit in his quotations,” Clara explained.