by Alexie Aaron
Cam and Mary went back to their chores, and Clara started to restack the remaining best sellers.
Nash sat down near her. “Tell me about your family.”
“My parents died ten years ago. They were caught in a mudslide in Californa. It took them over the cliff, and they fell into the ocean holding on to each other while the car mangled its way under the water, and then the mud held them down. Craig and I returned their ashes to where they perished. It seemed right somehow. They were free spirits. They didn’t plan well, and college was up to Craig and me. But they did support each and every challenge either of us took on. My grandparents on my mother’s side are still alive. Nonie and Pops live in Florida, and I do talk to them once a week. My father was in the foster system. I’m not sure if he still has any family alive.”
“I imagine Craig is very important to you.”
“Yes. He’s the older brother. He offers advice from time to time, but mostly, we write emails to each other and complain about the status of the world and how we would fix it given the chance. He runs a truck-parts supply store. He’s doing well. Johan is the only one you have to worry about impressing. He treats all his chefs like family. Your turn.”
“My mother died in childbirth. I’m not sure if it’s from the same heart condition I have or not. Her parents raised me. They impressed upon me the value of a good education. Both of them are gone now. The timer on my heart went off a year after Rita divorced me. I was lucky I had insurance, and when I made the top of the list, a teenager’s poor choice of what he was huffing determined both our fates. It took a while before I was able to work full time at the bookshop. I survived on special orders. Cam arrived on my doorstep with his sister in tow asking for a job. He did the heavy lifting, and Mary kept an eye on me. It’s only been a few years that I’ve been able to work full time. They are my family.”
“You’re very lucky. What happened to your father?”
“He took off. I’m not sure if he saw me as the killer of my mother or himself, killing my mother by inseminating her. All I know is that Nash Greene Sr. has never darkened my door.”
“His loss,” Clara said.
“Did you mean it when you said you want to have my babies…” Nash began.
Clara looked over at him. “Only if you want children. It’s not a deal breaker. I just think it would be a shame if we didn’t produce odd-looking children for the world to deal with after we’re gone.”
Nash reared back. “Is this the biological clock talking?”
“Maybe a little, but I’d adopt if I couldn’t have children. There is something about being around those rug rats that appeals to me.”
“You do know that we’ve gone from zero to eighty in two days.”
“Can’t we include that silent lusting I’ve been doing for almost a year?” Clara asked.
Nash laughed. “I did do a fair amount of secret lusting myself. I went to see the alley where you saw the ghost, and I stood in the spot you circled.”
Clara’s face brightened. “What did you feel?”
“A chill. A guy was there delivering stuff, and he told me about John Dillinger’s ghost outside the Biograph.”
“He was a tough guy. I think you have a few books about him upstairs.”
“How do you know so much about what’s on that second floor?”
“I used to sneak in with a crowd of people when you were busy and hide out upstairs and listen to you berate the posers. Yes, Nash, I’m your stalker.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Yes.”
“Clara, I have a big medical coming up. Depending on the results, I think we should sit down and talk about kids then. I don’t want to leave my children without a father. It wasn’t fun growing up that way. Also, there is a chance I could pass on my heart defect.”
Clara set down the stack of books she was holding. She walked over and squatted in front of his chair. “I’ve got some money saved up. We’ll have them run our DNA. I understand your reluctance to not pass on your bad heart genes. If that’s the case, then we’ll adopt when we’re ready. I want a life with you. For me, not having a biological child isn’t a deal breaker.”
“I’m surprised you have laid out all your cards so early in our relationship,” Nash said.
“Me too. Something about this place gives me courage to communicate things couples don’t normally bring up but should talk about. A friend of mine got married and found out his wife didn’t want children at all.”
“For the record, I would love to have a family,” Nash said. “But I’d like to idle any commitment conversations until after my physical. I’ll not saddle you with half a man.”
Clara stood up and looked down at him. “Isn’t that my choice?”
“Let’s talk more after the Richardses go home. This way, you can yell at me if you need to.”
The door opened and the bells rang. Clara left him to greet the new customers. He sensed that he had disappointed Clara. He didn’t want to pour ice water on the heat between them, but he didn’t want her fostering dreams that just couldn’t be.
Chapter Nine
Wendell sat in the room the duty officer escorted him to. He drank coffee that wasn’t great, but it gave him a sense of normalcy as he sat there. He pulled out a pad of paper and started to list books he thought would be good for the group at Page Turners to vote on for the next season. He would be taking suggestions from the group, of course, but this exercise helped him to see if he could come up with a theme for their reads.
Detective Jones and Officer Blunt looked on at the man behind the two-way mirror.
“He’s either a psychopath or he’s not involved in what has been happening to his book club readers,” Jones said.
“Detective, why are we spending time on this case? Marc Davis seems to have done those awful things to himself. Although, we could get him on animal cruelty.”
“Kabir Patel and Marc Davis are connected. Kabir had a large amount of human blood on him. So far, no body has turned up. Today, I went to a bookshop that many of the book club readers patronize and found out that there may be another victim. I have an appointment for a conference call with a priest downstate who has a patient who is tied to Patel, Davis, and Baumbach.”
“Do you want me to bring in the bookshop owner?”
“Not yet. I’m satisfied he’s cooperating. He and I share a concern that a valuable book may be the impetus for the violence these men have endured. Sometimes collectors will go to extremes to get what they want.”
“What would you like me to do?”
“I want you to stay in here and study Wendell, especially when I’m not looking at him.”
“Yes, Detective,” Brenda said. She watched Jones enter the room, and Wendell stood and shook the man’s hand.
“Thank you for coming in today,” Jones said.
“I think curiosity has me in its grip, Detective,” Wendell said. “Do I have to be worried about something? I don’t make a profit from Page Turners, and I’m on file with the city as a community group leader.”
“Mr. Baumbach, I assure you, I’m just on a fact-finding mission.”
Both men sat down.
“Here is the current list of Page Turners book club members,” Wendell said, handing over the paper to Jones. “My mother jotted down their current phone numbers.”
“That was kind of her,” Jones said, perusing the list.
“She figured that I couldn’t get in trouble with the membership if she did it and not me.”
Jones smiled. “Moms have our back.”
“Yes, they do.”
“Mr. Baumbach, I asked you to come in with hopes that your knowledge of your book club members may help me to understand what could have happened to some of them.”
“I’ll do my best. Please understand that I don’t socialize with any of them. I’m more a moderator, a…”
“Teacher?” Jones supplied.
&nb
sp; “No. I think they teach me. I just try to expose them to various forms of literature, maybe take a few of them out of their comfort zone.”
“I understand from one of my officers that your mother was a very well thought of teacher. Did you follow in her footsteps?”
“Only in her love of books. I spent my time building a career with Walden Books, which became Borders, and then was bankrupt in 2011. My mother had insisted that I put money away in insured IRA CDs. Had I invested it all in the company, I would be living on the street right now.”
“Are you retired?”
“No, I’m listed on my tax returns as a bookdealer. I go to auctions and bookstore liquidations and buy first editions. I have been fortunate to secure enough to live on and haven’t had to dip into my retirement money.”
“Is this how you met Nash Greene?”
“No. He uses another scout. I give him patronage from my book club. He’s a secondhand bookdealer. I’m amazed he can still be in business. His rent must be astronomical.”
“Are you saying he may be into something shady?”
“Oh heavens no. The only thing shady about his shop is that it sits in the shadows of all those high-rises. In the summer, it must help him with his air conditioning, but in the winter, I’m surprised he can keep the place from being iced over.”
Jones jotted down a few notes.
Brenda could tell that Wendell wanted to say more about Nash Greene. She wondered why he held back.
“Tell me about Kabir Patel.”
“Kabir works a job in finance. I’m not sure what his position is, except he arrives in a suit from work. He is second-generation East Indian American. His parents weren’t traditional. He doesn’t identify as being anything other than American. He loves reading and collecting books. I’ve sold him a few first editions. That’s how he first started coming to our book club. He came to the community center to pick up a book from me, and he liked what he saw. And then the next week, he came and joined us. He’s a smart man and has excellent instincts when it comes to plots. He and Marc go round and round and would argue for hours if I let them.”
“How long has Marc Davis been going to book club?”
“Four years. I’m not sure how he heard about us. I could have Mother pull his original application.”
“Application?”
“When someone expresses interest in becoming a full-fledged member of Page Turners, we have them fill out a form. It’s more for the community center than for me. They love data on the diversity of their groups. I don’t mind doing this because we get the room for free. We’ve had the same room for six years. Initially, Mother approached them with the idea. She was more active in the group, but she had a stroke, and it has sidelined her physical activities. Although, her mind is still sharp.”
“Back to Marc,” Jones led.
“Let me see. I’m not sure what he does. He acts like a professional man, and I believe owns his own townhouse - which in this city, has to be saying something. He sits next to Marianne Irving, and on the other side of her is Kabir. In my mind, I think of Marianne as the buffer zone. But - and I want to make this clear - Marianne has a mind of her own and has terrific insights.”
“Marc?”
“Yes, of course. He is competitive and tends to talk before he thinks things through. This gets him into trouble. Kabir is quick and picks up on these slips and pounces like a tiger.”
“Interesting. How does a tiger pounce?”
Wendell laughed. “They wait undercover until the prey is at their most vulnerable, all the time tensing their muscles, and then they spring and go for the throat. It’s a messy thing to witness.”
“You mentioned Marianne Irving. Do you have any insights into her character?”
“Marianne has been with me from the beginning of the group. I think she joined to make a few friends. Her personality is dry. She suppresses too much. I can tell there is a passionate person underneath, but alas, not even in a lively discussion has she let herself be more than an aging, demure Catholic school girl.”
“Who are her friends in the group?”
“Monica Voorhees, and I believe the Baker sisters have invited her to a few of their functions.” Wendell frowned.
“Is there something the matter?” Jones asked quickly.
“Monica hasn’t been at the last two meetings. I should give her a call,” he said, pulling out a notebook and jotting down the information.
“Do you normally call people in your book club?”
“I do when the weather is too bad to hold a meeting or if I hear through the grapevine one of their family has passed on. Mother taught me that being a leader means you are more than responsible for the books; you’re responsible for the morale of the group too.”
“That is very commendable.”
“Detective Jones, may I ask a question?”
“Yes.”
“I know you asked me here to help you with some of your inquiries. But to what end? What has happened that my information could possibly help you with?”
“I’d rather not say at this point. It does involve a few of your book club members, and honestly, I’m just trying to make sense of what appears to be criminal actions taken. Your book club is one of the common bonds.”
Wendell paled. “Are we in danger?”
“I don’t think so, unless you delivered a black leather book to one of your book club members?”
“What book?”
“I assume it is valuable. Valuable enough to cause people to act outside of their best interests.”
“Elma mentioned a book that Marianne had that Kabir and Marc were arguing over. That’s Elma Kis,” Wendell said, tapping the paper he gave to Jones. “Could this be the book?”
“I don’t know. I’ve put a few feelers out. If you do run across this book, call me right away. Try not to touch it.”
“Why?”
“Fingerprints,” Jones said, but inside he was starting to think that it wasn’t the value nor the content of the book that was dangerous. It could be the book itself.
~
After he locked up after Cam and Mary left, Nash found Clara filling in the open spots in the young adult section. She was balancing a small stack of paperbacks in one hand while the other shifted books until she found a spot to place the book, alphabetically according to the author. She turned when she sensed him near her. “I understand from Mary that books can be alphabetical down here.”
“It’s the rumor,” Nash said, taking the remaining books from her and setting them down. He took Clara in his arms and hugged her as if drawing strength from her.
She enjoyed being held by him.
He released her and took her hand. “Thank you for waiting for me. About the police officer…” Nash told her all he had learned from Jones and Father Saul. “I’m worried that this place either fed or produced a killer book.”
Clara frowned. “What kind of book could be this dangerous?”
“I don’t know? All I know is that if a book of that description entered or exited the store, it didn’t pass through my hands. Also, Marianne said the ‘dear man’ must have given it to me by mistake. I’ve never been referred to as dear anything by my customers.”
“You’re dear to me.”
“That’s different. You’ve got a screw loose.”
“The detective said he was going to send you a list to look at.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll wait until you receive it and then form a plan to track the movements of this book. If Father Saul comes up with any information about evil books, is he going to share them with you?”
“Yes.”
“Then we wait. Maybe do a little research on our own. Talk to the books upstairs if need be. Although, the romance crowd has been thinned out, thanks to yours truly.”
Nash smiled. “I have more on the third floor if you want to come with me and look through them?”
> “Mr. Bookseller, are you trying to get me up there to look through the books or to seduce me?”
“I was hoping for a bit of both.”
Clara smiled. “I thought maybe I scared you away. I do tend to run before I walk.”
“Clara, you’re honest, and your needs echo my own. I never imagined anyone like you in my life. Passing ships maybe, but not anyone that I wanted to find the answers to the tough questions with.”
“I’d like to blame the books I’ve read for giving me ideas, but something happened to me when you first touched me when we met. It was as if my life so far had been inconsequential, that I had been waiting all my life to be with you.”
Nash was visibly moved. “When I bared my chest to you, it was more than a leap of faith. Tell me honestly, what went through your head when you first saw the scars?”
“I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. When you explained, I started to believe in miracles again.”
“I’m not a strong man. I never was.”
“I disagree.”
“I mean physically strong.”
“I’m not asking you to carry me up the steps.” Clara said. “Nash, tell me what is worrying you?”
“I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you. I fear though, my life may not be a long one, and you’ll be left alone.”
Clara put her hand on his chest. “So you want to leave me alone now instead of giving me the time you have left? How selfish of you.”
“Loving you is a responsibility.”
“Nash, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can take care of myself. I probably out-earn you.”
“Ouch.”
“Facts are facts. If you’re going to play the death card, then I’m going to present a handful of possibilities. Take some time to think about what you’re missing out on. I know what I lose if I walk out that door and don’t return. I lose a man who stimulates more than my libido. Your mind is quick. I have seen your compassion and a lot of iron will. There are no guarantees. I see you. You’re not hiding anything that I can’t handle.”
“I don’t want to be handled,” Nash snapped. “I want to love you without fear I’m going to…”