by Alexie Aaron
Johan looked at Clara. “Running off to Vegas?”
“No.”
“Interviewing with New York restaurants?”
“No.”
“Ah, it’s Mr. Bookseller.”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
“That was easy. I thought I’d have to promise you…”
“To be godfather to your first born.”
“Well, that’s not exactly where I was going, but sure, why not?”
Johan laughed. “Clara, aren’t you worried your sudden availability will scare the fellow off?”
“I hope not, but better to know now than later.”
“How deep are you into this man?”
“I need time to figure this out. I need to look at him with clear non-sleep-deprived eyes.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Way too soon, Clara.”
“I know.”
“I lie. I knew the moment Wanda walked into my kitchen and told me she could taste that I hadn’t properly scalded the milk that I was in love. It took me a while to convince her that I was the man of her dreams.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Clara said.
Johan blushed.
Clara loved that Johan was so transparent with his thoughts. His face showed everything. His eyes missed nothing. And he, like Clara, always managed to find humor in every situation.
“I’m having Nash Greene investigated,” he blurted out.
Clara sat back. She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand.
“I just want to make sure you don’t have a Heathcliff on your hands.”
“And if I do?”
“We’ll cross that road when we come to it.”
“But what if I’m a Catherine Earnshaw?”
“Never! You’re not a crazy Brontë heroine.”
“Thank God for that. If you will excuse me, I need to run out to the store and resupply Raul’s date-night supply before we have a plethora of Raul’s bastards populating the city.”
“Now that’s a book I’d read,” Johan said.
~
Cam noticed that the third-floor apartment looked like it, and most likely Nash, was finally getting some attention. He kept his thoughts about the possibility that his boss had finally found his ladylove to himself. He dutifully carried down the boxes of books. He and Mary worked quickly to replace the missing volumes. Nash was in a good mood; although, he seemed irritated by a note he had found on the counter. He slid it into the account book he was working on and walked over to Cam.
“Your theater book display was a hit.”
“I wish I could take full credit for the idea,” Cam admitted. “Clara mentioned offhandedly that she wished she had more than a CliffsNotes version of the plays being performed. We talked about source material, and I dug out that dusty playbill collection you like to hold the bathroom door open with when you’re in a cleaning mood. That started the ball rolling. Once Clara gets something in her mind…”
“You don’t have to tell me that she’s like…”
“Looking for a nonsexist simile?” Cam asked.
“Maybe,” Nash said and laughed. “There aren’t enough words to describe Clara. Just when I think I’ve got a handle on her, she surprises me.”
“I hope in a good way.”
“In a way that is totally Clara,” was all that Nash would commit to.
“Mary likes her. I’m still undecided,” Cam said.
“Don’t like her. She’s mine,” Nash said.
Cam lifted an eyebrow but didn’t say a word. He knew that Nash recognized the age difference between Cam and Clara, but it was Nash claiming a woman that was new. Could Clara be Nash’s Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables? He would ask Mary when they got home.
The bells rang, heralding the entrance of the after-church crowd. Nash buttoned his vest and settled into his bookseller’s persona. He answered questions and, between him and his helpers, managed to outfit most everyone with a book or two. There was an inquiry about the Page Turners, and Nash unearthed a flyer to give to a customer. After the group had left, he opened his account book and looked at the message again.
Nash,
I’ve tracked down a very interesting book. I’ll be in to see you during store hours.
Wendell Baumbach
He hoped that Wendell would not be in today. He needed time to distance himself from the churning worry Kalaraja had started. He walked over, flipped the door lock, and gathered Mary and Cam together.
“What’s going on, boss?” Mary asked, looking at the clock and realizing it wasn’t closing time.
“I wanted to speak with the two of you privately.”
“We’re getting fired,” Mary said.
“No, you’re not,” Nash said. “I could not run this shop without you both.”
Mary smiled. “Is it about your girlfriend?”
“No, but thank you for helping her yesterday. You were kind and professional.”
“Cam, check him for a fever. He’s talking gibberish,” Mary said.
Nash blushed. “I know I’m a beast when it comes to compliments, but I really mean what I say. Back to what I’ve closed the shop to tell you.” He waited until he had their full attention. “There’s a bad book out there. Don’t accept a black leather book from anyone. Don’t touch it. Don’t read it. Call me if someone tries to make you take the book.”
“What’s wrong with the book?” Cam asked.
“It causes people to do bad things.”
“You mean influences them like Mein Kampf?”
“No, like hypnotizes them. There are four people who I know of who have been victimized by what could possibly be this book. I just don’t want you to take any chances. Mr. Gupta is very concerned that, because this shop is special…”
“Enchanted,” Mary said.
“Okay, enchanted,” Nash allowed. “He’s worried that we may be targets. When Clara gets here after work, I’m going to let you two go home but pay you for the full day.”
“Cam, he’s worried,” Mary said to her brother and then touched Nash’s hand and asked, “What about you, Nash?”
“Clara has a baseball bat. She’ll take care of me.”
“Aha, it’s Clara who’s staying upstairs,” Cam said.
“For a while, yes. Mr. Gupta will be with me tomorrow, and then Clara will be taking the rest of the week off so she can watch over me.”
“How does a book become a bad book?” Mary asked.
“I think it’s written that way,” Nash answered.
“Like slam books?” Mary asked.
Cam and Nash looked at her in surprise.
“Those books are written to hurt people. When I was in regular high school, Mr. Cogswell found one and lectured the class for the entire period.”
“Mary, have you ever been hurt by a slam book?” Cam asked.
“No, because I know who I am. I have parents and a brother who love me and a boss who is grumpy, but I know he loves me too.”
“I do. This is why I would like you two not to worry about me but take care of yourselves. And I know this sounds strange, but stay away from Wendell Baumbach. Just until I tell you otherwise.”
Mary’s eyes opened wide. She was staring at the front window. “He’s standing outside looking at us.”
“I’ll take care of him. I may have to be rather… grumpy.”
Mary nodded.
“Cam, take her upstairs to the third story. There are some Nancy Drews up there that I’d like her to check out to see if they are in good enough condition to sell in our shop.”
“Yes, sir,” Cam said. He felt proud that Nash said our instead of my.
After they had ascended, Nash walked over and reopened the shop.
“How do you expect to make a living when you close your shop whenever it suits you?”
“I’m doi
ng pretty well.”
“You could be doing better. What I have in this bag may…”
“Wendell,” Nash cut him off. “I’m not interested in taking on any more scouts for my books,” he said, referencing Wendell’s note.
“I don’t understand?”
“You left me a note last night.”
“What note?”
Nash walked over to the counter and handed Wendell the note.
“That’s not my writing. And I wasn’t anywhere around here last night,” he lied.
“Why are you here now?”
Wendell hunched his shoulders. “I thought I’d look around at your stock.”
“You don’t mind if I escort you?” Nash said.
“Why are you acting so odd?” Wendell said, shifting the bookbag strap on his shoulder.
“I just want to make sure you don’t accidently leave anything. There has been a rash of books not on my inventory showing up.”
“I’m surprised you take inventory. By the way, most shop owners would be upset by missing books, not extra books. You’re a horrible businessman.”
Nash pulled the flyer off the register, added it to the pile of remaining flyers, and handed it to Wendell. “I’ve changed my mind. Advertise your club somewhere else.”
“Well, you can count out any more referrals to your shop,” Wendell said, stuffing the papers into his bag. “Wait until I tell Mother of your behavior!”
“Wendell, I assure you, I’m treating everyone in the same manner today.”
“You, sir, have a screw loose,” he said and stomped out of the store.
Nash pulled out Detective Jones’s card and dialed the number.
Chicago Police Department, how may I direct your call?”
“Detective Jones, please.”
“I’m sorry, Detective Jones is on assignment away from the precinct. Can I direct you to another officer?” the male on the phone asked.
“Just put me through to his voicemail,” Nash said. He waited for the welcoming message to play before speaking. “Detective, this is Nash Greene. I received a strange little note last evening from Wendell Baumbach. Today, he came in and swears he didn’t remember leaving it. I’ll take a photo of it and send it to your email address on your police card.”
Nash focused his phone, took the picture, and sent it.
Cam came down the stairs. “Nash, is….”
“Yes, you can come down now. I don’t think Wendell is voluntarily going to come to One More Time, until I apologize… probably publicly.”
“Don’t.”
“He sends me business.”
“Only if he can’t sell them something himself,” Cam said. “Mary overhead him telling a customer in our store that he could get him a better copy of Richard Scarry’s Cars and Trucks and Things that Go.”
“Good luck to him. I find if you can find anyone that gives up a Scarry book, it’s going to be well loved,” Nash said, stroking his jaw. “I didn’t shave today. How bad do I look?”
“Like a proper villain,” Cam said.
~
Jones all but collapsed in his chair. Soon he would have access to some of the crime scene reports. It would take a day for the labs to catch up. Sunday wasn’t a day off, but the forensic pathology departments ran on a skeleton crew. As their supervising officer said, “What’s the rush? It’s not like the decedent is going to recover. Dead is dead.”
Jones knew that other high-profile cases took precedence. When he arrived back, he and his commander sat down to discuss how to proceed. Jones needed more manpower. He asked for Officer Brenda Blunt to be moved temporarily to his team. He told his superior of her dedication, loyalty, and discretion.
“I’ll talk to her sergeant,” the commander promised.
Jones thanked him and returned to his desk.
The phone rang. Jones picked it up. “Detective Jones,” he said, seeing that it was an internal number.
“We have a blood match,” the lab tech said. “I’ve emailed you the results.”
Before he could get a verbal confirmation, the line went dead.
Jones logged on and saw a reminder to check his voicemail. He dialed into the system to listen to his messages while he navigated the computer.
“Detective, this is Nash Greene. I received a strange little note last evening from Wendell Baumbach. Today, he came in and swears he didn’t remember leaving it. I’ll take a photo of it and send it to your email address on your police card.”
Jones looked, and there was an email from the bookseller. He opened it and compared it to the photo Blunt took and found them to be the same. He moved on to the lab report. The blood in the tub came from the woman on the dining table. Also, the blood sample taken from Monica Voorhees was a match, as was Kabir Patel. Jones smacked his hand on the desktop. “I knew it!”
His fellow detectives looked up momentarily from their work.
“Sorry,” he said, getting up. He returned and knocked on his commander’s door.
“Enter.”
Jones explained the blood match and asked, “Do I arrest Kabir?”
“He came in voluntarily when he found himself in this situation,” his commander verified.
“Yes.”
“He’s not going anywhere. The evidence is that he has the woman’s… Do we have a name for her yet?”
“I’m working on it. I have left a message with the photographer who took the wedding picture the victim and Ms. Voorhees are in.”
“Anyway, we have the victim. Let’s wait and get the complete forensic report. We need to know how the woman died. Was it murder or some eccentric try at Egyptian mummification?”
“I’d bet my car that both Kabir and Monica bathed in the woman’s blood and then put on their clothes. Kabir ends up at home. Monica ends up with a needle in her arm.”
“Is that how she died?”
“It looked like it.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” the commander warned. “I remember one case I had. I was sure it was murder. The husband was all but trussed up for the crime, but the coroner found a chicken bone in the wife’s throat.”
“Yes, Commander, I see the wisdom in waiting.”
“You’ve got Blunt.”
“What?”
“I had Blunt temporarily transferred to our division. You’re welcome. Now get home, get some rest, and we’ll look at the evidence tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Jones said.
~
Brenda, armed with plastic bags for dog poop, was dragged along on the human side of a leash. On the other was Argos.
The animal control officer smiled when Brenda first arrived. He liked the black officer. She was smart and fit. Alfonso had almost worked up enough nerve to ask her out. The only thing that stopped him was that he needed to know more about Brenda. Did she like the theater or was she a movie person? What kind of food did she like to eat? He didn’t want to enter into a dating situation without a game plan.
Meanwhile, he had asked if she would like to take the golden retriever for a walk. Her face broke into a smile. “I’d love too. I’ve always wanted a dog. I know Argos goes back to Mr. Davis when he is well enough to take care of him, so I’m not trying the dog out for size.”
“Does your husband like dogs?”
“Husband? Me?” Brenda said with a silly smile on her face. “No such man.”
“Is your job your everything?” Alfonso asked.
“Right now, it is. And that’s only because it’s really hard to meet guys when you’re in uniform. I don’t go to church, so there’s no one trying to set me up with their nephew. How did you meet your wife?”
“I’m not married,” Alfonso said.
“I’m sorry, I took for granted that you were. You look like a married guy.”
Alfonso patted his stomach. “Is it because I’m well fed?”
Brenda laughed. “No, you haven’t hit on me.”
/>
“I’d rather just ask you out.”
“Well, when you’re ready, ask me out. I’m not saying I’ll say yes, but I’m not saying I’ll say no either.”
“A woman of mystery.”
Brenda angled her head. “I’ll just take Argos now. Later, let’s have a conversation over a cup of coffee.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Alfonso said and opened the doors to the kennels.
Brenda tripped after the big dog. Argos was pulling her towards the park.
Argos was tired of the sidewalk and wanted to feel grass under his feet. He didn’t know where food-and-water man was. Argos thought the man was mad at Argos. Argos tried to save food-and-water man, but he was tied up and had to watch food-and-water man hurt himself. When Argos had chewed himself free of his bonds, food-and-water man was curled up on the floor. Argos laid beside the man, keeping him warm. He got up, and there was no food and no water. He nudged food-and-water man, but he just lay there while the flies buzzed outside.
A few days later, the hugging uniform woman took care of Argos. She directed the dog-and-cat people to take care of Argos. They brought him to the place with all the cages. There the soft-hearted man, the others called Doc Fonzie, talked to Argos while he treated the tears in his skin and the sores in his mouth. The hugging uniform woman came to see him. Today, Doc Fonzie let hugging uniform woman take him for a walk. Argos was almost happy. The only thing that stopped Argos from being completely happy was that food-and-water man hadn’t come to see him yet.
Chapter Thirteen
Clara breezed into the bookshop carrying two large catering bags. Cam rescued her.
“These are heavy,” he said. “I guess it kills my idea that you make pastries so light they float on air.”
“Cam, I make hearty breakfasts. Tomorrow, I’m interviewing a few chefs who have promised me their croissants are so fine they make angels cry.”
“Do you make croissants?” he asked.
“If I have to. They are time consuming. I’d rather make biscuits. Now, bagels I can handle, but I admit that my sous-chef Raul is better at them.”