by Alexie Aaron
“What’s a sous-chef?” Mary asked.
“Sous-chef de cuisine is French for under chef of the kitchen, which means, in our case, Raul is second in command. Which also translates to: he’s breathing down the back of my neck. Fortunately for me, my boss loves me like a daughter, and I have a lot of blackmail material on him. Now, who wants some lunch?”
Nash walked down the stairs and watched Clara place two place mats down on the counter and serve the Richardses like they were royalty.
The bells rang, and Clara turned and greeted the customers. “Welcome to One More Time!”
“Oh my,” one of the two elderly women said, looking around at the clean but cluttered first floor. “Do you have Trollope?”
“I have tennis elbow, freckles, and one bum knee, but no Trollope.”
“We have some paperbacks, Penguin Classics,” Nash told them. “If you’re looking for the real deal, I could put some feelers out. What book are you interested in?” he asked.
“Can You Forgive Her?”
“If memory serves me, that’s the beginning of the Palliser series, sometimes known as the Parliamentary books. Did you know it originally came out in serial form?” Nash asked.
“Yes. I thought they were dry as toast when we studied them in school.”
“And yet you’re in my humble establishment asking about them,” Nash said.
“Just testing the bookseller,” one of the women said. “I’m Anne Farley, and this is my best friend Amanda Sherman.”
“Nash Greene. Over there, looking quite the chef, is my girlfriend, Clara. The two dining on the cuisine of the goddess are my helpers Mary and Cam.”
“Nobody holds a good opinion of a man who has a low opinion of himself,” Clara recited. “Care to tell me the origin of that quote?”
“Goodness,” Anne said. She thought a moment and her face lit up. “Orley Farm.”
Cam looked at Clara. How in the world would a chef know Trollope?
“Turnabout is fair play,” Amanda said. “Love is like any other luxury. You have no right to it unless you can afford it.”
“Ouch,” Clara said and looked over at Nash for help. His brows were furrowed. Clara closed her eyes and smiled. “I’m not sure. How about The Way we live Now?”
“Amazing,” Anne said. “Are you a secret member of the Trollope Society?”
“No. I just got lucky,” Clara said. “Would you like me to show you the Penguin Classics edition?”
“No, dear. I would, however, like to see if you have some Tessa Dares?”
“Hardcover or paperback?” Clara asked, fighting the urge to lift an eyebrow.
“Hardcover.”
Nash heard a shifting of books upstairs and the subtle sound of a book falling over.
“The hardcovers are upstairs. I’ll bring down what we have - unless you know what you want?” Clara asked.
Amanda handed her a list.
Clara took it and went upstairs.
“You said she was a chef?” Anne asked.
“Yes. She’s the head chef for Biscuit, Bagel and Buzz.”
“She knows her Trollope,” Amanda said.
“Surprised me,” Nash admitted.
Clara came back with three books. She put on the expression she used when she faced a customer who wanted to know why ketchup wasn’t placed on the table. She prayed she wasn’t asked about the books she was delivering to the ladies. Clara didn’t have a clue, except that they were very popular.
Cam rang the ladies up, and when they had exited the store, he said, “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. Parlor tricks, pure and simple,” Clara said. “I memorized the quotes so I could beat my brother Craig at a game my grandparents had squirreled away in the attic. To be able to quote a writer is fine, but to understand what he or she wrote is more impressive.”
“I think you’re hiding a university education,” Cam said.
“Community college, where I earned a Culinary Arts degree.”
“What else did you memorize?”
“State capitals, want to quiz me?”
“I do,” Mary said. “What is the capital of Kentucky?”
“Frankfort.”
“That’s a hard one,” Mary admitted.
“I can teach you a trick for the hard ones.”
“Please.”
“I look at Kentucky and imagine them eating frankfurters, and from that, I remember Frankfort.”
“Albany,” Cam said.
“That’s New York. I’ll bend my knee in Albany.”
“I’ve got one,” Nash said. “Tallahassee.”
“Florida likes their men tall and sassy, Tallahassee. So do I by the way,” Clara said, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed Nash on the cheek.
“Take the mush upstairs,” Mary teased.
“I fed you, and you turn on me?” Clara asked, acting indignant.
Mary laughed.
“Okay, you two, now that Clara is here, you’re free to go,” Nash said.
“Tell her about Mr. Baumbach.”
“I will,” Nash promised.
“Clara, don’t touch any black leather books,” Mary said.
“I promise.”
Mary approached Clara and held out her arms. Clara hugged her. Her nose burned from the tears she was holding back.
“See you on Saturday!” Mary said as she and Cam walked out the door.
Nash looked at his watch. “Close enough,” he said and locked the door and turned the sign around. “I’m hungry. Do you have anything in that picnic basket for me?”
“Oh yes. Do you want to eat down here or upstairs?”
“Upstairs. How was your day, Clara?” Nash asked as he dimmed the lights of the shop.
“Busy. I did get the rest of the week off starting Tuesday, and I get to sleep in tomorrow. I have to be there at nine.”
“That’s great!”
“I hope you’re still as excited to have me here after three days when I begin to smell like bad fish.”
“Kalaraja was in and set up the shower.”
“I didn’t know he was a plumber?”
“He’s a man of many talents,” Nash said.
“So are you,” Clara said.
“Ms. Tyler, are you flirting with me?” Nash asked.
“No, just making an observation.”
“Now I’m disappointed.”
“Food first, flirting later,” Clara promised.
“Tell me about the baseball bat you have propped up beside the bed.”
“It’s my brother’s. He insisted if I was going to live in the city, that I learn how to protect myself. I almost took Kalaraja’s head off with it.”
“I have to admit to being upset that he snuck into your apartment.”
“I think it was more of a Spider-Man thing than a vampire thing,” Clara said as they reached the third floor.
“Kalaraja told me that the tailor used to live up here. Instead of boxes of books between the stairs and the apartment, there were bolts of wool and linen.”
“Why don’t you live here?” Clara asked, setting her insulated bags down on the wooden table.
“I already had a lease on my apartment, and I thought it would be best to separate work and homelife. I just never achieved a homelife.”
“Busy people never do,” Clara said. “Sit down, put your feet up. Let me present you a three-course lunch that I expect you to eat all of.”
“I’ll admit to looking at the kids’ meal with jealousy.”
“They only got one course.”
Clara started Nash off with some coffee, bottled water, fruit, and rolls while she warmed up her sauce for the eggs Benedict on the tiny electric stove top. She poached the eggs and toasted the muffins. She extracted perfectly cooked, still warm slices of ham and had the dish on the table before Nash had finished his first course. She sat down with him and ate her portion.
&nb
sp; Nash, who had never been a voracious eater, attacked the contents on his plate with relish, which pleased Clara.
“That was wonderful,” he said.
Clara jumped up and came back with a casserole. “We call this the Full English Casserole. It has everything you would find on the plate of a Full English Breakfast with the addition of potatoes. Johan loves potatoes. This is his recipe.”
Clara dished it out on Nash’s cleaned plate, and when she had placed a serving, he motioned that he wanted more. Clara obliged.
They didn’t talk while they ate. Nash was deep in thought. Clara was watching Nash. After, he helped her clean up. Clara placed the leftovers in a cooler.
“I have a refrigerator, but it’s downstairs,” Nash said.
“This will hold them until we go down.”
“Thank you for this, Clara. It means a lot to me.”
“It’s been a while since you were taken care of, hasn’t it?”
“Not since the hospital. Don’t feel sorry for me. It was my choice. I never felt lonely because I had books to read, but honestly, until I met you, I never wanted more than my solitary existence.”
“What a wonderful thing to say,” Clara said.
Nash walked over and took Clara’s hand. “I’m no prize, but I am trainable.”
“I don’t want you to change. We are who we are. It wasn’t the possibility of what you could be that I fell in love with, but the man you are.”
“You have me at a disadvantage. I’m just now learning who you are. Trollope?”
“As I said, parlor tricks. I’m not proud of them. I hear you explain a plot to a customer and I’m spellbound. It takes a rare book to pull me in. A rarer man for me to hang on his every word.”
“Clara, I want to spend some time away from this shop. I want to know that it’s not the shop enchanting you to love me.”
Clara put her hand on his face. “If that would convince you, I’m all for it.”
“Are you always this agreeable?”
“I’m a bit of a diva in the kitchen but anywhere else…”
Nash stopped her words with a kiss. He took his time to make love to Clara. He didn’t care if he reopened the shop on time or about the threat of the black book to be discussed. All he wanted was this woman in his arms.
~
Wendell paced the room as he explained what had happened to him at the bookshop. Catherine waited until her son had worn himself out and encouraged him to sit down.
“Did you write him the note?”
“Yes. But I was embarrassed by my impulse.”
“He could tell you were lying. That’s why you received the bum’s rush out the door. There’s a bad book out there. He just wants to make sure it doesn’t enter his shop.”
“I don’t have it,” Wendell said. “How could…”
“It’s your book club that is being taken over by this book. It was your note telling him you had a special book. I’m sorry you were treated so unfairly, but I can see his side of things.”
“You’ve never met him.”
“That’s not the point. Wendell, sometimes our innocent actions can get us into trouble. I’m sure, once this book nonsense calms down, Nash will give you a call and apologize.”
“He better not slander my name.”
“Wendell, you’re letting your imagination get the better of you,” Catherine scolded.
“Mother…”
“Yes?”
“You’re right. Nash isn’t a bad man. I feel a little sorry for him.”
“You do?” Catherine asked.
“He’s tied to that shop.”
“Perhaps he likes being tied to that shop. You said he has a beautiful new assistant.”
“I don’t remember using the word beautiful, Mother.”
“Wendell, are you gay?”
“Mother!”
“If you are, it’s fine with me. I want you to be happy,” Catherine professed. “I won’t be around forever, and I’d like to see you settled.”
“Don’t talk like this. I’m not unhappy, just a little unbalanced since the book club started failing.”
“It’s not failing. Remember, readers come and readers go. But if you had a wife or husband, then you would have stability.”
“Honestly, when you get a bee in your bonnet, you never…” Wendell stopped. “I’m sorry, Mother. I must be quite a disappointment.”
“No, dear, you’re not. Give some thought about giving this bookshop assistant a call.”
“How can I? I’m banned from the store.”
“She has to come and go.”
Wendell brightened. “I’ll see if I can time my afternoon walk to pass by the shop. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll catch her either coming or going from work. Now will you let it go?”
Catherine smiled. “Yes, dear.”
~
“I’ve never been involved in a murder investigation before,” Brenda told Alfonso over coffee. “I have only been the one either finding the body or in crowd control. Detective Jones asked for me to be transferred over to his team.”
“Is he sweet on you?” Alfonso asked, putting his cup down.
“Heavens no,” Brenda said. “I think I impressed him with some observations.”
“I bet you did.”
Brenda realized she had been monopolizing the conversation. “Enough of me, tell me about you.”
“To quote Steve Martin in The Jerk, ‘I was born a poor black child.’ I always loved animals. My mother allowed me to volunteer at the local animal shelter after school as long as I kept my grades up. We couldn’t afford to keep a pet. At the shelter, I could give my love and attention to lots of pets. One day, a businessman from out of town stopped in to see if someone had found his dog Errol and brought him to the shelter. The vet was busy, so I took him back into the kennels. He told me that Errol was his best buddy and had escaped from his hotel suite when the maid came in, not knowing a dog was in residence. I asked him what kind of dog Errol was, and before he could answer, his face lit up when he saw his saluki. I confessed I had wondered what kind of dog this was. The evening before, I had personally picked out all the burrs he had in his long hair. I told him that I was concerned about the pad on the right front foot and showed him. The vet arrived, and I left them to their conversation. After the man left with Errol, the vet came to me and handed me a card the man gave him. Doc Jerome told me that if I was still interested in being a veterinarian when I graduated, to give the man a call.”
“And…” Brenda urged.
“I called him. He found me a scholarship, and here I am.”
“Wow. Why did you choose animal control?”
“I wanted to be there for the traumatized animals. I know I don’t make half the amount a private veterinarian makes, but I wanted to give back to the community.”
“That’s why I’m a cop,” Brenda said. “Except I was born a privileged black child. My parents are professionals. Fortunately, they have a good social conscience; otherwise, I would have had a fight on my hands.”
“Brenda, I would like to get to know you better. I understand your time may not be your own until you finish this investigation. Please give me a call when you have your next night or afternoon off. I would love to have you be my guest for dinner.”
Brenda looked at the vet and said, “Can I call you Doc Fonzie?”
Alfonso blushed. “How did you hear about my nickname?”
“I saw the leather jacket with that name on it hanging on the peg by your office. I put two and two together.”
“Call me anything you desire as long as I get the pleasure of escorting you to dinner.”
“I would love to go to dinner with you. I’ll call you as soon as I know my new schedule.”
~
Marc opened his eyes and could not believe he hadn’t exited his nightmare yet. How could this have happened to him? The staff psychiatrist had sat with him. T
he man, who must have seen a lot of things in his tenure, couldn’t even look at him. His eyes kept drifting away towards the window, the door, anywhere but upon the damaged face of the once handsome man.
“Why have you done this to yourself?” he asked.
Marc had typed into the SGD: You tell me. I have a low threshold for pain, yet they tell me I extracted all my teeth and ripped half my tongue out. And if that wasn’t enough, I sewed my mouth shut.
“When a person is in crisis, the adrenalin flows, and you would be surprised what they can do. Flakka, the street drug they call ‘bath salts’ has accounted for horrendous damages.”
Tell me, Doctor, did those drug users remember what they did?
“Some of it, not all.”
I remember nothing. Can you hypnotize me?
“I can try. There is the problem of you being mute. You wouldn’t be able to guide me with your voice. I’ll have to consult with some colleagues. I do, however, feel it’s healthier if you let the memories come back on their own.”
I need to know. If I have done this to myself, then I need help. Maybe be put away for the safety of others. I need to know… he repeated. I need to put my affairs in order. I have Argos to consider.
“Argos?”
My dog. He evidently didn’t leave my side once he chewed through his bonds to get to me.
“He is aptly named. If I get the okay from your doctors to do this, I would suggest you have a relative or friend with you.”
Argos is my only friend. I don’t see them letting him in here.
“There is a police detective who calls and checks on you several times a day…”
I would hardly call him a friend. Wait. Kabir Patel. He and I are in book club together. See if the detective would allow him to be with me.
The psychiatrist noted the name down. “I’ll be back. If you need me, notify the nurse.”
That had been hours ago. Right now, all Marc could do was endure the pain until the morphine pump would allow another dose.
There was movement in his peripheral vision. He turned his head towards the door.
“Mr. Davis, I’m Officer Brenda Blunt. I’ve been spending time with your dog. I’d like to report he is doing much better, but he is missing you.”