The Knight of Pages

by Alexie Aaron

  “That’s a new one,” Nash said, accepting the book.

  “I have a dumb question,” Clara started.

  “Just one?” Nash asked.

  “I’m going to spit in your pie.”

  “Go ahead, ask.”

  “I notice you have some books in the original languages. Do they understand you like the translations do?”

  Nash’s eyes opened like a deer caught in headlights. “I don’t know?”

  “Not such a dumb question,” Kalaraja observed. “I have some interesting news.”

  “Tell us,” Clara said, her mood lightening.

  “The police are dropping the investigation into the murder of Trish Prue by Monica Voorhees. Kabir Patel is going to be charged but will probably get a suspended sentence.”

  “For what?” Clara asked.

  “She doesn’t know?” Kalaraja asked Nash.

  “I didn’t…”

  “Clara, you should know this.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  Kalaraja related what Joon-ki had found out about what he had read in the final report that morning. He included news that Nash didn’t know.

  “In a bathtub full of blood,” Clara said, turning green.

  “Darkest desires,” Kalaraja reminded her.

  “I’m not sure I want to meet this Kabir,” she said, rubbing her arms uncomfortably.

  “Remember, he doesn’t know what happened.”

  “Still…”

  Nash walked over and put a comforting arm around her. “Every one of us have things in the darkest reaches of our minds we may have thought about once in anger, curiosity, or loneliness that we would never act upon. The book brought out the worst in its victims,” he explained.

  “Is this finished?” Clara asked.

  “No, it just means that we can act without the police looking over our shoulders. Did you know you were being followed last night?” Kalaraja asked her.

  “By Elma Kis or Officer Molina and her associates?” Clara asked.

  “Amazing.”

  “No one was really being quiet about it. I’m surprised that Wendell didn’t notice.”

  “His mind was on something, er, someone else,” Nash said through his teeth.

  Clara shook her head, sighed, and resumed her work on the box of books.

  Nash walked back over to the computer, his ears red.

  Kalaraja walked over, locked the door, and flipped the sign around. He cleared his voice. “Drop your gloves, Clara. Nash, come over here and apologize.”

  “We are not children,” Nash said.

  “Funny, you’re acting like a jealous teen, and Clara, you are way too cool to be you.”

  “I thought we were done with this,” Clara complained. “I did what was asked of me. I made a friend instead of an enemy, and Nash thinks I’m the whore of Babylon because of some vision I’m sure you conjured up.”

  “Me?” Kalaraja asked.

  “Don’t play innocent, Spider-Man. It’s not a good look for you,” Clara said.

  “Humor me a moment, children,” Kalaraja said. “Clara, did you, at any time during the evening, wish that Wendell was your boyfriend?”

  “I was never attracted to Wendell sexually. And I could tell he wasn’t attracted to me either.”

  Kalaraja looked at Nash. “In the vision, Clara was pregnant wearing your vest. Maybe she’ll have donor sperm if you find out your heart defect was inherited.”

  “I could hand a turkey baster to Wendell at the next book club meeting if it would fulfill your vision,” Clara offered with a wry smile.

  “You’re not helping,” Kalaraja scolded.

  Nash started to laugh. “Wendell’s smart, his mother is smart, and his father is an alchemist, an evil one, but there’s talent there. Can you imagine what a chef and the son of an alchemist can cook up?”

  A mass thumping of books echoed through the second floor.

  “Oops that’s the horror section. I think we’ll keep Wendell away from my future wife’s eggs thank you.”

  Clara’s mouth dropped open.

  Kalaraja was surprised too.

  Nash looked at Clara. “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it the moment we met that we belonged together forever.”

  “I was just surprised hearing it from you,” Clara said, smiling.

  “Nash, visions don’t have to be prophetic. They can be wishes that our heart wants us to pay attention to,” Kalaraja explained. “In your vision, you wished you could give Clara many children, not that she was going to have children with someone else.”

  “Although Wendell is cute…” Clara teased.

  There was a flapping of pages from the peanut gallery.

  “That’s the humor section,” Nash said. “Clara, I apologize for being jealous of Wendell Baumbach and, in the future, will try to treat him as humanely as he treats me.”

  “Oy,” Clara said, rolling her eyes. “I accept your apology, and I will try not to test your patience too much.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Johan said I was.”

  “Clara, in the future, let’s do our best to listen to our hearts instead of two old busybodies.”

  “Deal.”

  “Who’s the other old busybody?” Kalaraja asked, looking around.

  The humor section started flapping their pages again.

  ~

  Brenda stood on the porch of Elma Kis’s home ringing the doorbell. She heard a groan from within.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have left her,” she said, trying the doorknob and finding the front door unlocked. She opened it and announced, “Chicago police, do you need assistance?”

  Elma Kiss stumbled out of her kitchen with an ice bag on her head. “Not unless you have a hangover cure?”

  Brenda was relieved. “Matter of fact I do. Go back and sit down. Let’s see what you have on hand.”

  “Careful, the suitcase.”

  Brenda picked up the bag and set it against the wall under the hall table. She saw a bubble in the runner and lifted it up and saw a package lying there. Elma had already gone into the kitchen, so she placed it on the hall table with the other mail.

  Earlier, Elma had called in to work and told them she must have picked up a flu bug on the plane. They seemed to buy her story and wished her a speedy recovery. When the police officer arrived, she was sitting, trying to piece together what happened last evening. Her memory was still foggy. She sat patiently while the industrious black police officer mixed together something resembling a Bloody Mary.

  “Drink this down,” Brenda instructed. “After, drink water whenever you can during the day.”

  Elma did as she was told. “Thank you. How’d you know I was in trouble?”

  “How much of last night do you remember?”

  “Ah, you’re one of the people who made sure I got home last night.”

  “Do you often tie one on, Ms. Kis?”

  “Call me Elma.”

  “Elma.”

  “Officer…”

  “Brenda.”

  “Brenda, a few times at home, but I’m very careful when I go out. I was too busy watching Wendell Baumbach to pay attention to how much I was drinking.”

  “Why were you watching Mr. Baumbach?” Brenda asked.

  “He’s an old friend, and I thought a young woman was taking him for a ride. I’ve seen it happen in Vegas and at the casinos in Michigan City. A young girl gets her hooks into an older man, plays him for a fool, and walks out the door with jewelry.”

  Brenda thought about the wristband she saw Wendell put on the woman he was with and shook her head. “I think he bought her a round of games and a meal. They looked like they were having fun.”

  “You were following him too?”

  “How do you know I wasn’t following you?”

  Elma put her hand on her chest.

  “There has been a series of ill fortunes befalling peop
le from your book club. We thought we would keep our eyes open to see who may be at the root of it,” Brenda said, instead of telling the Kis woman she was following Wendell.

  “Oh dear. You mean something happened to some of our members?”

  “Yes. But I’m not at liberty to say what happened.”

  “Do you think it’s that young woman?”

  “No. All I saw were two friends having a meal and playing arcade games together.”

  “He’s too old for that nonsense.”

  “I disagree, but I believe if you want to look young, then act young.”

  Elma put a hand to her hair to make sure her facelift scars didn’t show.

  “Her name is Clara. She buys secondhand books,” Elma said, wrinkling her nose.

  “I think if you can get a nice hardcover, secondhand book for the price of a paperback, then it’s worth it,” Brenda said. “A friend of mine found a signed first edition at a garage sale once.”

  “Do you think he likes her?”

  “Who?”

  “Sorry, do you think Wendell likes Clara?”

  “I don’t know. I was watching you,” Brenda reminded Elma.

  “Sorry, you did say that. Thank you.”

  “Maybe after the next meeting, go straight home,” suggested Brenda.

  “Yes, I will. Where did I leave my car?”

  “At the community center. I stopped by and told them not to have it towed.”

  “That was kind of you.”

  Brenda got up. “I better get back on duty. Call a cab to take you to your car when you’re feeling better.”

  “You mean sober.”

  “Yes. Ms. Kis, if you like Wendell, approach him and see if he’s interested in a coffee or a dinner.”

  “Oh, no. He’s not my type,” Elma lied.

  Brenda let the lie go and saw herself out. As she locked the door and pulled it closed, she thought she saw the package on the table twitch. It must have been her imagination. Brenda walked happily down the sidewalk. Her next stop was animal control.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Elma felt better after a bit and managed to hold down a little food, which helped with her mood. She took a shower and put on comfortable but fashionable clothing and called for a cab. As she waited, she thought about how lucky she had been the night before. She could have run into a mugger or worse. Instead, fate had smiled upon her once again. Later, she would forget her feelings of appreciation and rationalize it all as, “Of course they would take care of me, I pay their salaries with my taxes.” She would also find nothing wrong with her following Wendell Baumbach.

  The cab pulled up, and she walked out the front door. On the way out, she noticed the package. She reached for it but changed her mind as she would be home again soon and would deal with whatever that was then.

  ~

  Horace opened his eyes. As he waited for the heaviness of the trance to leave him, he pondered the situation with the book. It was no longer trapped, but it was ignored. Before Marianne received the book, he had used various library sales to keep the book in circulation. But the patrons who purchased the book for a dollar tended to leave it in boxes until they had nothing else to read. Discount books frequently were thought of as not as good. It didn’t matter if they were read by millions a decade before. The mere fact that someone else had rejected it from their home library or that the library had moved it out of their vast inventory seemed to taint the book somehow.

  It wasn’t until it made its way into the Lakeside Retirement Community library did the book really get any action. Sure, the darkest desires of some of the residents were buried deep inside their aged brains, but a few seemed to take delight in tormenting themselves with missed opportunities. Once the right care worker picked up the book to read to a resident and lived out her dark desire of being a death angel, the book began to gain power. The deaths of the vulnerable patients were easily explained away. The nurse rose one morning with no memory of her actions and was quite dismayed to find a few of her favorite patients had passed without her having a memory of this having happened.

  Buddy Irving picked up the book and had the overwhelming urge to speak to his grandniece Marianne. In her last Christmas letter, she spoke of attending Page Turners, a book club hosted by Wendell Baumbach. Buddy was supposed to hand the book to her when she arrived, but Buddy’s mind was slipping. It wasn’t until she was picking up her things to leave when he looked down at the book and said, “Marianne, is this one of yours or mine?”

  “It’s not mine. Is it any good?” she asked.

  “It’s been read by many people, and I’ve heard no complaints,” Buddy said. The facts were that he heard nothing at all about it, but still, he didn’t feel it was his place to elaborate. “Give it a read and tell me what you think.”

  Marianne had dropped it in her bookbag with the other books she had picked up from the secondhand bookshop and promptly forgot about it. But she had touched it. It took a while, but soon the book was manipulating the woman. It started off with false memories planted in her mind. The reason she had the book was manufactured by the book itself, under the watchful inner eye of Horace.

  ~

  Joon-ki was alerted that more information was being added to the electronic files of the Voorhees/Prue case. He watched as the photos the crime lab took of the last search of Patel’s apartment were cataloged. Two things stood out: the remains of a paper bag and a Page Turner members name list with one name circled.

  He picked up the phone and called his queen.

  “Natalie Boccasavia is unable to come to the phone right now…”

  Joon-ki punched in a code, and the phone rang again.

  “Yes, Joon-ki.”

  “Does the name Elma Kis mean anything to you?”

  “No. Why?”

  Joon-ki explained what he saw. “I’m thinking she may possibly have the book.”

  “I’m surprised the police didn’t come to the same conclusion. I’ll call Nash and see if he may have dealt with the woman before.”

  Nash frowned as he listened to Natalie tell him of Joon-ki’s findings. “Hold on,” he said. He looked over at Clara who was trying to see how many Louis L’Amour books she could display in the rotating literature rack. “Clara, who did you say followed you and Wendell to the restaurant?”

  “Elma Kis.”

  “Thank you.” Nash turned around and spoke softly into the phone. “She followed Wendell and Clara last night.”

  “Joon-ki thinks that Kabir sent the book to Elma.”

  “But wouldn’t Elma be showing signs of madness or her memory being gone?”

  “What would you call following Clara and Wendell?” Natalie asked.

  “I think the woman has always been interested in Wendell and didn’t like the new girl coming in and scoring a date with the old man.”

  Clara heard the old man comment and shook her finger at Nash.

  “Clara how did Elma Kis act towards you at the book club meeting?”

  “She ignored me. The other members were friendly.”

  “I don’t think Elma’s skin has come in contact with the book,” Nash determined.

  “Let’s say she didn’t open it. Could simple brown paper interfere with the book calling to her?” Natalie asked.

  “Brown paper’s raw material is most likely wood. Even in a recycled state, the paper is usually glossy on one side. Being a natural fiber may interfere with as much as protect the contents.”

  “How interesting. Something as simple as brown paper could foil an alchemist’s spell. As long as Elma’s skin did not come in contact with the book, then I’d say it may be at her home right now waiting.”

  “I’m disappointed that the police didn’t connect this,” Nash said.

  “Joon-ki said that they just uploaded the photos. They closed the case hours ago. This is just someone following through with the paperwork.”

  “How good is Jo
on-ki at hacking?”

  “He’s the best.”

  “What if he had copies of the two damning photos arrive on each of the officer’s desks? I’m sure one of the four will put it together. Jones didn’t seem like an idiot when he interviewed me.”

  “I’ll have him do that. Why involve the police again?” Natalie asked.

  “Because I doubt Elma Kis is going to let one of us walk in and search her home.”

  “I’ll inform Joon-ki that he has a new job,” Natalie said.

  “I’ll call Kalaraja and update him,” Nash promised.

  Clara waited until Nash finished his call before asking, “Nash, can I spend the gloaming in the attic preparing and baking my pie? We can take it home to eat after we close.”

  Nash’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to ask her if she meant his home or her home - or possibly their home? But instead he said, “I’ll work on getting a few of these books repaired. I’ll keep the door of the workshop open so I can hear the door if Kalaraja decides to come over after I give him the news.”

  “Sure thing,” Clara said. “Is there anything you hate in an apple pie?”

  “Not fond of walnuts. In a pie, it’s an unexpected crunch.”

  “No problem.”

  “Let’s stop for some ice cream on the way home,” Nash said.

  Clara looked at Nash with soft eyes for a moment. He wondered if she was trying to figure out which home too?

  ~

  Brenda arrived at the station to find her inbox overfilled. There were a few interdepartmental envelopes amongst the time-and-duty papers, copies of reports she filed electronically, and a set of pictures. In the first picture was a grocery store bag with a neat rectangle cut out of it. The second photo was of a copy of the Page Turner’s membership list with the name Elma Kis circled. Brenda walked over to her computer and accessed the file by the number printed in the lower corner. These photos came from Kabir Patel’s house. She scanned the photos taken before and after these two and found one of Kabir’s desktop. On it was a black Sharpie lying next to packaging tape. The image of the package she had in her hands flooded her mind - the one she found under the rug by the suitcase. “Suitcase!” she exclaimed. Brenda printed off the picture of the desktop. She looked around and saw Jones walk into the commander’s office.