The Widow's Son
Page 20
“Not to worry, my love. Reverend Alexander has promised to officiate right after our first match.”
“But he’s a tighthead prop. Oh, sweetie, promise me he won’t be all bloody.”
“We’ll hose off together. I promise.”
“Gee, thanks.”
After checking the tickets for when our flight was to depart for Aspen, she curled up on the bed.
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
“I got you a wedding present.”
“Ahh, babe! I thought we agreed to wait until after the wedding to exchange gifts.”
“I know, but I couldn’t wait to surprise you. Anyway, this one’s mostly for Riverrun.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“I’ll tell you, but first, is there anything you’re keeping from me?”
That sure came out of left field. Planting an angelic smile on my face, I searched my memory bank for any major transgressions that I’d failed to mention. Naturally, I came up empty.
“I told you about fathering Mark as soon as I learned of it,” I finally answered. “And while I tend to cheat on crossword puzzles, I certainly never considered murdering you. So, no, I don’t have any…” I caught myself before I said skeletons in my closet. “Why do you ask?”
“It sure would be nice not to be surprised after our marriage.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” I said, relaxing. “Now, what did you get me?”
“You know how you’re always complaining about not having enough table space in the shop’s basement storeroom?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I found a great workstation at IKEA and, knowing how you hate to assemble things, I hired their people to install it. They’ll even take away the old file cabinet—”
“Huh?” I gasped. “When are they coming?”
“Tomorrow, after we’ve gone to Aspen. I left word with Deirdre Lescalle to let them in.”
“But…but what about all the important stuff that’s in the cabinet?”
“There was only a 2010 sales ledger, three years of canceled checks, the box of staples…”
My mind whirled. “You mean you’ve been in it?”
“I’m afraid so.” She wrinkled her nose and held up the key to the file cabinet. “You see, I’ve been a bit of a sneak, too. That was my little secret I wanted to share.”
—
We grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey from the kitchen and drove straight to Riverrun and the storeroom. Before opening the filing cabinet I turned to Josie.
“Cripes, what you must think of me. Do you think I’m crazy?”
“A little,” she said, kissing my forehead. “But what happened to you in New Zealand was enough to upset anyone’s sense of equilibrium. I only wish you’d thought that I was all you needed to get right again.”
“I know that now. Please believe me.”
“Of course I do. Now formally introduce me to the Captain, so we can be done with it.”
I opened the filing cabinet, removed the bag, and placed it on the table.
“If it’s okay with you,” Josie pleaded, “don’t uncover him. Seeing him once was enough for me.”
I had no problem with that. Captain Cook’s remains, like Hungarian wine, had not traveled well.
“Well, then,” I said, pouring the whiskey in two coffee cups, “here’s a toast to an old friend tried and true. Sláinte!”
We gulped our drinks and then I wrapped the skull in cellophane bubble wrap and sealed it in a box cushioned with Styrofoam. After inserting a typed note explaining as much as the circumstances warranted without identifying us, I addressed it to Solomon Pualinui, a modern descendant of King Kalani’opu’u in the town of Kealakekua Bay, Kona Coast, Hawaii.
He would know to return it to the cliffs above the Captain’s beloved sea.
For the Sunday dinner gang.
Acknowledgments
With deepest gratitude to my agent, Victoria Skurnick, and my editor, Kate Miciak, for their enthusiasm, kind wit, and good counsel. XO!
BY THOMAS SHAWVER
The Dirty Book Murder
Left Turn at Paradise
The Widow’s Son
PHOTO: HOLLIS OFFICER
THOMAS SHAWVER is a former marine officer, lawyer, and journalist with American City Business Journals. An avid rugby player and international traveler, Shawver owned Bloomsday Books, an antiquarian bookstore in Kansas City. He’s at work on the fourth Rare Book mystery.
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