The sheriff stepped in and suddenly nosed down into her boxed pots of plants. “And just what would you be growing, lady?”
“Old fashioned garden herbs. For decorative purposes only.” She broke off a leaf of lovage and offered it to the sheriff. He smelled it and tossed it aside.
Smiling, she pointed at a shelf of books. “See, detective stories, right there. You didn’t say the kind of story you favored.”
“Uh, shoot ‘em up, blow ‘em up, I guess.”
“How about this one?” Lily opened it at random and read aloud.
Rocky McRoney shoved the gun muzzle deep inside the rotten scum’s heavy bathrobe. He pushed it against the velour, close to the gambler’s heart. Ka-bloom! One shot. The furry fabric melted together in a blob of red.
The sheriff took the book from her, flipped back to the beginning and read to himself. In a minute, he peered over the top of the page. “Anyone can check these out, or what?”
Lily nodded. “You sign up for library privileges with this form.” She pulled out a pad. “There’s a $10 membership fee. Then you pay three dollars to rent each book. Keep it for one week, renew for another three dollars, if you aren’t finished. I also buy and sell used books. I plan to stay in town as long as business is good. When I leave, if you feel you haven’t received your money’s worth of literature, we’ll talk about it.”
“Tell you what, where’s the signup sheet? I have my eye on a few of these.”
Lily found a pen. “First, I need some information, something with your current address and phone. How about your driver’s license and another form of ID, like a library or insurance card.”
The sheriff grinned. “I get it, lady, I get it.” He completed the form and handed over his identification, along with twenty-five dollars. “I got four books. Keep the change. Hope you’ll stay awhile. I might turn into a reader.”
She handed back the twenty dollar bill. “For the ticket,” she said. “Can I ask a favor? Would you keep quiet about escorting me back to town? I’d hate to embarrass the book club ladies.”
“Sure thing, I don’t want to embarrass them either.”
Lily went to the front to readjust the due date before stamping the numbers on the book slip. She watched the sheriff walk past the other shelves, studying book titles.
He turned around. “Since you’re in the book business, you hear anything about a Book of Cures, something like that?”
Lily gazed at him. “I believe it’s part of a rare book tour. Why do you ask?”
He hopped out of the bookmobile. “It was stolen from the Groverly Library. Authorities are beating the bushes for it. You being a book lady, I thought you might have your ear to the ground and know something.”
Something shifted inside her body. “I didn’t know it was missing. I’ve been traveling.”
He walked around the outside of the bookmobile and yelled back, “It says something about a frigate. What the hell’s a frigate?”
She knew he’d read the quotation printed on the back of the bookmobile. She said, “Look it up and pin the crime on Emily Dickinson.” She murmured to herself, “There is no frigate like a book.”
Lily clenched her fists over the painful knowledge that someone had stolen the Book of Cures. She looked down at the gravel carried in on his shoes, picked up the fragments and tucked them in her pocket.
She waited until he drove away, then parked the bookmobile in the square and opened up for business.
The man looked behind him before checking under the old bookcase at Used Stuff. He wanted to make sure the package was still in place. Satisfied, he gave the coffee table a little shove to rest it against the bottom of the unit. As he walked to the front, he decided to ease off. Too much hanging around that rickety unit might cause suspicion.
Griffo parked his roadster down the country road and waited by the bushes near the farm. After Aggie drove off toward town to deliver goat milk, he dashed into the kitchen and rounded up bread, cheese, and elderberry jam. On his way out, he grabbed her old family book, ready to convert gypsy history into quick cash.
Aggie noticed a change in the kitchen the minute she entered. A patch of sunlight drew her eyes to the blank space on the counter. The place where she kept the family book. Her body vibrated, alternating between burning anger and sick sadness. She knew who’d taken it. Who else?
CHAPTER 17
Red welts clustered together, forming a mass that attacked Griffo’s nerve endings. He patted and scratched, but it didn’t help. He rubbed his body gently, then more firmly. The harder his fingers pushed, the more his skin reacted. He sat on the bench in the vardo, holding Aggie’s remedy book. Even though it was rumpled, wrinkled and darkened by age, somewhere in the book he’d find the remedy. He glossed over German and French recipes, before locating the cure for itching, luckily translated into English. Next, he’d find the ingredients. He tore out the page and left it on the table, then drove to a nearby field, where he picked a few pods of milkweed.
Stepping inside the Emporium, he stopped at the bins. Boris waved from the other side, where he talked to an exceptionally tall customer.
Griffo raised his hand in a salute and called over, “I need a pinch of some herbs. Mint and thyme. Basil.”
“Feel free to forage. Maybe I have them, maybe not.”
The tall man unfurled a large poster. “Can I paste this on the Emporium window?”
“Go for it,” Boris said.
“The circus is passing through your town on the way to Groverly and we’re a little shorthanded.” He laughed and held up his large palms. “We lost a couple acts, so we’re hiring. If anyone loves the traveling life, the circus is the answer.”
Griffo rushed over to help with the poster, holding an edge in position. “If you’re hiring, I do anything and everything.”
“We’re looking for a stripteasing snake charmer and a sword swallower. Our two acts ran off together.”
“Then, this is your lucky day. I’m a wizard with snakes.” Griffo moved his hand slowly up and down his itchy throat. “And I’ve done a fair amount of swallowing.”
“Here’s my card. I’m the manager. You have your own serpent?”
“Not right now, but I have a cape. I’m Griffo, the Magnificent.”
Boris chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what I always call him.”
“The last charmer left her snake. You could borrow it, I guess, but a sword swallower needs his own blade. Who wants to swallow a sword that’s been down someone else’s throat?”
“You’ll hear from me.” Griffo raised his hand in a wavy salute. “Count on it.”
The circus manager left, and Boris headed into the office.
Griffo tagged along behind him. “I need one spoonful of sage, basil, mint and thyme. Can you deduct it from my picketing pay?”
“I can do that. Take a handful of each. Use the envelopes next to the herbs.”
Griffo didn’t move. “And it looks like I need a sword.”
“Your pay won’t cover that.”
“Look, my wallet’s thinner than usual, but I’ve got an idea.” He produced Aggie’s book. “This is filled with gypsy remedies. Amazing stuff written in other languages, with lots of them translated into English. Think of colorful vardos rolling through the European countryside. Nomads cooking up potions and salves.” Griffo plopped the book down on the counter. “I’m willing to swap these valuable recipes for a sword. You could package the remedies with bags of your old herbs. It would be worth pure gold.”
Boris wiped his face with a handkerchief and let the book fall open. The language was indecipherable, but he sounded out the words. Cevapcici. Romani zumi. Djuvech. Corbast pasulj. After studying a few pages, he copied down a remedy written in English for swollen ankles, then stuck the book next to the yellow pads. “I’ll keep it for now. Do you have your eye on something in my collection?”
Griffo eyed the weaponry. “I need a suggestion.”
Boris touched the hilt of a d
rab sword. “Can you control your gag reflex?”
Griffo ran a finger along the serrated edge of a shiny blade with a jeweled handle. The tiny cut oozed blood.
The storeowner laid down the plainer version of cutlery. “Wait a minute, this is what you want. Straight as a ruler. Thin as a dime. Dull as a dunce. Here’s the arrangement. From your first circus salary, I’m paid in full, or I push the sword down your throat personally. In addition to the recipe book, I need your watch as a deposit. I hold your things until the debt is paid. We’ll handle the agreement at the front desk. Follow me and I’ll write it down at the register.”
“Right behind you.” Griffo removed his watch and handed it over.
Boris placed it in a plastic bag and put the contract on the counter. “So we have a deal on the valuable book. Sign the paper, while I wrap your treasure. Newspaper okay?”
“Yeah, great idea. Disguises the value.” When the knife was wrapped, Griffo grabbed the papered sword and flew out the door to his next stop, the Used Stuff Store to look for books on snake charmers and sword swallowing.
The tape in the bushes rolled merrily forward, saving the Emporium conversation that mentioned “valuable book” and “treasure” and “disguises the value.”
At dawn, the song of a nightingale wafted through the open kitchen window. Aggie picked up the poetry anthology she’d taken at the Used Stuff meeting about starting a book club. She read a poem by Christina Rossetti.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on as if in pain;
“Oh, Cim.” She leaned against the sink, her knees aching.
A noise at the door made her jump and Lily stood at the screen. “I’m up way too early, I know, but I forgot to unpack my plants. You okay?”
“Just tired. I spent the night worrying about Griffo stealing my family book. By the time I drink a cup of tea, the sun will have found its way up and I’ll revive.”
“Maybe he’ll be back soon. I’ll get the plants.”
“You’re an unusual person, Lily, with a traveling garden.”
“Not really. Just a few starts from heirloom seeds. I unpacked my clothes, but forgot the seedlings.”
“Water will perk them right up and the sun will find them. Put them on the windowsill in your room.”
“That’s exactly what I’ll do.” Lily left to carry the box of drooping herbs to the garage.
Aggie hobbled out to examine Lily’s plants before she took them upstairs. “Our minds travel together.” She went into the garden and picked a few leaves. “See, your plants match mine. Mint. Lovage. This one’s agrimony, but my crop browned out this year.”
“Feel free to take mine, if you want,” Lily said.
“And here’s belladonna. Some call it Sleeping Nightshade. You do know it’s deadly.”
Lily pointed to another pot. “So is monkshood. Right?”
“Yes, it’s dangerous. The story goes that gypsy women sipped tiny bits of it to become accustomed to its poison. Then after a night of passion, they’d offer it to their partners and they’d die.”
Lily smiled. “Not too useful, if any of them wanted a second romantic evening.”
“Always use gloves with the handling.”
“You know, the same is true with rare books.”
Aggie’s eyes moved from the plants to Lily’s face. “How strange that we grow the same poisons. Mine are for tradition. What about yours? Are you sure you aren’t part gypsy?”
“It’s curiosity. And a historical mystery. The seed package plainly said ‘not for consumption.’ I have one more pot in the bookmobile. It looks like my garden will fit perfectly on the sill.”
The sun threw more light on the two women. Aggie wandered into her garden to weed and Lily retrieved the last herb, tucked it in the corner of the box and hauled the plants up to her room.
Chipping sparrows flitted nearby. After she’d arranged her pots on the sill, she called down, “What do you think?”
Aggie looked up to admire her boarder’s window garden and shrieked. “Lily, that last plant. I know it by the strange-shaped leaves. I’ve seen pictures. But never the real, growing thing.”
Lily lifted the pot. “This one? It’s my favorite.”
Aggie struggled up the steps and burst into the room. “My stars! It’s a lively plant. See the elf ears. You wonderful woman. You’ve brought magic to my farm.” She nestled her nose into the heart of the green shoots. “I have a recipe that calls for it, but I’ve never had the leaves.”
“Then take some. It’s my healthiest survivor.”
Aggie collapsed in the rocking chair, puffed her cheeks and slowly blew out a stream of air. “Oh, dear, nice lady. You have turned from a book woman into a gypsy sign.”
Lily knelt beside her. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I stood underneath your window and looked up at the pots. Just as the healer wrote. A sign from above.” Aggie jumped up and limped to the door. “I will make my recipe, but I need time to make sure it’s the thing to do. First, the milk deliveries in town. Then, if I feel it’s right, I’ll stir up a some tea for book club. Who knows? It may heal my joints.”
Lily reached for her iPad. “Maybe it’s the weather that brings on your arthritis.”
“Or age. If you’d rather plant your herbs in a corner of my garden, please do. The soil is rich and nourishing. They’ll catch hold like wildfire.”
Aggie left to sterilize jars for the goat milk and while she worked, sang a gypsy incantation to her departed mother, grandmothers and aunts.
You called forth the earth. You called forth the rocks.
The sun rose and the sun descended.
The moon shone down and winds, they sang.
Ancestors, I honor you. Great and good ancestors,
I honor you.
Her knees weakened from the prospect of mixing up the magical tea. She’d waited so long for this moment, yet she felt distracted. The obligation of customers expecting milk orders hung over her. The mixing and sipping of the tea should not be rushed. Afterward, she might want to dance or sleep or run through the goat pastures. It must be a moment with no time limits. She waited for the milk processing to be done, packed up the orders, and left for town.
First stop, Morton’s Used Stuff. Aggie parked and took three jars inside. “Hello, you two.” She nodded at Sax and Max, seated side by side at the register. “The usual delivery.”
“Mind taking the milk upstairs today?” Maxine asked.
“And when you come down, you’ll find plenty of bargains.” Sax gestured with both hands to the store overflow.
“I’ll be right back.” Aggie moved up the stairs to the apartment.
“Great markdowns,” Maxine called up. “Do take a look. Furniture, dishes, books half-price. Sax and I are headed to the office to check on the accounting, if I can get him interested in our bookkeeping practices.”
In a few moments, Aggie made her way down the stairs and stopped outside the office door. “I’ll see if I can find a surprise for the book club,” she said, and headed for the back shelves. Her eyes skimmed the selections, looking for suggestive titles. She slumped into the cushions of the old armchair to skim through a possible volume. Pushing the coffee table aside, she made room to stretch out her aching knees. Before she sat down, she wrinkled her nose at the smell of three mildewed books on the throwaway shelves. The tiniest bit of newsprint poked out from underneath the bottom shelf and she pulled it out. It looked like an X-rated book, wrapped up in newspaper, to hide naughty words. Not a plain brown wrapper, but a covering that might hide erotica.
She folded back a corner of the paper to see what was hidden beneath. A red background peeked through the opening.
“Oh my,” she sighed and undid the package. Inside she found the Book of Cures. The red wax seal on the cover was broken. With a delicate touch, she opened the book and saw page after page written
in French with some words that matched her family book remedies. There were red-inked drawings of pens for goats, sheep and chickens, next to a circular plan for a garden.
She gasped in surprise. Garden beds in a spoke pattern matched the plot Camlo had built for her. She looked closer at the faint drawings of familiar plants. Rows of vegetables like parsnips, cabbage, radish and onions. And herbs: lovage, yarrow, gypsywort, dragoncello, monkshood, foxglove, belladonna. The similarities of one old garden to another made her swollen fingers ache.
At the back of the book, a pocket was sealed with another patch of wax. Something about the fragile paper and the strength of the second seal made her shiver. She folded the newspaper around the book.
On her trip to the cash register, holding the package to her breast, she saw Sax trudging out the door.
She called into the office, “Maxine, are all the books the same price? I found an old one I like, but it might cost more. Do you want to take a look?”
“Don’t need to,” the voice wafted back. “Every book’s the same, marked down from a dollar. That’s 55¢, including tax. Just leave your money on the counter. Thanks, Aggie.”
She reached into her blue macramé change purse, placed five dimes and one nickel next to the cash register, took one of the free bookmarks, and breezed through her next two deliveries to hurry back to the farm.
She carried the book into her bedroom. Waves of excitement, followed by caution, crept over her. The lively leaves had needed a sign. She was certain she’d received one. Should she wait for a signal to read the book more carefully, before sharing it with book club? Should it be a time filled with candlelight and invocations? That seemed more respectful. She taped the free bookmark to the newsprint and put the package away.
It rested in her closet next to the samovar. She set the tambourine on top to keep any of the book’s secrets from flying away. “I am old enough and wise enough to wait and let the book reveal itself to me more slowly.”
Still, her whole being tingled at the thoughts of the magic dropped down upon her since joining the book club. After her husband’s death, she’d met two women, totally unlike herself and found acceptance. Now she’d been blessed twice in one day. First, the leaves of lively. Then, the Book of Cures.
The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies Page 14