She found her bag and her fingers scuffled around to find the bookmobile keys. If she were hated this much in this town, she should leave. She hadn’t planned to stay this long anyway.
“Oh, my dear, dead ancestors.” Aggie stood at the door, still hanging open.
Piper appeared behind her. “Good grief, what happened?”
“Someone broke in,” Lily whispered, “threw every volume to the floor.”
Piper shook her head as she picked her way through the books. “What kind of creep does something like this?”
Aggie tiptoed after her. “When evil gathers round us, we must stay strong.”
“‘Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested.’ Nowhere does Francis Bacon say, tossed in a heap on the floor.” Lily bowed her head. “I don’t know what to do. The mess of the books. The mud on the carpet.”
“Does someone want us to stop reading erotica?” Aggie whispered. “I told you, I feel someone’s eyes watching us.”
“You mean people are upset because we’re reading naughty books?” Piper flopped down on the seat.
“But they aren’t naughty and you aren’t reading them. Not really.” Lily stood up. “And those books have been judged suitable for a special category by learned people.”
“But do people in town know that? Maybe some prude visited the van and saw the books. Oh my god, hope it wasn’t Freddie.” Piper shook her head. “No, he would never do anything like that. He hates messes.”
“And Freddie hasn’t ever stopped by the bookmobile.”
“Thank heavens,” Piper said.
“I’ve kept borderline books in the back closet, separate from the others. Since I left the library, no matter how hard I try to keep things together, my life keeps falling apart.” Lily jangled the van keys. “I don’t want to be watched. If someone in town despises me, because I’m a stranger or because I read sensual passages from old books, then I should pack up my few possessions and leave.”
Aggie put her hand on Lily’s arm. “If the town puts up with gypsies, like Griffo, why would they be upset with a lady and a van full of books?”
“Because I started The Erotica Book Club.” Lily began stacking books. “It’s a small town. The sound of it may unnerve people.”
“Don’t be silly. No one even knows the name of our club. It’s a secret. I don’t say it in front of other people.” Piper wrinkled her nose. “Well, Maxine at the store that day. And maybe Freddie.”
“And Jeremy Judd, that time at the Hopper.” Aggie reached for the scarf on the floor and smoothed it back onto the seat back.
Piper flipped back her pink lock. “Mostly, I call it the book club. I think.”
“With my customers, we only speak of goat milk and herbs,” Aggie said. “Except I might have said the club name to Max and Sax. And Boris was there too. He called us oddballs.”
“I doubt he’d care about our books, with all his X-rated DVDs.” Lily made another stack.
Piper picked up books in another part of the bookmobile. “Those guys in the bar were listening. They even hitched their chairs closer to hear the erotica you were reading.”
“That was about dancing.” Lily reached down for the torn piece of Lelia. She smoothed out the wrinkled paper. “I haven’t found the book yet for this page. Maybe it was the one they didn’t like.”
“Do you want to be alone for a while?” Aggie asked.
“No, please don’t go. You two make me feel better.”
Piper looked at the mess. “Show us how to help you get this cleaned up.”
“You put the books in groups. Fiction. Biographies. Reference. Ask me if you’re unsure of the category. I’ll install them in the appropriate places.” Lily taped Dewey Decimal numbers on the shelves.
“I wish we knew something to make you feel better.” Piper hunted and pecked through the jumble.
“You’re doing fine.” Lily took a pile of sorted books from Aggie. “If this mess was about reading, tell me what it does for the two of you. Or does it do anything at all?”
Piper looked for a minute at the candy-making book in her hand. “Mostly it’s like a lemon drop melting in your mouth, like someone’s thoughts slowly dripping down into your mind.” She put her tongue to her lip. “Satisfying.”
“Or is it like fishing? Casting a pole out. Reeling it in,” Aggie said. “But for words.”
“You two are a sure cure for a sad librarian.” Lily slid books into their categories.
“What a bad day to leave the tea at the farm.” Aggie stared at the pile by her feet. “I planned to have a celebration today for the three of us. With flowers and music and a bonfire to honor Cim. I was going to finally burn his hat, according to our custom. And we would eat together, like a family.”
“Can’t we still do it?” Lily moved quickly, filing more books into their slots.
“I’ve waited this long. Today is not the time for his ceremony. Let’s wait until things get better. But we can eat together.”
“I’ll finish up. You’ve helped a lot.” Lily held up a volume with loose pages. “Even though a few old books sustained minor injury, not many are damaged from the flinging and the mud. I guess I’m the one who needs time to recover.”
“Come with me for a head massage and hair rinse. I think a tint called, “Maple Leaf Samba” would be life changing. You too, Aggie. I have a shade that conjures up a dark romantic night.”
“I’m surprised I feel a hair rinse might be the right thing to do now,” said Lily. “but it sound inviting. I’ll start fresh tomorrow.”
“I’ll stay here to guard the books and read a bit before I go back to the farm,” Aggie said. “Can you find me some of Christina Rossetti’s poems?”
Lily pulled a volume from the shelf. “Here’s a book with her work.” She reached into her purse. “And my extra key to the bookmobile. Lock up when you leave. I’ll see you at the farm.”
Piper touched Lily’s elbow. “We’ll call the sheriff from the salon and tell him about the break-in. I don’t know if he can do anything, but we’d better let him know.”
Aggie called after them, “There’ll be ox-tail soup and nut pudding at the farm later. Enough for all, since you can’t make soup for one person. It was to be my celebration food.”
The swarm of bees moved en masse, from farm to farm, sucking nectar from rows of lavender. Then they sped on, toward the strong scent of monarda that wafted aloft from the Verkie farm. The cloud of insects buzzed their way toward carmine blossoms of bee balm, intent on collecting liquid life they could deepen into mahogany honey.
Down the road from the farm, the man wearing coveralls and a baseball cap sat hunched in his sedan, clutching his volume of Lelia. He’d waited a long time for the farm pickup to pull out. Reasonably sure no one was home, he inched his car into the bushes a few yards from the farm mailbox.
CHAPTER 24
The elderberry bushes hid him as he sneaked up the farm driveway to the porch, then slipped through the unlocked door. Now, practiced at upheaval, he swooped through Aggie’s rooms, following his search pattern of created havoc. In no time, he determined the book was not in the small farmhouse. He left his mark, a page torn from Lelia.
He dashed off to the farm garage. Through the open double doors, he saw the books, dozens and dozens of them stacked up, a jar of flowers atop each pile. “What kind of screwball stuff is this?” he mumbled. “Some gypsy curse?” Hundreds of red petals opened, warmed by the sunshine that heated the walls of the building, throwing out a strong, minty aroma to fill the space.
He grumbled as he lifted each flower container to examine the books underneath. Stopping frequently, he stayed alert for the sound of Aggie’s pickup. Because of the quiet of the countryside, he could hear any vehicle approaching and whenever he heard a car engine, he grabbed the knife in his pocket. He’d already pulled it out three times, but the cars drove on by. Now, all he heard was the low refrain of insects humming i
n the direction of the garden. Sifting through the last stack, he shook his head and glanced outside.
A cloud of beating wings rushed toward the open garage doors in search of rich sweet nectar. Their sound flooded the air. The basso buzzing amped up louder and louder. In an instant, the thick mass of bees swept in to claim any red sweetness they could find.
“Crap. Bees. Shoo. Get away.” His arms flailed back and forth at the horde of insects that hovered over his head. The waving motion only increased their anger as the swarm covered his baseball cap, bristling on his face and neck and arms and drilling into his skin.
He felt sharp stings. “Killer bees. Shoo! Shoo! Shoo!” He fled the garage and made it inside his car with only a few wounds. The thronging bees circled around his vehicle, but he was safe.
His trembling hand scratched through lines on his list. The Book of Cures hadn’t been at the bookmobile and wasn’t in the farmhouse or garage. After his stings healed, he’d be back to check the upstairs garage room rented by McFae. And next time, he’d wear a bee bonnet.
Aggie stayed safe in the bookmobile, lost in the words of Rossetti.
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress-tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
Thoughts of Camlo rushed through her mind. The printed words jumbled together and mixed with the features of his face. Now a flower tribute and a farewell to his hat waited for his ghost in the garage. She was glad the flowers were monarda, not roses, and not one cypress grew on the farm. But there was grass in abundance. She closed the book and locked the bookmobile.
When she walked into the farmhouse, she moaned at the mess. “That numbskull Griffo’s been back.” One item at a time, she put the rooms in order. “Looking for things that did not belong to him,” she grumbled as she tidied up. “Things to steal from his aunt. Things to sell. Guess it’s good I have so little.” In the end, nothing seemed missing.
“Why can’t he ask, instead of rampaging through drawers and cupboards? He’s cooked his duck now. I won’t take him back. Ever.” She picked up the torn book page and shook her head.
Not until she went to tend the goats, did she see the upset garage. “Oh Cim, what book could Griffo have wanted enough to ruin your memorial?” she cried. “I hope it wasn’t The Pirate and the Reluctant Lady. Piper and I meant to return that one.” In alarm, she grabbed the mason jar of ashes and the hat and put them back in her bedroom closet. Then she checked Lily’s room and found it undisturbed.
In the pasture, the goats frolicked and the farm chores calmed her. Back in the kitchen, she stirred a steaming pot of soup and whipped up the pudding. She didn’t call the sheriff. Her gypsy spirit whispered not to turn in a family member, even one so … Griffo.
A couple hours later, Lily and Piper slipped into the kitchen. “What can we do to help?”
“Everything’s done. Soup’s warming on the stove,” Aggie said.
She carried the large pot to the table. “Dear ladies, I should tell you while I was in town, Griffo made a surprise visit. He scrambled up my possessions, looking for something in the house and garage, but he didn’t go into your room, Lily. I checked. It’s yet another reason the ceremony for my dear husband will be celebrated on a day filled with more love and light. While we share this food, let’s forget today’s troubles.”
The book club members chatted, sipping rich ox-tail soup and telling stories. For a few brief moments, Lily’s thoughts stayed with the desecrated bookmobile and the Book of Cures held captive at the Hopper, but soon she pushed those thoughts aside and relaxed into the camaraderie of the women and their childhood memories: growing up, no bra, first bra, first kiss, first love. Aggie told them of her travels with Cim. Lily mentioned her few male companions and Piper relived the beginnings of her high school romance with Freddie.
“So was I the only one who noticed the man at the Hopper?” Lily ate her last spoonful of soup. “Handsome. Tall. Tweedy jacket. He was watching me or maybe us, but then he left. I wonder who he was.”
“Didn’t see him.” Piper got up and cleared the bowls. “Ask Jeremy. He’ll know.”
“Did it worry you, the watching?” Aggie dished up pudding, served it, and sat down. “Maybe he was a zebra finch in disguise, waiting for the rain. Or maybe his are the eyes that see us come and go. I still feel a shadow around us.”
“I won’t think about that.” Piper took a bite. “This is special.”
Lily looked into their faces. “It’s the two of you who are special, although now that the bookmobile was invaded, I do still wonder what I’m doing here.”
Aggie raised a finger. “You’re here to show us that reading can change a person.”
“How do you know that?” Piper said.
“Because in her book about a woman’s many loves, Anais Nin talks about a man and a cape. Cim had a lovely cape, so it comforted me to read her words. Reading a poem by Rossetti brought me heart to heart with my departed and three words in one haiku took me to his very spirit. The reading was the reason I planned to honor him with red blossoms filling the garage.”
“I didn’t realize that,” said Lily.
“Then Griffo ruined it, looking for something. But the flowers will stay in the garage until every petal falls. When Cim died, I had no proper gypsy funeral. I even went against tradition with his cremation. I couldn’t get a loan for a different kind of burial. The banker didn’t understand.”
“Oh Aggie.” Piper reached out to her.
“But now you see, some part of me is different because of words like, ‘Plum petals falling.’ And ‘Sing no sad songs for me.’ Something important inside me.”
“Oh Aggie,” Lily echoed.
“There is a plum tree dying in the garden. I’ve been waiting for it to blossom, but it may never fully leaf or bloom again. It was the haiku that comforted me and made me realize it was time to treasure the fallen petals, remember the beautiful parts. Not just a tree, but the time together that was Cim and me. And with Christina Rossetti’s poetry, I will survive my grief, if I give it time.”
She rose and took up the tambourine that rested on the counter. “After meeting you two women, life begins to grow full again. Tonight, you truly deserve the rhythms of the gypsy. I do three circles for the three of us.” With a lilting, gentle motion, she danced around the table, touching each woman’s shoulder with the jingly zils of the tambourine.
When Piper felt the touch, her hand went to her breast.
Lily wiped away a tiny tear. “Being with you and Piper makes it easier not to dwell on the damage to my library. Tomorrow for book club meeting, I’ll find us a special quote.”
Aggie hadn’t realized her imaginary voyage into the poetic world of Rossetti had saved her from a confrontation with a person holding a sharp knife, the man who’d invaded the farm and destroyed her tribute. On the delayed trip home, the farm pickup had met the intruder’s vehicle on the outskirts of town. She’d traveled north. He’d driven south.
As Lily walked to her garage room, stone after stone emptied out of the hole in her pocket. She was surprised at the way life suddenly overflowed with glorious connections. She believed it was called friendship.
Maxine Morton only had one dagger, but she rigged up a target in the apartment and spent her free time perfecting her aim. Starting off with an acceptable throw, she worked to increase her accuracy. After she was done with throwing practice, she’d polish the blade and take two Sweet Sleep pills to settle down for a deep slumber.
CHAPTER 25
The sign swayed in the breeze. Open 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. Fred trudged out to refuel the car at the full service pump.
The car window lowered. “Maybe you can help me. I’m trying to find a woman named Lily McFae.”
Fred nodded
at the male stranger. “She parks her bookmobile in the square. You can rent books from her.”
“Does she have a relative living with her?”
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Does she meet there with other people in town?”
“Yeah, it’s some kind of radical book club.” Fred swabbed down the windshield, then circled the car to pinch the tire gauges and calibrate the pressures. He stopped at the open car window. “Uh, my wife belongs. Why are you interested in the lady?”
“I thought Ms. McFae was someone I knew from Groverly. By the way, if your wife is a member of that club, you may know the name of another young woman who belongs. Auburn hair, willowy, attractive.”
“Not sure, but if you’ve seen the group, my wife’s the drop-dead gorgeous blonde. I’m not exactly sure who else belongs.”
“Does she sell things at the bookmobile?”
“Books. She rents, sells or barters them.”
“Would you characterize the club as dangerous?”
“Knowing Piper, it’s hard to believe it’s radical about much of anything, but it must be interesting, because some of the guys at the bar said they might join. I plan to check out a meeting myself to find out what’s going on, the radical part and the other men.”
The man thanked Fred. “By the way, my name’s Hugh Jamison. I’m a police detective.” He flashed his badge.
“Uh oh.” Fred watched the car drive away.
The man in the baseball cap checked the gas station. The pumps were busy and a vehicle rode high on the car lift, ready to be serviced. He moved up the block and watched Piper close up the salon and join Aggie in the bookmobile. After she disappeared inside, he turned around and drove to the Valerian house.
The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies Page 20