“I can be there on Friday, if that works for you? I could take the train down.”
“Capitol! Friday it is. My office at noon.”
He gave me his address and directions, then hung up.
I took a deep breath, then Googled the Amtrak website and made a reservation for Friday. Then, I left my office, looking for Steve.
“Hey, buddy,” I said when I found him in the break room. “I have to go to Boston on Friday, can you handle my patients?”
He smiled. “Depends. What are they?”
“Oh, just routine. One’s a suture removal. The other is just a follow-up. You already know both of them.”
“Okay, then. What’s in Boston?”
“I just need a change of scene. I’m meeting an old friend at Harvard.”
“Well, have yourself a good time. You deserve it. By the way, what’s up with that fiancé of yours? Haven’t seen him around for a while.”
I took a deep breath. “He’s still in the Carolinas. Don’t know when he’s coming home.”
Steve looked concerned. “You okay with that?”
“I don’t know. I mean, yeah, I’m okay, but I don’t understand it. That’s all.”
“Well, if you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here.”
“Thanks.”
Back at home, I’d just started dinner when the landline phone rang.
“Kate? Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
It was Jeremy.
“No, I was just putting a quiche in the oven. How are things down south?”
He laughed. “Absolutely great. Check your texts. I just sent you some pictures.”
Curious, I pulled out my cell. The text was there – five pictures, all of a motor yacht named “The Blue Lady.” I guessed she was close to a sixty-footer.
“Beautiful boat,” I said when I returned to the phone. “Whose is it?”
“Mine! I just bought her.”
“Yours? That’s a yacht! How can you afford…?”
Jeremy laughed. “Hey, the old gentleman left me more than this house. Seems he had several off-shore accounts – all of them full of money. I paid cash for this baby.”
I was stunned. This was not like Jeremy. Forking over God knows what in cash for a luxury boat? I didn’t know what to say.
“Katherine, you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Just shocked, I guess.”
Again, he laughed. “Well, we might want to rethink the honeymoon plans. Why do all that work on a sailing vessel when we’ve got this. We can cruise the islands – go anywhere you want.”
I had to admit, it did sound tempting and, if Jeremy were Jeremy, I’d probably bite. But, I couldn’t.
“I don’t know. Let’s talk about it when you get back. And, when is that going to be?”
“I’ll probably stay here for a week or two more. Why don’t you come down? The clinic will survive without you.”
I hesitated. “I’ll think about it. And, congratulations on your new boat.”
We talked a few minutes longer then hung up. I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down on the couch.
He bought a boat – no, not just any boat – a motor yacht. Where had that come from? He’d never mentioned wanting a fancy boat; in fact, he used to make fun of the summer people who cruised the Maine islands in their oversized playgrounds. But, now, he had to buy one for himself. Sounded much more like something Ian Morrison would do than Jeremy.
I opened my tablet and added “YACHT” to my list of small things – things that were easily explained.
Sighing, I put my tablet and, hopefully, my fears away for the evening and turned on the television to watch something mindless and involving. I had the rest of the week to worry about Jeremy.
74
Kate
Boston and Beyond
ON FRIDAY, I caught the 8:20 a.m. Amtrak Downeaster that would take me from Portland to Boston. Arrival time was 10:50, leaving me approximately an hour to find my way to Harvard and Professor Semple’s office.
When I arrived at the terminal in Beantown, I caught a Lyft to the university. I found the professor’s office easily.
It was what you might expect if you were watching a movie about a kindly, old teacher. The walls were lined with bookshelves, overflowing with hard-bound volumes, paperbacks, and manuscripts. In the center of the room was a desk for the professor’s assistant. Two visitor chairs were lined up in front of it.
“Good afternoon,” I said. “I’m Dr. Pomeroy. I have an appointment with Professor Semple at noon.”
The woman smiled. “Yes and he’ll be a little late, as usual. He’s just finished teaching a seminar and the students always corral him afterward with questions. Why don’t you have a seat? Coffee?”
“That would be lovely.”
I sipped my coffee as I waited. Finally, at 12:35 the door opened.
The professor was as much a cliché as his office. Short and round, he sported a neatly trimmed salt n’ pepper beard and had a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
He was wearing the prerequisite camel-colored sport coat, with leather patches on the elbows, jeans, and tan loafers. His arms were overflowing with books and papers.
“Joyce!” he cried as he entered the room. “Help me with these.”
His assistant rushed to remove what looked like exam papers from his arms. “Put the blue books on my desk,” he instructed. “I’ll read and grade them tonight.”
He dumped the rest of the papers on one of the bookshelves then turned and looked at me.
“Dr. Pomeroy, I presume,” he said. “To borrow a phrase.”
“Professor Semple?”
“One and the same. You’ve brought the book?”
“Yes, sir. Is there someplace quiet we can sit?”
“Oh, yes, oh, yes,” he replied, laughing. “Come with me. Joyce, bring my gloves and rare book setup.”
The professor then escorted me from the office to a conference room down the hall. Joyce followed, carrying a leather briefcase. Once inside, she handed it to him.
“Thank you, Joyce. Please hold my calls. This may take some time.”
Joyce nodded and left the room.
“Now, my dear Dr. Pomeroy,” Semple said. “Have a seat and let’s see this marvelous book of yours.”
As he spoke, he opened the briefcase and pulled out a cotton cloth, which he spread across the table. Then he donned a pair of those white gloves and waited. I took a seat across from him and, putting on my own handling gloves, reached into my backpack and pulled out the little book.
“Here,” I said, handing it to him. “The Tao Viperae.”
“Ahhhh,” he whispered, taking the book from me. “I’ve heard tales about this book but never thought I’d see it in the flesh. Give me a few minutes.”
Carefully, he examined the cover then opened the book to the first page. I could see his lips move as he silently translated the arcane text.
He read for the next half-hour, flipping carefully through the pages. Finally, he reached the end.
He took a deep breath. “There are pages missing,” he said softly.
“Yes,” I replied. “And, that’s why I’m here. I need to know what’s on those pages.”
He put the book down and studied me carefully. “And, why do you need to know, Doctor? What possible importance can this obscure volume have for you?”
I hesitated for a moment, not knowing how much I should reveal to him. “Let’s just say this book has made me question some things – things I’m unable to go into here.”
The professor was silent for a moment, then he sighed.
“You know,” he said, gesturing to the little book, “This is all hogwash. Supreme beings descended from snakes don’t exist now and didn’t exist then. This was just a bizarre cult most likely used as an excuse to commit murder and mayhem. People unhappy with their mundane lives.”
“Perhaps,” I responded. “But I still need to know what’s
on those missing pages. I gather you won’t or are unable to help me?”
As I spoke, I picked up the little book and placed it back in my backpack. I could see by his face that my removal of the book caused the professor some distress.
Finally, he nodded. “All right, Dr. Pomeroy. There is someone who may be able to help you. However, he is not a good man.”
He hesitated and I waited, saying nothing.
“His name is Sven Lundgren and he lives in New York. He is extremely wealthy and ruthless. It is rumored that he has a copy of The Tao Viperae produced sometime in the sixteenth century by Sarabaites monks. Whether or not this is true, I don’t know.”
“Do you have his address or phone number?”
The professor sighed. “Yes, I have his phone number. He lives in Manhattan, in a penthouse apartment. If you insist on getting in touch with him, I would suggest you call and leave a message just mentioning the book, nothing more. If he’s interested, he’ll get back to you.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Semple shook his head. “Don’t thank me. I don’t think I’m doing you any favors. I fear for you, Dr. Pomeroy. Lundgren is not to be trifled with. He is a ruthless and dangerous man.”
Again, I nodded. “I’ll be careful, Professor.”
The professor passed on Lundgren’s number and I left the campus. I grabbed an Uber and went to the Charles Hotel, where I had reserved a room. Once inside, I placed a call to Sven Lundgren.
After four rings, the call went to voicemail and I began to record.
“My name is Dr. Katherine Pomeroy and I have in my possession an original copy of The Tao Viperae. You can reach me at the Charles Hotel in Boston.”
Hanging up, I sat down on the bed and kicked off my shoes. I was tired – this cloak-and-dagger stuff was exhausting. I thought about the Professor’s warning – was I biting off more than I could chew?
I just started thinking about this when the phone on the nightstand rang.
“Hello?”
“Dr. Pomeroy?”
“Yes, this is Kate Pomeroy.”
“Mr. Lundgren is sending a limo for you. Please be ready.”
I started to reply, but the caller had already hung up. I frowned, realizing that whoever this man Lundgren was, he was used to getting his own way.
Fifteen minutes later there was a rap on my door. I peered out the spyhole to see who it was. A man dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform was standing outside my door. I slipped on the chain lock and opened it partway.
“Dr. Pomeroy?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I’ve been instructed to escort you to Hanscom Field where a helicopter is waiting to take you to Mr. Lundgren’s residence.”
I hesitated a moment – it was now or never.
“All right,” I said. “Just give me a few minutes to settle up my bill here.”
“No need to do that, Dr. Pomeroy. It’s been taken care of. Now, may I assist you with your luggage?”
I let him take my rolling suitcase while I kept my backpack firmly in my grasp. Then, I followed him down to the parking garage where a stretch limo was waiting for us.
When we arrived at Hanscom Field, I was whisked through security and over to where Lundgren’s private helicopter was waiting. As I got on board, I was informed by the pilot that the trip to the helipad on top of Lundgren’s residence would take approximately an hour and a half. The pilot stowed my suitcase in the rear of the copter, but I politely declined to let him also stow my backpack. I wasn’t going to let that book out of my sight.
“We’ll be taking off in a few minutes,” the pilot informed me. “Just relax and enjoy the ride. It’s a clear night. The view of the city as we approach should be pretty spectacular. If you’d like some refreshment, there’s a mini bar, right behind you.”
I thanked him and leaned back. Clutching my backpack tightly to my chest, I closed my eyes. I was going to need to be alert and on my game when I met Lundgren. A little shut-eye right now wouldn’t hurt.
I woke about an hour later as we were beginning our approach to New York City, and, as the pilot had mentioned, the view was fabulous.
After we landed on the roof of a tall building, I was escorted to an elevator and we proceeded down to the penthouse. We were greeted at the door by a man in a butler’s uniform who thanked the pilot and indicated for me to come on inside.
As I walked into the living room, I was awestruck. I was expecting a lavish apartment, but nothing like this. The living space was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the city at its best. My aunt and uncle had lived in So Ho and I’d always thought their place was top dollar. However, looking around Lundgren’s abode, I realized that compared to him they were merely middle class.
“Have a seat, Dr. Pomeroy,” the butler instructed. “Mr. Lundgren is on the phone, but will be with you shortly. May I get you something to drink?”
“Thank you. Water?”
The butler nodded and walked over to the bar area. I really wanted a glass of white wine, but knew I needed to keep my wits about me.
A few minutes later, Sven Lundgren entered the room.
He was much like you might expect. Of Norwegian descent, he looked something like all those Olympic skiers I used to ogle when I was a girl. In his mid-thirties, he was tall and obviously fit. He had tousled brown hair streaked with blonde and piercing blue eyes. He was tan, looking like he’d just come in from the beach, and, I had to admit, pretty darn gorgeous.
“Dr. Pomeroy,” he said, extending his hand. “Don’t get up.”
I shook his hand as he sat down in a chair opposite me.
“What are you drinking? Water?”
I nodded.
He grinned, motioning to the butler, who was standing silently by the entryway. “Enough of that. Walter, bring Dr. Pomeroy a chilled glass of the Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Montrachet. I’ll have a Scotch.”
The butler hurried to do his bidding and, in no time, I was sipping a glass of chardonnay that I knew cost in excess of three or four thousand dollars a bottle.
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s delicious.”
Lundgren smiled. “I’m glad you enjoy it. Now, before we get down to our business, I’ve had Cook prepare a light repast. I hope you’re hungry.”
I was, indeed, famished. I’d skipped lunch and it was now way past dinner time.
He escorted me to the dining room which was, like the living room, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows. I stood looking out while Lundgren checked on dinner. The city lights were beautiful and, for a moment, I was mesmerized by them.
“Dr. Pomeroy?”
I turned. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know how you can get any work done with this view distracting you.”
Lundgren grinned. “You get used to it. Now, may I?”
He pulled out a chair for me and, smiling, I sat down. The table was set for two and, after refreshing my wine, Lundgren sat opposite me.
The “light repast” was anything but. We started with a cup of lobster bisque followed by grilled salmon in grape leaves with a tomato-raisin relish. Accompanying that was a traditional Greek salad. Everything was perfectly prepared and delicious.
The meal was topped off with a cup of gelato and, when that was finished, Lundgren escorted me back to the living room, where he poured us each a glass of Port.
I studied him as he walked over to the bar. He was handsome, charming, and, obviously, very intelligent. But there was something else – it was the way he glided across the room – there was something almost reptilian in the way he moved. As that thought crossed my mind, I had to stop myself from gasping out loud. Was he one of them? A Viper?
He handed me a glass then sat opposite me.
“Now, Dr. Pomeroy,” he said. “Your phone message was very cryptic. What do you know about The Tao Viperae and why come to me about it?”
I sipped my drink, formulating my answer in my head. Instinct told me I had to be extr
emely careful with this guy.
“Dr. Semple from Harvard gave me your name. He said that he believed you had a copy of the book made by monks back in the fifteenth or sixteenth century. Is that correct?”
Lundgren stared at me, his face blank like a sheet of fresh paper. But his eyes were another story. They burned, and I could almost feel the heat emanating from them on my cheekbones.
“I may have a copy, but then again, I may not. What is your interest in the book?”
I took a deep breath. “I have an original – or at least Dr. Semple believes it’s an original. However, the final three or four pages are missing. I’d like to know what’s on those pages.”
Lundgren leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He closed his eyes as if deep in thought. I waited.
Finally, he opened his eyes and leaned forward. “An original?”
“Yes, I believe it is.”
“Do you have it with you?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “You know, I could simply take it from you and send you on your way. You couldn’t stop me.”
I nodded and smiled back at him. I was about to take a leap into the unknown.
“Yes, you could,” I replied. “But you won’t. Stealing from me would be breaking your vow – violating your code of ethics, wouldn’t it?”
His eyes widened, surprised, then he laughed. “You are a treasure, Dr. Pomeroy. Yes, stealing from you would be verboten and as much as I would like to take that book out of circulation, I would not stoop so low. No, you will give it to me willingly.”
“I don’t think so. However, in exchange for the translation of the final pages, I might let you see it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. The information contained in those pages is privileged – not to be shared with one who is not of the order.”
I sighed. “If that’s the case, I think my business here is concluded. Can you have your man call me an Uber?”
I began to rise, but he waved his hand, stopping me. “Not just yet, Dr. Pomeroy. You know of someone – a man who had transgressed – don’t you?”
The Tao of the Viper: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 2) Page 29