Andreas motioned in the direction of Trey's retreat. "What was that all about?"
"Nothing to worry about." Change the subject. "What are you doing here at this time of day?"
Andreas smiled. "How about a day trip with me into Manhattan?"
"Manhattan? Driving in daytime traffic is going to be a bear."
"Look." Andreas gestured toward the front door.
I moved toward the front of the store and glanced out the section of window behind the counter. A white stretch limo sat double-parked in front of the store.
My mouth dropped open. "A limo? You rented a limo to go on a day trip? Why are you going into the city during the week?"
He pushed back the front of his open suit jacket and shoved his hand in his slacks pockets. "I have a meeting with a psychiatric panel later on this afternoon, and I thought we could spend the time together having a picnic lunch in Central Park."
He looked so commanding and masculine. I melted. "A picnic lunch? You have lunch in there?"
He winked. "Fruit, cheese, crackers . . ." He raised and lowered his eyebrows a couple times. " . . . and some of your favorite dessert."
"Red Velvet? You bought Red Velvet cake?" I groaned. "I'm yours." Diet be gone. Okay, so real soon I was going to become a thick madame. At the moment, I didn't care.
The jingle of the phone interrupted the seduction. I raised a finger to Andreas and lifted the receiver.
"Beckham's Books and Brew. How can I help you?" My eyes wandered to the limo outside the window. I almost missed the point of the conversation. "Excuse me?"
The man clipped offthe words. "I said this is Dr. Lucius Barlow of the Beviard Institute and I want to speak to the owner."
My posture shot to attention. "That would be me."
"I will be there in two hours to discuss the Histoire de la Magie that you have for sale." The phone returned to a dial tone.
I stared at it for a second. Bossy dude. Who does he think he is? Thinking reminded me of the Google search. Beviard was a very high-brow organization, big bucks, but very hush-hush, almost like they didn't exist. Everything I could glean about them intimated that they were almost some kind of secret society.
My spirits sank. I would have to be here to meet with him. Replacing the phone in its cradle, I could almost taste the smooth creamy goodness of the cake I was about to miss.
"I'm afraid the slice of Red Velvet is going to have to wait. I have an important client coming to talk to me about an expensive book."
Andreas frowned.
I cringed. I didn't want Andreas to feel rejected. I didn't mean to intentionally slight his offer of lunch. He was trying to be so sweet, and I'd just crushed him. I'd make it up to him this weekend with something real nice for dinner.
19
I STARED AT THE COMPUTER SCREEN. THIS ANTIQUARIAN BOOK STUFF STYMIED me. It made no appreciable sense why people would pay big bucks for a moldy book that would disintegrate within the next generation, considering you could find anything you needed on the Internet in digital format.
I researched everything I could find about this strange book. Great. It was written in French. My command of the language had lapsed with the learning of several less than desirable phrases at the end of high school, so I couldn't even examine what all the fuss was about. And yikes, the book had 666 pages. An involuntary shiver moved up my back and across my scalp from back to front. Was that biblical number a precursor of evil things to come?
"So when is Dr. Barlow supposed to get here?"
I flinched and sucked in a halted breath. My finger pressed down on the left mouse arrow and scrolled the cursor down the page. "Fifi ! You scared me. He said in two hours, and that was two and a half hours ago."
I puffed out the breath and lowered my eyes to slits as I glared at Fifi leaning over my shoulder.
Fifi snapped her chewing gum. "Are you going to start an auction for this book like I suggested?"
I backtracked the key strokes to get to where I had been. "I've read Mom's notes on it, and it's all as much Greek to me as the book is French. Why is it worth multiple thousands of dollars?"
"To start with, it's a first edition with marble quarter-cloth . . ."
Yawn. I willed my expression to remain blank. Who cared?
Fifi stared at me wide-eyed. ". . . and even the gilt lettering on the spine is pristine."
Another blank expression. The only thing that could make me more excited would be winning the Metamucil grand prize at the Seniors Center's Saturday Bingo Bonanza.
Fifi spread her hands apart. "Huge bucks . . ." She jerked up an eyebrow and grinned, rubbing her palms together.
I smiled at her apparent delectable ideas of a windfall.
"Ack!" Fifi recoiled from my monitor.
I whipped around to face the screen and a gasp escaped my lips. Superimposed on a screen of undulating dark waves of water sat a large, bright yellow skull and crossbones with the words I WILL GET YOU!!! stretched across the screen. I could feel the flush in my cheeks. At that moment I might have had a "carnal snap" if the perpetrator had been in front of me.
On the other side of the room, laughter erupted from a table of college kids as they hovered around the monitor on their tabletop.
Those little brats! A hot flash shot to my face. My chest constricted with anger. I pushed back, sending the rolling chair into Fifi's legs and then into the counter.
Fifi winced. "Sloane, they're just kids. It's a prank."
I stormed the table like a charging bull. "I've had enough of you kids. Which one of you did this?" Hands on hips, I stared at the laughing faces and shouted through clenched teeth. "Answer me!"
Fifi followed in hot pursuit.
The three young men glanced back and forth among themselves and then at me. The anger ripping across my face changed their expressions from amusement to fear.
The young man wearing the Pratt Institute basketball jersey held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, lady, we didn't do that."
"Dude, er, uh . . . Ma'am. That's a system-level hack. We're not even logged in." The boy wearing the backward baseball cap pointed at the screen.
"Yeah, see?" The third kid wearing a black T-shirt and baggy jeans whacked the escape key on the keyboard. The login screen popped up. "It's either malware or a rootkit."
I glared at them with my eyes in the same slits I had just used on Fifi . "I originally thought that too, but I scanned the system yesterday and the day before when it happened. There were no infections. I have top-level IT security, and I haven't opened any attachments today for it to get by the firewall. So you're wrong!"
Fifi raised her right hand. The bangles slid down her arm as she wiggled her fingers and grimaced. "Uh, I . . . there was an e-mail this morning, and I thought it was from the bank, and I opened—"
"You didn't!" I raised my head and closed my eyes. Dear saints, give me strength.
"Yes, I opened the attachment. I'm sorry." Fifi chewed on her lip, and put her index finger up to her mouth. Her red lacquered fingernail disappeared between her teeth.
I shook my head and looked back at the guys. "Sorry, guys." I motioned to the coffee bar. "Go get a coffee. It's on me."
"Dude, thanks."
"Don't mention it." The boys scrambled to the bar to order drinks.
I glanced around the room to see who else might have been exposed to the prank. The other three people sitting at tables weren't on the computers, and Barbara had left before lunch and had not come back this afternoon. Thank the good Lord, because that image would have triggered a meltdown. I frowned at Fifi and marched her back to the desk.
Fifi looked like a contrite schoolgirl. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
No sense staying mad at her. She just didn't get it. The same way I didn't get the rare book thing. "One of these days, you'll get the hang of this. Let me see if I can isolate this bugger."
I found the original e-mail and copied it onto a CD. I had a friend with more equipment and a better knowledge of
forensics than I do and could tell me where it came from. The pranks were getting on my last nerve. This one I was determined to hunt down, even if I had to get the police involved.
The bell on the door jangled. We turned from the computer to face a rotund man with a white handlebar mustache.
Good grief. I stifled a smile. He looked exactly like the picture of him on the site for his Sinai archaeological dig last summer. On first impression, he was a funny cross between rich Uncle Pennybags from the Monopoly game and Indiana Jones. He wore a straw fedora pinched into a "V" at the front and perched back on his head, with the brim bent down over his forehead like the movie character.
He let the monocle drop from his right eye. "Excuse me." He tapped the ivory and crystal handle of his walking cane against the counter. "Who is in charge of this establishment?"
Great. More "establishment" talk. The man appeared cultured and not at all like the ruffian the Web articles portrayed. "That would be me." I smiled and stood as I extended my hand.
Fifi zipped from behind the counter, fingered an "OK" sign with her forefinger and thumb as she passed behind the doctor's back, and strolled to the coffee bar.
Dr. Barlow glanced at my hand and seemed to stare through me. He did not return the gesture.
Rude dude. I pulled my hand back. The muscle in my cheek twitched as I raised the corner of my mouth in a nervous grin and wiped my palm down my pant leg. Why did I do that? My hand wasn't dirty. "I'm the owner, Sloane Templeton."
"I am Dr. Lucius Barlow and I would like to know why my original query of the Histoire de la Magie was not honored."
The terse comment matched his stern expression. Deep lines etched his weathered face, testifying to long exposure to harsh outdoor weather. Either that, or it was just his meanness coming out.
I rested my arms on the counter. "I'm sorry." I laced my fingers together loosely, trying to appear calm. "Your query was taken as just that . . . a query." His brash tone was unnerving. I needed to bite my top lip to keep it from trembling. I willed it still. "No discussion of a purchase price has been initiated. In fact, you merely asked to examine the book."
Barlow whacked his cane against the counter and swore.
I jumped back a step and blinked but regained my composure. I glared at this new aggressive male in my life. Is there something in the water?
"I assumed I would be buying the book after I examined it." Barlow grated his teeth, causing the handlebar mustache to rock up and down on each side.
The image relieved my tension. I did well to restrain myself from laughing at the seesaw movement. "Well, Doctor, I think we all know what assume does for you." I pulled back and cleared my throat.
"Indeed, young lady."
"I'm sorry that you did not communicate your desire sufficiently. There are, of course, other interested parties. You can't really believe you're the only person to ask to examine an item of such repute." I put on my best business face. I got good at playing that part with the Feds when I was in the Cyber Crimes Unit. One little old professor would be child's play.
"So what does this mean? Are you telling me that I can't purchase this book?"
"The book is set to be auctioned after the examination phase."
His voice grew menacing. "And when, pray tell, does this travesty begin?"
I grabbed a business card from the holder on my desk, jotted the times on it, and held it out to Barlow. "There will be a Brinks Security team here with the book for inspection on Monday morning at nine sharp. The auction will be conducted after the inspection."
Lord, I hoped it didn't show that I had just decided that on the spur of the moment. But I didn't know what else to do. He was making me nervous.
Barlow snatched it from my hand. I flinched. If he was a kid, I might have whacked him already.
His cheeks reddened in contrast to the snow-white mustache as he stared down at the business card. He bent his head and his eyes disappeared under the protruding brim of his straw hat.
I plastered on my calm businesslike smile and locked my knees to keep my legs from trembling. Don't let him see you sweat. Breathe. "Please make sure that all funds are certified."
Barlow looked up at me and shot another glance at the card, crumpled it in his balled fist, and flicked it back on the counter. Why you . . .
I made a grab for it and missed as it bounced across the counter and dropped to the floor. I refused to pick it up with him staring at me.
"This is an outrage!" His voice rose. "I saw the book first."
He moved forward.
I backed up a step and moved my arms out of his reach, thankful that the counter was between us.
At the sound of his raised voice, the door slammed open, whacking the counter and shaking the storefront windows. Two burly men stormed in. I hadn't even noticed them outside the store.
"Is everything all right, Dr. Barlow?"
The first man filled the doorway with his six-foot frame, squared-off jaw, and crew cut. He glanced around as though he expected to find an assailant. I could clearly see a bulge in the left side of his suit jacket that spread taut over his muscular arms. The man was carrying a gun. Barlow silenced him with a look.
I placed my fingers on the handle of the gun drawer. Why did I do that? The stupid gun was still in my pocket. Did I really think I could pull a gun on somebody standing in front of me?
Fifi sidled across the store. "What's all the fuss about over here?"
Her sweet smile masked the dogged determination I had frequently seen her exhibit with ornery customers. Usually it was directed at rowdy college students and not gun-toting thugs. She stepped behind the counter next to me and rested a bangled arm on the counter as though creating a safety line between me and the doctor.
My heartbeat notched back down. I faced Fifi , trying to ignore Barlow's steel gaze.
"Dr. Barlow was expressing his displeasure with our auction on Monday." I was decidedly braver with backup.
Barlow shook with rage. "That book was mine! This is sheer incompetence."
The phone jingled, and Fifi broke her fierce gaze from the doctor and turned to answer it.
The other bodyguard, an apparent techno-nerd guy, stepped to the doctor's side and opened the lid of his netbook. His combed-back hair and black glasses created an air of competence as he fingered the touch screen, moved a page into position, and opened it to cover the ten-inch screen. He held it up to Barlow, which unfortunately turned it away from my line of vision.
Fifi finished the call and turned to face off with the doctor again, gently nudging me out of the way so that she could stand eye-to-eye with him. "Sugah, you'd better calm down before you bust a blood vessel."
At this point, I didn't mind the help at all.
Barlow reached for the cord holding his Mr. Peanut monocle and slid the corrective lens back into position over his right eye. He peered at the netbook screen.
He didn't even give Fifi the courtesy of looking at her as he spoke. "And who would you be?"
"I would be the older, wiser manager of this store. And I would suggest that you check your attitude at the door, darlin', if you want to conduct business in this establishment."
I opened my mouth to protest but reconsidered. Fifi knew this business better than I did. It was times like this that I wanted to sell the store and go back to my computer life. But the memory of Mom wouldn't release me.
Barlow's head turned from the netbook. A tiny smirk crossed his lips from one side to the other and disappeared as his head rose to come in line with Fifi's gaze.
The monocle, tethered by a black cord, dropped to his chest like a hooked fish. "Do you know to whom you are talking? I am the foremost archaeolog—"
"Yeah, yeah," Fifi waved a hand. "We know who you are, and that don't excuse your bad behavior."
Barlow gritted his teeth and glared back and forth between us.
Fear clutched my chest as I backed away from the counter. Prickles of pain radiated across my heart in tiny
starbursts. The look on his face. Memories of that look flooded my mind. I had seen that same raw vengeance on other men's faces. The emotion overwhelmed me. I wanted to run but my feet were rooted to the floor and Fifi blocked my exit from behind the counter.
I couldn't make my feet move closer. "Dr. Barlow, I apologize—"
The half-closed front door opened and the regular UPS guy strolled in carrying a rectangular box. His summer uniform of short pants always made me smile. This was no exception. Or maybe it was just nervous relief to see a friendly face in the middle of this storm. Thankful for the tension reliever, I moved to the counter to sign for the box.
"How's it going today, Ralph?" I scribbled my name on the electronic tablet with the stylus.
"It's a hot one out there, Sloane. I'll tell ya', in this heat I need air freshener in my truck. Everything smells."
My nose sniffed the air in front of me. The hint of a noxious rotting smell touched my nostrils. "Whew . . . it's clinging to everything, even the boxes of books."
Barlow's henchman reached to open the front door.
I assumed it was to get rid of the stench, but as soon as the door opened, Barlow turned on his heels and left.
I raised my hand. "Mister, uh . . . Professor—"
"Doctor Barlow will return on Monday for the inspection and auction. He hopes all will be satisfactorily resolved at that time." The gun-toting thug sneered as if to dismiss me and then sauntered out the door like a Mafia good fella.
Ralph smiled sheepishly "Ugh, I'm sorry for the smell. It's just that my truck has been overwhelmed by the heat today." He shrugged and left, trailing a cloud of decaying odor behind him.
I put a hand to my face and wrinkled my nose at the stench. I grabbed a box cutter to open our latest acquisitions. I gripped the box and turned it so that the seam was in the right direction for my opening stroke.
With that box around, it suddenly occurred to me that everything smelled like death.
20
DR. CARLTON MABRY MUTTERED TO HIMSELF AS HE CROSSED THE COLLEGE courtyard to his office. He ambled along the sand-colored cement of the quadrant, weaving in and out of the pockets of heat where the cement was not shaded by the overhanging trees. Heat. Cool. Heat. Cool. Sweat dribbled down his temples. He tugged on the bow tie attached to his shirt collar.
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