“Not here,” said Mellery. “Our approach is soft and welcoming. Our favorite pronoun is
“I just thought things might occasionally happen on the ground, so to speak, that weren’t part of the philosophy.”
“What we say is what we do.”
“No confrontations at all?”
“Why do you belabor the point?”
“I was wondering if you’d ever kicked anyone hard enough in the balls to make him want to kick you back.”
“Our approach rarely makes anyone angry. Besides, whoever my pen pal is, he’s from a part of my life long before the institute.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
A confused frown appeared on Mellery’s face. “He’s fixated on my drinking days, something I did drunk, so it has to be before I founded the institute.”
“On the other hand, it could be someone involved with you in the present who read about your drinking in your books and wants to scare you.”
As Mellery’s gaze wandered through a new array of possibilities, a young woman entered. She had intelligent green eyes and red hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“Sorry to intrude. I thought you might want to see your phone messages.”
She handed Mellery a small pile of pink message notes. His surprised expression gave Gurney the sense that he was not often interrupted this way.
“At least,” she said, raising an eyebrow significantly, “you might want to look at the one on top.”
Mellery read it twice, then bent forward and handed the message form across the table to Gurney, who also read it twice.
On the “To” line was written: Mr. Mellery.
On the “From” line was written: X. Arybdis.
In the space allocated to “Message” were the following lines of verse:
Gurney asked the young woman if she herself had taken the message. She glanced at Mellery.
He said, “I’m sorry, I should have introduced you. Sue, this is an old and good friend of mine, Dave Gurney. Dave, meet my wonderful assistant, Susan MacNeil.”
“Nice to meet you, Susan.”
She smiled politely and said, “Yes, I was the one who took the message.”
“Man or woman?”
She hesitated. “Odd you should ask. My first impression was a man. A man with a high voice. Then I wasn’t sure. The voice changed.”
“How?”
“At first it sounded like a man trying to sound like a woman. Then I got the idea that it might be a woman trying to sound like a man. There was something unnatural about it, something forced.”
“Interesting,” said Gurney. “One more thing-did you write down everything this person said?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“It looks to me,” he said, holding up the pink slip, “like this message was dictated to you carefully, even the line breaks.”
“That’s right.”
“So he must have told you that the arrangement of the lines was important, that you should write them exactly as he dictated them.”
“Oh, I see. Yes, he did tell me where to start each new line.”
“Was anything else said that’s not actually written here?”
“Well… yes, he did say one other thing. Before he hung up, he asked if I worked at the institute directly for Mr. Mellery. I said yes, I did. Then he said, ‘You might want to look at new job opportunities. I’ve heard that spiritual renewal is a dying industry.’ He laughed. He seemed to think it was very funny. Then he told me to make sure Mr. Mellery got the message right away. That’s why I brought it over from the office.” She shot a worried look at Mellery. “I hope that was okay.”
“Absolutely,” said Mellery, imitating a man in control of a situation.
“Susan, I notice you refer to the caller as ‘he,’” said Gurney. “Does that mean that you’re pretty sure it was a man?”
“I think so.”
“Did he give any indication what time tonight he planned to call?”
“No.”
“Is there anything else you remember, anything at all, no matter how trivial?”
Her brow furrowed a little. “I got a sort of creepy feeling-a feeling that he wasn’t very nice.”
“He sounded angry? Tough? Threatening?”
“No, not that. He was polite, but…”
Gurney waited while she searched for the right words.
“Maybe too polite. Maybe it was the odd voice. I can’t say for sure what gave me the feeling. He scared me.”
After she left to go back to her office in the main building, Mellery stared at the floor between his feet.
“It’s time to go to the police,” said Gurney, picking this moment to make his point.
“The Peony police? God, it sounds like a gay cabaret act.”
Gurney ignored the shaky attempt at humor. “We’re not just dealing with a few crank letters and a phone call. We’re dealing with someone who hates you, who wants to get even with you. You’re in his sights, and he may be about to pull the trigger.”
“X. Arybdis?”
“More likely the inventor of the alias X. Arybdis.”
Gurney proceeded to tell Mellery what he had recalled, with Madeleine’s help, about the deadly Charybdis of Greek myth. Plus the fact that he had been unable to find a record of any X. Arybdis in Connecticut or any adjoining state through any online directory or search engine.
“A whirlpool?” asked Mellery uneasily.
Gurney nodded.
“Jesus,” said Mellery.
“What is it?”
“My worst phobia is about drowning.”
Chapter 12
